You and Me: Together duet book number two Read online

  She smiles her magnificent smile and waves me closer. “What are you doing up this late, dear?” she asks as I sit on the edge of the bed next to her.

  “I’ve been replaced by a beautiful woman.”

  Mom sighs sympathetically. “I’m sorry, son, you know your sister means well. She’s been lonely in Europe, and now that she’s home, her friends are all busy with their husbands and children. She’s the last of her friends to find a husband, you know.”

  I didn’t know. I’m long overdue for a talk with my sister. We used to be closer, but over the past few years, there has been a bit of a disconnect. Part of that I believe has to do with me watching and never interfering in Aria’s life. She thought I was crazy for obsessing over a woman who was in a relationship with another man. She wanted me to move on, go out on dates, explore different kinds of women, and break free of the dream of a second chance with a woman who looked like my dead wife’s twin.

  Now that she sees how right I was to wait, well… I think it’s hard for her to admit she was wrong.

  “She needs to get back out there, find a good man, and leave my woman alone.”

  She playfully bats at my arm. “Oh, stop it. You can share.”

  “That’s exactly what she said to me. Are you two conspiring against me?”

  Her leg twitches next to me, but her face stays soft and warm. “Of course not. She’s just trying to welcome Aria into the family.”

  “So, you’ve been reading?” I say nodding toward the book with the eerie swimming pool on the cover.

  “Yes, it’s a good book. I’ll lend it to you when I’m finished.”

  I look deep into her green eyes willing her to tell me the truth. Trying to get her to say where she was before she came sneaking in a half hour ago like a teenager instead of a sixty-five-year-old woman.

  She doesn’t say a word, though. She keeps her gaze locked with mine in a battle of wills. I could ask, but I’d rather she tell me herself when she is ready. “Thank you, I’d like that. I think I’ll go back to my room and see if my time-thieving sister will give me back my girlfriend.”

  She snickers. “Good luck, I’m glad you have a big house. You may be looking for another bed to sleep in.”

  I stand and straighten the sweatshirt I put on before I left my room. “Absolutely not. You can tell her that my door will be locked for the next six days and nights. I’ll tell her when I kick her out tonight, but I’m sure she’ll need a reminder from you, too.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. Kiss,” she says tapping her cheek with her finger. I lean down and kiss her goodbye.

  “Sleep well, don’t let that thriller keep you up,” I say, and I see her eye twitch. She knows I know she’s lying.

  Good.

  4

  Aria

  The countdown is on. Five more days in this bed. Five more days of Roman waiting on me hand and foot and every other body part I have. He is relentless in his efforts to make me feel at home even though I have only seen the inside of his bedroom.

  I roll over to sunlight streaming in through the French doors that lead to a small porch off of Roman’s bedroom just as he enters the room. He’s carrying a tray piled high with a rainbow of fruit, a pot of coffee, and homemade Danish with cream cheese centers.

  “You’re going to make me fat. I can’t exercise in this bed, and you’re feeding me Danish every morning.” To someone who didn’t know any better, I may sound like I’m complaining, but he knows how much I love Ella’s pastries.

  “I know a way we could burn off some calories,” he says placing the tray over my lap as I scoot into a sitting position.

  “Are you suggesting we have sex? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not a bedrest-approved activity.”

  He straightens up and places his hand over his heart. “Me? Sex? What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “The kind who loves sex.”

  “That’s all men, beautiful, not just me. And no, as much as I’d love to ravish you from dusk till dawn, I was suggesting range-of-motion exercises. They can be done in bed, although not really necessary when you only have to stay in bed for a week.”

  He’s dressed in dark gray slacks and a pale lavender button-up oxford shirt. I have decided this is his way of dressing semi-professionally while working from home, like someone from the bank might stop by to check up on him, and he needs to look the part of a CEO and President of a bank at any moment. He has no boss, he is the boss. Come five thirty, he changes into jeans or lounge pants until bedtime when he changes again into black boxer briefs, my favorite uniform of all.

