Love Everlasting (Isle of Hope series Book 2) (8 page)

Chapter Ten

Sweet Southern tea, what am I doing?
Tess slammed two stiff palms to Ben’s chest, hoping he hadn’t heard the moan that almost slipped from her lips. “You’re crazy all right, Carmichael,” she said with a last-ditch flail of arms, desperate to keep him in line until she could drive her terms home. “And God help you if you think you can waltz in here—”

He cut her off with another kiss so urgent and deep, his groan tangled with hers as she melted against his chest. She dug her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, trying to decide if she wanted to grab him or gouge him when his mouth slid along the curve of her jaw to nip at her ear. “God help me is right, Tess, because I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life.”

“Ben, wait, please—”

He silenced her weak protest with another ravenous kiss, like a man starving for the only sustenance his soul could abide. “I can’t, Tess—not any longer,” he rasped, voice hoarse with a need he obviously could no longer deny. “I want to marry you now.”

Oh, Ben …
She went completely still in his arms, her fingers at the nape of his neck suddenly limp and flat.
Me, too, but …
She slumped back, facial muscles wilted with a sadness she’d only displayed one other time—the night he’d revealed a past that had almost cost him her love.

Her heart ached as he fumbled in his pocket for the diamond ring he’d so longed for her to wear, holding it out with shaky fingers. “Marry me, Tess—tomorrow, the next day, I don’t care—but soon because I need you like I’ve never needed anyone before.” Her resolve weakened when he cradled her face in his hands. “In my life,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck with a tenderness that immediately lured her eyelids closed. “In my house …” He mated his mouth with hers, exploring until he coaxed a soft mew from her throat. “And most definitely in my bed …” he said with an answering groan, voice husky as he devoured her body and soul.

Her breathing was as ragged as his when she finally pushed him away, soggy eyes revealing the depth of her love.

And her hesitation.

“Ben, I love you, I do,” she said quietly, the deep slash between his brows putting a stranglehold on her heart, “and I want to be your wife so badly, I can taste it—”

“Oh, me too,” he said, diving right back in to nibble her neck all over again.

“
But …
” She squirmed from his grasp with two rigid palms, arms locked to keep him at bay. “I have concerns.”

The air in his chest seemed to slowly seep out. “My temper?”

She shimmied off his lap to slip back in her own chair, the absence of his warmth chilling her as much as the vulnerable look on his face. “Yes, your temper, although it’s not my chief concern at the moment because losing it only twice in a number of years is not a deal breaker.”

His throat convulsed several times before he spoke. “Deal breaker?”
he whispered,
voice a near croak as he slipped the ring back into his pocket.

She studied him with caring eyes that longed to kiss away every worry line in his face. “Jealousy, Ben,” she said softly, bracing her arms to her waist again as if shutting him out. “I can’t abide jealousy because nothing will destroy a relationship faster than that.” Her gaze veered beyond him to absently trace the shore, a mist of moisture glazing her eyes. “I never fully realized it at the time, but jealousy was one of the root problems in my marriage to Adam. Our fights escalated the last few years because he wanted me to attend conferences with him, you see, but I never wanted to go. I used my job as an excuse, which infuriated him, of course, and it was certainly a factor in the rift between us.”

She swallowed hard as she met his gaze once again. “But it wasn’t the main reason.” She looked away, skimming her arms as if she were cold, not knowing if it was the chill of a sudden sea breeze or her guilt, but either way, a shudder rippled her body. “It wasn’t until Adam and Karen got involved that I realized just why I couldn’t tolerate those stupid conferences where women flirted and fawned over Adam like I wasn’t even there. I was jealous and couldn’t handle it, so I chose to turn a blind eye to it all, trusting Adam far more than I should have.” Expelling a shaky breath, she finally faced him again. “So when he ran away with Karen, the monster of jealousy finally took over my soul, blackening my heart until it snuffed out any love I may have had for my husband.”

Ben reached to give her hand a squeeze. “That won’t happen with us, Tess, I promise.”

She stared at him for several seconds, regret etched into every pore of her face. “You can’t promise that, Ben, because it’s
my
Achilles’ heel.” A muscle jogged in her throat. “But I can promise
you
I will do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen to us.”

He gave her a lazy smile while he slowly circled her palm with the pad of his thumb. “Put me under lock and key?”

