His One and Only Read online

  Now he shook his head, in denial of her grocery store request. “What if I need you while you’re out?”

  A shadow crossed her heart. By “need,” she knew he didn’t mean need her help. He still refused to accept that from her. In fact, she’d yet to see him walk any meaningful distance by himself, because he found a reason to send her out of the room whenever he wanted to go to the bathroom or take a shower.

  However, when she came back from whatever errand he’d sent her on, she’d see the evidence of his struggle in the messes he left behind: overturned furniture, drawers of clothing in complete disarray, a shower littered with cleaning products he’d accidently knocked over.

  And despite her attempts to stay cynical and detached from his situation, his helplessness worked at her heart. She wished he would let her help him, and hated that she had to stop herself from offering after he’d snapped, “No, Josie, I don’t want your help. That’s not what I’m paying you for, so stop fucking offering. ”

  Reminding her of their arrangement was his way of shutting down the conversation any time she tried to broach the topic of his blindness. Otherwise, he treated her more kindly than she ever would have expected. He complimented her food, kept her laughing with his NFL stories, and kept her coming more times than she would ever have imagined could be physically possible.

  Thinking about how he had thanked her for the nightie by dipping his head between her legs and licking and kissing her down there until she begged him to stop because the back-to-back orgasms were becoming too much, she crossed her legs and tried to focus on the grocery store issue.

  “Imagine these grits with shrimp and some green onions. Maybe bacon, too.”

  “God, you fight dirty, Josie Witherspoon.” He threw down his cloth napkin. “Go on then. I got to take a shower anyways and now I got a hankering for shrimp and grits I know won’t be going away until you break out Miss Loretta’s old recipe.”

  Josie took advantage of his blindness to pump her fist in triumph. At least she thought it was a triumph.

  But when she went to clear the dishes, Beau caught her by the arm. And one arm was all he needed to pull her into his lap. Soon his other hand was under her nightie and inside her womanhood, exploring her wet folds with rough curiosity. And her pussy, despite being a little sore still from last nights’ sexual Olympics, nonetheless rallied, the bud between her legs standing at attention.

  “Well, look at this,” he drawled in her ear. “Josie Witherspoon, were you sitting over there with no panties on, getting wet, thinking about what all we did last night?”

  Since that had been exactly what she’d been doing, her only answer to that was to blush.

  He was massaging her clit now. “You know, I was going to leave you alone this morning, but it seems to me you might have one more orgasm in you.”

  He still had on the sweatpants he wore as pajama bottoms, but she could feel his rod, so hard and heavy against the back of her pussy, he might as well have had it pulled out.

  Now his fingers were relentlessly plunging into her tunnel while the ball of his palm made circles over her clit with a steady rhythm.

  She bit her lip and cried out, the satin material of her nightie gliding over her body while his hand brought her to rough climax.

  Bubbles of pleasure rose through her kit kat and then exploded inside of her, turning Josie into a sack of liquid bones as she slumped forward on the table.

  “Now you can go to the grocery store,” he said from behind her. “And pick up some condoms so I can welcome you home good and proper.”

  Despite his promise to welcome her home, when she came in with the groceries, she found him in the kitchen fuming in front of the open refrigerator.

  Josie took in the overturned bowl of fruit on the counter and the several jars on the floor at Beau’s feet, and immediately figured out what was going on.

  “You looking for something?” She kept her voice casual and relaxed.

  “A Coke,” he answered, his jaw tight. “I haven’t had one in like a year, because I’m always in training.”

  By Coke, Josie knew he meant any soda. Like many southerners, Beau called all sodas Coke.

  Josie glanced at the two cans of Pepsi, which unlike the poor mayonnaise and pickle jars, sat unmolested in the very back of the fridge. “Here, I can get one for you.”

  “No, I don’t want you to get it for me. What did I say about you offering me help?”

  “Yeah, but seriously, it’s just a Coke. And it’s right there, if you just let me—”

  “Get out.”

  Josie blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me. It’s my house, my kitchen, and I’m paying you to do whatever I say. So get the fuck out.”

  Josie opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. From the rigid way Beau was holding the refrigerator door open, she could tell he wasn’t going to stop until he’d found his Coke. Without her help.

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott.” But this time it didn’t feel like the soft joke it had become between them over the past few days.

  She set the two bags of groceries down in the corner as far away from the refrigerator as she could and left through the large, hinged patio doors at the back of the house.