  “What do range-of-motion exercises entail?” I ask, curious to know how much touching is involved. This might be fun.

  “Working your joints and muscles to keep them from getting stiff and atrophied, not that you would have any problems like that after only two days, but, if you’re interested in witnessing my stellar nursing skills, I’d be happy to work you over.” He sits on the edge of the bed his hip touching mine and eyeing me curiously.

  “I think I’d like you to work me over.” I spear a chunk of banana that just happens to be on the top of the fruit, and he cringes as the fork sinks in. His face relaxes as I ease it into my mouth and gently chew while his eyes narrow.

  “You used to be such a sweet woman, now you’re wicked.”

  A smile spreads across my face at the word ‘wicked.’ I’ve never been called that before. Sweet, honest, cute, darling, smart, but never wicked. I like it. Roman makes me feel sexy, uninhibited, free to flirt and tease without ridicule.

  I eat while he works at his desk which doesn’t fit into his bedroom’s décor. I’m ninety percent sure he had it moved from an office somewhere in the house, so he could be closer to me while he works. That thought makes me feel so very loved and cherished.

  Loved and cherished.

  For the first time in my life, I know I am with the right man, that what I am doing is, without a doubt, not a mistake. I am supposed to be with Roman. He may be overbearing and bossy, but when he is with me, it’s done out of love.

  He glances up at me over the top of his laptop catching me daydreaming about the two of us tangled in the sheets of his bed, covered in sweat, panting after attempting, and failing, to do his range-of-motion exercise routine.

  I open my eyes wide. “What?”

  “You’re daydreaming.”

  “That I am.”

  “You’re thinking about sex.”

  I jerk my head back. How could he know that? “Why do you say that?”

  He leans back in his chair raising his arms over his head and lacing his fingers together behind his neck showcasing his broad shoulders and ripped abdominal muscles through the thin material of his shirt.

  “Because your eyes were all dreamy, you’re flushed, and you always tip your head to the side ever so slightly when you’re in the mood.”

  Wow, he knows all that after only a few weeks of sleeping with me? “Impressive.”

  “Always,” he says with a wink, and it takes everything in me not to get out of bed, cross the room, and sit naked on the edge of his desk in front of him.

  “Thousand dollars for your thoughts,” he says.

  “A thousand dollars? Whatever happened to a penny?”

  “Nobody uses pennies anymore, and your thoughts are worth much more than even a thousand dollars. What just went through your mind?”

  “If I weren’t on bedrest, and I didn’t have a gash in my skull, and you wouldn’t tattle on me to the doctor, I would strip and sit on the edge of your desk in front of you right now.” I make a mock surprised face, and then I giggle.

  “Savage,” he whispers under his breath. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

  “No, why would I want you dead?”

  “No clue, but you’re going to have to stop with the heavy flirting, naughty daydreams, and suggestions until Monday night after your follow-up with the doctor.”

  Monday, it seems so far away. O
nly five more days, but it may as well be five hundred as bad as I want him. I poke out my bottom lip, and he shakes his head dropping his arms to his sides in frustration.

  “I’m going downstairs for a few minutes before I lose control. When I get back, I want that bottom lip tucked in, the covers pulled up to your chin, and a boring non-sexual episode of Game of Thrones on the TV.”

  I scoff. “How am I supposed to know if it’s a non-sexual episode?”

  “Read the synopsis.”

  I roll my eyes when he removes my breakfast tray and yank the sheet over my head in protest.

  “Perfect, that will help immensely. I swear to God, Aria, I’m not touching you until Monday.”

  I harrumph under the covers. We will see about that.

  5

  Roman

  In the kitchen, I find Mother and Leeza having coffee. They’re both dressed for a day by the pool, and instantly the anger that was burning just beneath the surface over Aria’s shameless flirting is extinguished.