She didn’t crack a smile. “No, Ben, not you. Your temper.”

He dropped her hand, eyes in a squint. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Huffing out a sigh, she rose to pace the deck, her arms in a tight fold. “It means I have two conditions before I put that ring on my finger, Dr. Carmichael, and you can either comply or we can call it quits.”

“You’re joking.” He stared, mouth dangling.

“Nope.” Her chin jutted up as if to prove her point. “Dead serious, Dr. Doom, and no amount of kissy-face is going to change my mind.”

He ground his jaw as he leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrest and fingers laced. “And what exactly are these ‘conditions,’ Tess?” he said, giving her a death glare over the clasp of his hands.

She held up a finger. “One, I want you to deal with your bitterness toward Cam, because I refuse to marry a man where jealousy blackens his soul like it did mine.”

His lips took a hard twist. “It won’t, Tess, as long as he stays away from you.”

Head cocked, she sucked air through teeth clenched in a tight smile. “Yeah, well, that’s just it, Ben—Cam is my friend and as a widower whose wife died from cancer, he’s helped me through my grief a lot, which means his friendship is here to stay—”

Ben shot to his feet. “Over my dead body,” he growled, “not if you become my wife.”

She scrunched her nose. “Which is a pretty big ‘if’ right about now, Doc, so you might want to hear me out.” She shrugged. “If not, I’ll be happy to give your eulogy.”

Leaning forward, he stared her down, hands perched low on his hips. “It would be downright irresponsible for you to even consider a friendship with another man, Tess, especially one I can’t stand, and there isn’t a marriage counselor alive who wouldn’t agree with me.”

“Maybe,” she said with a slow nod, remembering that Adam had called her irresponsible once as well, and she supposed she had been. But this was different. Ben’s ring wasn’t on her finger yet, and unless he was willing to rid his heart of the bitterness he still harbored toward Cam, it didn’t look likely. The barest semblance of a smile flickered at the edge of her mouth as she arched a brow, hoping a tease would soften the blow. “But then it’s not the marriage counselors you want to take to bed, now is it, Dr. Doom?”

He turned away, slashing fingers through his hair. “This is nothing short of blackmail, and if you really loved me, you wouldn’t do this.”

“On the contrary, Ben, it’s
because
I love you that I am doing this.” His eyelids weighted closed after she rose to tenderly touch his arm, her voice gentle with the deep affection of a woman in love. “Why on earth would I stand by and allow the man I adore to be eaten up by bitterness when it’s a cancer we can cure?”

His rib cage deflated in one, noisy bluster of air. “What else?” he bit out, tone as sharp as the hackles she’d apparently raised.

Silence reigned for several seconds before she whispered her second request. “I’d like for you and Cam to be friends.”

He spun around so fast, it made her dizzy, his eyes wide sockets of shock. “Are you crazy?”

She moved in close to wrap her arms around his neck, tone husky to convey her intent. “Yes. Undeniably, unequivocally, and certifiably crazy in love with an unbelievably stubborn man with whom I hope to spend the rest of my life.”

She stood on tiptoe to sway her lips against his, and he swallowed her up in a raspy groan. “God help me, I love you so much, it aches,” he whispered, taking her mouth with a ferocity that mirrored the love that they bore.

She pulled away to cup his face with her hand, a sheen of tears in her eyes she hoped told him that she felt the same. “That’s what I’m counting on, Dr. Doom,” she whispered, nuzzling his mouth with a tenderness meant to drain all the anger from his soul. “But I promise you, Ben Carmichael, that once I say ‘I do,’ I’ll do everything in my power to make the ache go away.”

“You better,” he said with a mock snarl, tugging her lip with his teeth, “if befriending Phillips doesn’t kill me first.” Emitting a growl, he wandered her throat before gently biting her earlobe, obviously to let her know he wasn’t thrilled with her demands. “But you can’t blame me if he spits in my eye.”

“He won’t,” she said with an assurance she felt deep in her soul. “Cam’s a reasonable man, Ben, so all you have to do is dig down for some of that hidden charm you’ve buried beneath the surface like gold. And I know it’s there, Dr. Doom, or you wouldn’t have stolen my heart like you did.”

He grunted, tugging her back on his lap after sitting back down. “Yeah? Well you might have to do some pretty heavy convincing, Miss Perky, before I’m ready to share any charm.” He burrowed his lips in the crook of her neck, making her squeal while his mouth wandered her throat.

