Part 4 (1/2)

As I try to catch my breath and calm my pounding heart, Jonathan sits back onto his knees on the chaise and unfastens his slacks. He pushes his slacks down and rolls on a condom. I watch him surrept.i.tiously, because I don't want to give away how curious I am about how this will go.

When he finishes, he looks at the chaise and then looks towards the French doors that open to our room. ”Why don't we move inside?”

I nod.

He pushes himself back and steps off the chaise, but loses his balance. His pants pushed halfway down hinder his movements, and he twists and falls sideways.

As if in slow motion, our legs tangle and I reach for him, but he slips out of my grasp and crashes to the ground, landing on his side.

I twist toward him. ”Oh no, Jonathan! Are you okay?” I sigh in relief that he didn't fall far before hitting the ground. My next inclination is to laugh, because he looks so comical twisted in a ridiculous pose with his pants bunched around his knees and his raging hard-on angling toward me like a heat-seeking missile.

His expression and the fear in his eyes instantly sober me, and I quickly slide off the chaise to his side. He's panting and moaning, but not in a good way.

”What is it, Jonathan? Are you okay?”

”My back, I think I've thrown my back out,” he growls between gritted teeth.

”Oh no,” I say with a groan. My dad had a bad back and he threw it out at least once a year, and when he did, he was completely incapacitated.

”Has this happened before?”

He nods, still gritting his teeth. His eyes are tightly shut. Not a good sign.

I run my fingers through his hair. ”What can I do? Can I help you up?”

He tries to lift up on his elbow, but the strain is too much. Things are looking worse by the second.

”Look, I'm going to call for help, okay? I'll be back in a minute.”

”No, wait!” he barks, as his gaze lowers to his crotch.

”Oh yeah, here let me help you.” I awkwardly s.h.i.+mmy his pants up, and with a lot of effort, I finally get them over his hips. I remove the condom, tuck in his now semi-flaccid c.o.c.k and fasten his pants.

”Okay, I'm going to get help now, okay?”

He looks up and nods once. There's so much anger and frustration in his face, and I feel horrible. What a nightmare to lose all mobility and be racked with pain when you were only moments away from supreme pleasure.

I call the front desk from inside and quickly explain that my ”friend” has fallen on the patio outside our suite, and I need a doctor and a couple of men to help me lift him immediately. The front desk manager a.s.sures me that two bellmen will be there in a few minutes, and he's phoning the doctor they have on call for the hotel guests as we speak.

I suspect their super efficiency may have something to do with a fear of litigation. The phrase falling on their property is fearsome to anyone in hotel management. Of course, far be it from me to explain the only reason he fell was because he was trying to screw his date on furniture clearly not designed for such shenanigans.

When the fresh-faced college boys in their pressed Biltmore uniforms show up, we decide to move Jonathan to the bed. We hurry to the patio, and when they attempt to lift him, I notice that the cute bellman is standing on my forgotten panties. As soon as he moves, I quickly reach down, scoop them up, and deposit them in my purse.

Not that I can blame him, but Jonathan's cursing a lot and not being a very pleasant patient. I, at least, had an exquisite o.r.g.a.s.m before he took a nosedive. He, on the other hand, got short-changed on this deal. The doctor soon arrives and gives Jonathan some muscle relaxants and painkillers to hold him over until he can see his regular doctor.

When everyone's left, I sit down on the chair near the bedroom fireplace and face him. He's still and stares straight at the ceiling.

”Can I get you anything?”

”No.”

”I'm so sorry about your back. I wish I could do something.”

Silence.

”I need to get home,” he finally says.

”Are you sure you can handle the car ride? I'm happy to take care of you here.”

”I don't want that. This is humiliating enough without you having to take care of me.”

”Well, I don't see it that way. It's not your fault your back went out.”

He doesn't respond, just narrows his eyes and presses his lips together.

”Are you mad at me? If my legs hadn't been in the way, you probably wouldn't have fallen.”

He tries to smile through his grimace and then extends his arm. I walk over and take his hand.

”No, I'm not mad at you, Ava, just the situation. I just can't believe this happened and screwed up our weekend. Can I take a rain check?”

”Of course.”

”I really need to get to my acupuncturist and start physical therapy immediately, because I have a very important meeting in New York on Friday that I can't miss. The sooner I start treatment, the sooner I'll be up and about.”

When the pills kick in, I call the front desk and they bring a wheelchair to the suite to help load Jonathan into his car. I sit for a moment, familiarizing myself with the dashboard before pulling out of the driveway.

That's the shortest hotel stay I've ever had, I think, hitting the gas. I tune the radio to a cla.s.sical music station to drown out the heavy silence in the car. Jonathan has his eyes closed, but with his features scrunched up, he looks like he's just trying to deal with the pain.

As the minutes pa.s.s, I wonder what this experience means for us. Something has s.h.i.+fted, and I'm not sure what.

I consider the possibility that Jonathan's been a flirty fantasy. It may seem selfish or shallow, but after being the focus of his powerful alpha presence, watching him crumble inserts reality into the equation. Perhaps fate has presented me the simple answer to my uncertainty about getting involved with Jonathan.

Because, no matter what, every relations.h.i.+p is a package deal. You have to take the pretension and bad back with adoring Jonathan, and the mercurial temperament with brilliant Max. If there isn't a solid foundation for a relations.h.i.+p, like a steel armature reinforcing the core of a sculpture, the thing will crumble the first time a hard wind blows.

Chapter Four / The Bright Light.

I had reservations about making art a business, but I got over it.

~ Mary Boone, Gallery Owner and Collector I am p.i.s.sed and it's no wonder why. My magical Santa Barbara weekend was a comedy of errors that culminated in my injured date dropping me off on the curb in front of my apartment. What the h.e.l.l? I should've, at the very least, been able to drive him home, but he became belligerent at the idea of my trying to take care of him. I know he's short-tempered because of the pain...but really?

As I stand and watch, he hobbles around to the driver side, painfully lowers himself inside the car, and guns off toward Sunset Boulevard.

I climb the stairs very slowly. My heavy carry-on bag feels as if it's full of rocks and hangs low on my shoulder. It's still a bit early to surrender the evening and go to bed, so I decide a nap is on the top of my agenda as I open my front door.

The first thing I see is Riley perched on the edge of the dining room table naked, her legs wrapped around Dylan's waist while she's splayed on the table like a scrumptious party platter. She arches her back in such a way that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are within Dylan's reach, proving that her years of Pilates have paid off. Even from a distance, his lips teasing her breast are pretty d.a.m.n erotic. I try not to notice what a great a.s.s he has, but it's pretty hard to miss, considering how it moves with each thrust.