  She would love to spend the day by the pool chatting with them in the sun, and I would love to give that to her. I could call the doctor and ask if sitting on a lounger by the pool counts as bedrest as long as I carried her there. But it might be too hot for her outside—she could dehydrate or faint.

  No, maybe toward the end of the week we could try that but not yet. I make a mental note to call her physician.

  “Morning, Mother, Leeza, spending the day by the pool I see.” I place the tray on the island, and Ella rushes to clear it off.

  “Yes, it’s going to be blistering hot today. We need to be close to the water,” Mom says.

  “And I need to work on my tan. A little birdie told me you recently bought a resort in Cancun. I may want to visit, and I’ll need a base tan.” Leeza sticks out a leg from under the table to prove she’s white.

  “You’re planning a trip?” I ask, crossing my fingers that she’s going soon. This week would be perfect if I could have Aria all to myself.

  “Not for a few weeks.”

  My expression gives me away.

  “Sorry, brother, I’m not that easy to get rid of. I’ll be around all week to help you keep Aria company.” She smiles a saccharine smile that makes me want to give her a wedgie like we did when we were kids.

  “Leeza, what did I tell you about that? Leave her be unless she asks you to visit,” Mom says.

  “Thank you, Mom. Tomorrow I have to run into the city for a meeting at the bank that can’t be avoided. Give me today and tonight, and you can spend tomorrow afternoon with her.”

  “How very generous of you, dear brother. I’ll show her the family photo albums. I’m sure she’ll get a kick out of the seven-year-old Roman.” She turns to Mother. “Is that picture of him on his potty chair still in one of them?” she asks.

  “Leeza, watch yourself,” Mom warns.

  “Show her whatever you want of me but make sure you don’t show her any pictures of Millie. She’s got it in her head that I only see her as a replacement.”

  Leeza’s eyebrows shoot up in an expression that says, well, isn’t she? I point my finger at her. “Stop it. You know it’s not like that.”

  “Do I? Honestly, Roman, are you sure? I love Aria, she’s great, and I think she’s good for you.”

  “But?”

  “But, it’s spooky how much she looks like Millie.” She looks at Mom. “Isn’t it?”

  “They do look a lot alike, but I believe Roman is in love with Aria’s personality and not just her looks. Don’t listen to her, son, she’s lovely, and you two are perfect together. Leave the past in the past and look toward the future.”

  I cross the floor, my dress shoes clicking on the tiles to kiss her on the forehead. When I do, I give Leeza’s chair a shove. “Now that’s how family supports each other.”

  “Whatever, Mufasa.”

  She hasn’t called me that in years. She gave me that nickname when we were younger, and she thought I was acting too much like our father, the leader of the family. Now I am the leader of the family.

  “How do you feel about us coming up to your bedroom for dinner tonight?” Mom asks.

  “What for?”

  “I feel bad for her stuck up there unable to come down to eat with us. We should take dinner and conversation to her.”

  I sigh and give in. It’s no use fighting them both. “Fine, Ella can you bring dinner for four to my bedroom at six o’clock? And have Frederic bring a round table and chairs. We can push it up to the bed for Aria.”

  “Surely, she can sit in a chair for one meal, can’t she, Roman?” Mom says.

  “Absolutely not. I made exceptions before and didn’t take this seriously. Not this time. She stays in bed until Monday, period.” Mom and Leeza exchange a look.

  “You are letting her up to use the bathroom, aren’t you?” Leeza asks eyes wide.

  “Of course, the doctor said that was all right.”

  “Did the doctor also say you could have lots and lots of hot, steamy sex?” she taunts. “Maybe Frederic should bring clean sheets with that table.”

  “No, as a matter of fact, she didn’t, and we haven’t, and we won’t. Not until Monday, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Yikes, maybe we should wait until Tuesday and invite her to eat in the dining room. Roman’s going to have a serious case of blue balls by tonight.”