“Well …” She chuckled, twisting to do a little ear-tugging of her own. “Look at it this way. You won’t just be doing it for your future wife, you’ll be doing it for Karen,” she said softly, reminding him of the struggle he’d overcome to forgive his ex-wife. “
And
yourself, Ben, since making amends to her brother will finally put all your demons to rest.”

He pulled back to pierce her with his trademark Ben Carmichael glare, as if the significance of her statement had just hit him square in the chest. Inhaling deeply, he expelled it again in one long, arduous sigh of surrender. “I just hate to admit when you’re right.”

She feathered his ear with the softest of kisses before her mouth trailed to caress the bristle of his jaw. “I don’t know why, Dr. Doom,” she whispered, her chuckle lost in the sweet depths of their kiss. “I love you so much more when you do.”

Chapter Eleven

“So, Serena … how do you stay busy when there are no patients?” Sam tossed a syringe and empty vial of Glucagon into the disposal receptacle. He glanced at his watch, the six-year-old boy he treated for hypoglycemia long gone to the cafeteria with his teacher for needed sustenance. “Our patient won’t be back for a few hours, so how does Jack kill time?”

Serena paused as she wiped the examination table with disinfectant, eyes sparkling with interest. “Jack likes to stay busy, so he goes wherever he’s needed—the fishing dock, stables, basketball court, or ball field, and then I call him when necessary. He’s even been known to jump in the lake for a quick swim.”

Sam stared at her as if she’d just told him Jack swam buck naked. “In the
lake?
” He didn’t have to fake the shudder that rippled through him, the memory of almost drowning in a scummy algae lake at the age of ten shivering his skin. He wouldn’t be here today if his foster mom hadn’t finally dragged him out while her creep of a husband laughed and belched his beer. To this day, just the smell of a river or lake tainted Sam’s tongue with the vile taste of dirty water, as polluted as the foster families to whom he was just a paycheck. “No, thanks—I prefer my water with chlorine, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, then …” She paused with a tilt of her head, a definite invitation in her tone. “I play a mean game of rummy if you care to take me on, Doc, or we also have every board game known to man.”

Sam chuckled as he took off his Superman jacket, pretty sure Jack wouldn’t want him playing games with a volunteer nursing student, rummy or otherwise. “Thanks, Serena, but since this is my day off, I’d really like to get outside for a while, so how about a rain check?” Flashing a smile to assuage the disappointment he saw in her face, he strolled to the closet, gaze flicking out the windows to an azure sky tufted with clouds. His adrenalin immediately started flowing at the thought of helping out on a challenging and vigorous activity that would get his heart pumping.

Baseball.

Basketball.

Shannon O’Bryen.

His smile eased into a grin because that was definitely one woman who gave him a real workout in even attempting to be her friend. But Sam had never shied away from hard work or a challenge a day in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. Even
though
Shannon made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with him, a fact that only intrigued him all the more. Because she was one of the few single women he actually felt comfortable with and whose company he enjoyed without the thought of anything more.

The memory of their kiss in the car flashed in his mind, and heat scorched through his body with a fury that both shocked and annoyed. He’d been drunk, that’s all, a vice that always enhanced attraction for him, so it was no big deal. His brows dug in, creasing the bridge of his nose as he slipped his coat onto a hanger. Sheer gratitude for Shannon’s help and input on Jazz and nothing more.

The thought of Jazz suddenly dimmed his good mood, and closing the door harder than intended, he vowed to find a way to win her back. His gaze snagged on a volunteer schedule tacked to the wall, and a slow smile curved on his lips as he scanned the list.

Outdoor Basketball—2:00-3:00 PM—Shannon O’Bryen and Lauren Miller.

Basketball?
Being petite, gentle, and shy, Shannon hadn’t struck Sam as the killer athletic type, which somehow made friendship with her all the more appealing. Of course, his chest still had dents in it from her stilettos, so he’d obviously misjudged her, no matter how angelic she’d appeared. But a basketball court was the perfect place to forge a friendship with a woman whose brain he could pick regarding Jazz without messy complications. A woman he could trust. A woman who was honest.
And
a woman who wasn’t attracted to him, a situation that didn’t sting quite so much once he realized how valuable it could be.

“I’ll be back.” He offered a smile and a salute to Serena, then strode down the hall and out the front doors of what he fondly referred to as “the big house.” Relishing the sunshine that soaked into his navy Polo, he followed the distant sound of a basketball. Making a left at the stables, he found her, she and another girl surrounded by a group of pre-teen kids while she demonstrated a perfect lay-up. Fascinated, he watched from a distance, her body poetry in motion as she dribbled several times before bounding off one foot to sweep the ball into the air. It swished into the net as neatly as she’d swished him out of her life with the jab of her heels.

No one noticed when he came closer. Hip cocked to the chain-link fence, he studied Shannon while she demonstrated the shot a few more times. Her instructions to the kids impressed him as much as her skill with omelets—
not to mention
hot pink basketball shorts that revealed beautifully toned legs, making his mouth go dry.

“Okay, guys, if you can shoot a free-throw, you can easily learn a lay-up,” she told them, “and it’s important to know how because they’re hard to defend, as Lauren and I will demonstrate.” Taking her position, she backed up and took a few dribbles while Lauren—all of four-foot-eleven, maybe—tried to counter, but she was no match for Shannon, whose ball glided in as if the net were calling it home. “See? A good lay-up is really hard to stop.”

“True, but there
are
ways.” Sam strolled onto the court, fingers twitchy to get his hands on the ball.

Shannon spun around along with the others, her messy ponytail as off-kilter as the look on her face.

“Doctor Sam!” one of the boys shouted, a prior patient who gashed his lip on a slide to home plate last Wednesday. “I’ll bet you can stop her.”

“Well, I’d sure like to try if Miss Miller doesn’t mind?”

A volunteer who looked to be in her thirties, Lauren Miller gracefully stepped aside with a wide smile. “Have at it, Doc, because I need all the help I can get with Slam-Dunk here.”

“Slam-Dunk, huh?” Sam’s gaze met Shannon’s, grinning when her lips pursed in a polite smile. “That’s what they used to call me in college.” He winked just to get on her nerves. “And some nurses at Memorial still do.”

“All right, everyone,” she said, turning her back on him to address the group. “Not only will I demonstrate how easily you can get by the defense with a lay-up, but I’ll show you how to put another ‘player’ in his place.” She got into position, dribbling the ball while she seared him with a look. “And I use the term literally.”

He chuckled as he took his stance between Shannon and the net, body loose while he addressed the group with hands held high in defensive mode to block her shot. “Okay, guys, the trick is to prevent the guy with the ball from getting under or even close to the basket like th—” His words died on his lips when she gave a slight fake to the left and slid by him so fast, the ball whooshed over his fingertips into the net before he could even jump.

“Nice trick, Doc,” she said with a smirk, bobbling the ball back and forth while she resumed her position. “Got any others?”

“Just one, hotshot.” Returning to his position, he pinned her with a narrow gaze, ready to close off the side she favored for her turn, which had been on the right all three times. Before she could get the shot off, he blocked her right side, forcing her to the left. He grinned when the ball bounced off the rim with a beautiful clunk. Snatching it mid-air, he turned back to the kids. “Whenever possible, you want to block whichever side the player favors to make them go in another direction.” He bounced the ball several times before tossing it back to Shannon with a wink. “Because you
always
make them adjust to you,” he said with a cocky grin, pinning her with a penetrating look.

“Can you play a game with us, Doctor Sam?” his former patient asked, and Shannon cut him off at the pass with a glance at her watch.

“Sorry, guys, but our time’s almost up, and Miss Myra will have my head if you’re not cleaned up in time for chapel, so we’ll play a game next Saturday, okay?”

Groans filled the air as the kids—a motley mix of pre-teen boys and girls—trudged from the court while Shannon gave Lauren a hug. “Thanks for filling in for Cat, Lauren—you were a huge help, and I think the kids had a lot of fun with a game between the guys and the girls.”

Lauren tugged the basketball from Shannon’s hands before shooting Sam a smile. “My pleasure, Shan, but I think the fun started when the real competition arrived. I’ll put the ball back in the gym closet for you so you can head out early for that special dinner you mentioned.” She tossed a wink over her shoulder. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Lauren.” Without a word to Sam, Shannon marched to the fence where a backpack hung over the post. Looping it over her shoulder, she took off for the parking lot, forcing Sam to catch up.