  “Leeza, watch your mouth,” Mom says. And on that note, I leave them alone.

  For once, Leeza is probably right.

  I work for an hour in my office before making my way back to Aria. I’m surprised to find her wearing sweats and a beanie on her head with Game of Thrones cued up. She’s asleep after her morning pain pills.

  Upon closer examination, I see that her clothes are mine, even the beanie. She’s been out of bed. What do I have to do to make her understand how serious her head injury is? A good scare would probably do it, but that would only raise her blood pressure and make things worse. I’ll have to speak to her again about the definition of bedrest according to her doctor. I slip the beanie off her head and lay it on the nightstand. Why is she wearing a hat and sweats in the middle of the summer?

  I sit in the wingback chair next to her and watch her sleep. She’s curled up on her side clutching a decorative pillow from my bed. Her blonde hair is gathered in a messy top knot that lobs to one side of her head with wispy pieces that have escaped sticking to her skin. Her perfect pink lips are parted ever so slightly. Her breath comes in soft puffs that occasionally send a bit of hair fluttering around until it finds a place to land on her cheek or forehead.

  She’s perfect, even more perfect than Millie. Aria’s bone structure is ideal, her skin flawless, when it’s not sunburned, and she has the body of a yoga instructor—lean and fit. Not that you could tell with my sweats on. I cannot fathom why she would risk getting out of bed to put on such bulky, unattractive clothes.

  That’s when it hits me. She’s doing as I asked, making herself unappealing so as not to turn me on. It’s sweet of her, but unfortunately, it’s backfired. She looks even more attractive cuddled up in my clothes than she would naked. Something about seeing her in my college sweats and fuzzy socks makes me want her all the more.

  Dammit, I have it bad for this woman. How on earth will I make it to Monday? I know the answer to that question even before I ask it.

  I won’t.

  She whimpers in her sleep, something I’ve never known her to do. Her face changes from relaxed and peaceful to fearful. I hate it, and I’m on my feet rounding the bed to crawl in behind her circling her waist and pulling her into the curve of my body. Once there, I smooth away the tendrils of hair stuck to her face and kiss her cheek.

  The muscles around her eyes relax, and her breathing returns to normal almost immediately. Her warmth permeates through the thick material of the sweats she’s wearing onto my skin. Holding her this way feels so right. I know we’ve only technically been dating one another for a few weeks, but
I’ve been watching her for years. My feelings for her are strong and real and immense. If I thought she would say yes, I’d ask her to marry me today.

  She’s not ready, though. It’s not so much that she’s getting over her ex as she is trying to come to terms with what that relationship wasn’t and how it ended. She doesn’t trust her own mind, afraid of making or almost making, in her case, another life-altering mistake. What she hasn’t figured out yet is, I’m no mistake.

  An hour passes before she begins to show signs of life. She stretches, arms out in front, legs straight with pointed toes. When she senses she is not alone, she rolls to her back in my arms and smiles sleepily up at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  “I did, you’ve been asleep for over two hours.”

  Her eyes widen, and her mouth pops open. “I have? I’m sorry. I got all ready to watch Game of Thrones, and I must have dropped off.”

  “Pain pills, they do it every time.” I kiss the tip of her nose and slide my hand under the hem of the sweatshirt to her belly. “Nice outfit by the way.” I nod down at her ensemble.

  “Thanks, you like it? I thought it was the least seductive thing I could put on.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “Wrong? How could I possibly be appealing in these bulky things?”

  “I don’t know, but you are.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe so. By the way, how did you get my clothes from my closet when you are on strict bedrest?”

  She gives me an annoyed look and turns back onto her side facing away from me. “I’m sick of strict bedrest. It’s silly, and I feel fine. I don’t see the difference in getting up to pee and grabbing something from your closet.”

  She has a point, there isn’t much difference. “I have some news that might make you feel better about your bedrest sentence.”

  She whips around to face me, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “The doctor called and said I can get up?”