“Special dinner, huh?” he said with an easy grin, falling in step beside her. “Sounds like a hot date. Hope you’re not wearing stilettos …”

She whirled around with a tight-lipped smile, which he realized was her version of a scowl. “Are you following me?”

“Bite your tongue,” he said with an innocent lift of brows, hand to his chest. “I’m a player, not a stalker, remember?”

“Same difference,” she muttered, turning on her heel to practically sprint to her car. “Both put the fear of God in me.”

“Well, lucky for you we’re friends, right?” He reached to take her backpack, grinning when she screeched to a halt to play tug-of-war in the middle of the lawn. “Come on, Teach, let me carry your books for you, will you?”

She sighed and let go, mouth clamped as she picked up her pace. “Thank you.”

“Hey, where’d you learn to play hoops like that?” he asked. “You’re good.”

The tiniest crack of a smile appeared as she tramped over the lawn, eyes straight ahead. “When you’re the quiet twin with an overly competitive jock for a sister and an older brother who hates to lose, one becomes adept at holding her own.” She gave him a cursory glance. “Survival of the fittest.”

He grinned and rubbed his chest. “Yeah, I know, and I have the holes in my chest to prove it.”

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, her pace slowing as she gnawed at her lip. “Did I really hurt you?”

“Only my pride,” he said with a smile, grateful she was actually talking to him at all. His mouth took a right. “Oh, and my backside, but I won’t show you
that
bruise ’cause it ain’t pretty.” He made a great show of rubbing the back of his head. “Not to mention the lump on my skull that, amazingly enough, lingered long after the bruises on my face.” He adjusted her backpack on his shoulder. “Which kind of gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘head over heels,’ you know?”

A smile squirmed on her lips despite the haze of color that dusted her cheeks as she picked up speed, eyes trained on the parking lot like a heat-seeking missile.

“Hey, I have a proposition for you,” he said, loping after her while her backpack bounced on his back.

She never missed a beat as she hit the pavement of the parking lot, homing in on her car. “You want me to teach self-defense to the women you date?”

“Cute, but no.” He waited while she fished her keys out of the backpack and opened her car, leaning in to start it so she could roll down the windows. “I’d like to pick your brain as a woman about how to get Jasmine back because I’m obviously doing something wrong.”

She slacked a hip, arms in a fold as her smile tipped off-center. “You think?”

“Yes, Miss Smarty Pants, I think. Wednesday’s my day off, and I know you get through here about three, so how about a quick coffee consult after—say, four at Cutter’s Point? Because I need a coach, and you’re perfect.”

“Because I’m immune to your charm and see all your faults?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, her casual assessment stinging more than it should. He rubbed at his chest as if those stupid heels had spiked him all over again. “But I’d wish you’d sugar-coat it a little more, kiddo, because I’m starting to get a complex. So … are you free next Wednesday afternoon at four?”

“I don’t sugar-coat, Sam.” She reached for her backpack, attempting to tug it off his shoulder. “Or coach anything but basketball and softball.”

He tightened his hold on the backpack, giving her the half-lidded smile that usually worked wonders on the nurses at Memorial. “Come on, Shannon, one hour of your time over a cup of coffee is all I’m asking—is that so difficult?”

“With you, yes,” she said with a pull of her backpack, which didn’t budge beneath Sam’s iron grip. “Sorry, Doc, but I’m allergic to players, so I can’t because I’ll break out.” She gave the backpack another yank.

He held the backpack out of her reach, reduced to begging. “Shannon,
please?
I need you bad, and I’ll pay whatever price you say.”

One perfectly shaped brow jagged high. “A little privacy, maybe?” Heels digging in, she tried to wring the pack from his grasp. “Sorry, Sam, I’m not your girl, so I’ll thank you to give-me-my-backpack …”

“Nope, not till you say yes,” he quipped, digging in some heels of his own.

“Over-my-dead—”
She gave one final wrench that sent her and the backpack flying backwards, her butt hitting the pavement hard.

“Backpack?” he finished for her, pouncing on a number of papers that went flying before the wind could carry them away. He added them back to a packet of sheets he picked up, all fanned out on the ground, then extended a hand to help her up. “Sorry, but this is just another reason you should say yes, because now we’ll have matching bruises.”