  “WHERE WERE YOU?” Beau asked when Josie came back into his bedroom a couple of hours later. “I tried using the intercom but you didn’t answer.”

  She glanced at the intercom, which he hadn’t used since he got here.

  “Did you need something?” she asked.

  “No, but…” He touched his Ray-Bans, looking a little uncomfortable. “Where were you?”

  “Well, first I was reading in the shed. Then I had to spend some time cleaning up the mess in the kitchen and putting away the groceries that didn’t spoil when you ordered me to get out.”

  She waited then, but true to form, Beau just stood there, clenching and unclenching his fist.

  Prescotts don’t apologize, she reminded herself.

  “What were you reading?” he asked.

  She folded her arms. “Nothing you’d know.”

  “Try me.”

  “It was this novel, the latest in a series by Clara Quinn—she’s a black sci-fi writer. It just came out and they had it at the library.”

  “The new Clara Quinn is out?”

  “You know Clara Quinn?”

  “What, you think you’re the only one around here who appreciates a well-written book? Half of being a quarterback is traveling to the next game on a plane or a bus, so yeah, I read a lot, just like you.”

  He turned away from her. “Or at least I used to.”

  She knew better than to offer to order the book for him on Audible, since that went against his order not to offer to help him. But… “Maybe I could read it out loud, and we could enjoy it together?” she asked. “It’s really good, and I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about a Clara Quinn book in years.”

  His lips thinned into a mean smile. “So Nerd Book Club isn’t happening anymore?”

  And she almost smiled herself, remembering how Beau used to call out, “Hey Josie, Nerd Book Club’s at the back door!” whenever Colin showed up at the service entrance with a stack of comic books under his arm.

  “No.” She told him like she told Mindy. “Colin and I fell out of touch.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “And your ex-husband didn’t read?”

  “Only for work,” she answered, thinking about how often Wayne had derided her for having her nose in a book when she should have been concerning herself with being a better wife and homemaker.

  “How about some fried chicken for lunch?” she said, deliberately changing the subject.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

  Lunch was a much less sexy affair than breakfast had been. Her back in her jeans and plaid shirt. Beau eating his food like it was part of a grim prison sentence.

  But when she went to clear the dishes, he grabbed her arm again. Only this time, instead of i
nitiating sex, he said, “Save those for later. Let’s crack open that Clara Quinn novel.”

  And just like that, the awkwardness between them lifted. “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott,” she said with a big smile.

  They spent the rest of the day in bed, Josie reading out loud, Beau initiating hot bouts of sex whenever she needed to rest her voice for a bit, and them both eating cold chicken in between.

  It felt very domestic, like they were taking a fun, naughty vacation from their real lives. Like they were a real couple. It was so pleasant that at times Josie almost forgot she’d been hired to do a job. Almost.

  CHAPTER 13

  BEAU WASN’T IN THE HABIT of buying sexual companionship. From what he could tell, just about every woman from A-list actresses to hot housewives loved a quarterback and he’d never needed to convince a woman to share his bed, much less pay her. He’d heard about “the girlfriend experience,” and quite frankly, had never understood the draw. Why pay a woman to pretend to be your girlfriend? He didn’t get it.

  Until now.

  He’d had wilder sex, slept with more experienced women, done kinkier things, but being with Josie was the most intimate thing that had ever happened to him.

  The way she touched him with awe and wonder, even though she’d been married before, made him feel like he was teaching her to take as much pleasure in him as he took in her. The way she said, “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott,” with a little laugh, like what they were doing was more fun than business.

  And it wasn’t just about the sex. It was about the way she stroked his hair while she read to him, the way she scooted back into him after they’d had sex, a silent reminder to wrap her in his arms just in case he forgot. The way she always turned the radio to his favorite rock station before she left to fix dinner, making sure he had some form of entertainment he could also turn off. It was also the way she seemed to read his mind when he had business to take care of, excusing herself from the bedroom after she went to use the bathroom, so he could use it, too.

  It was almost enough to make him forget he’d heard her once again proclaim her love to Sam after he turned off the shower last Saturday. It was almost enough to make him forget he was paying her to take care of his needs. All of his needs.

  Almost.

  Eventually it was Friday again, and Mac showed up, bursting the girlfriend-boyfriend fantasy bubble he’d kept Josie and himself in for the past six days.

  But Mac’s presence didn’t keep Beau from kissing her after breakfast. And kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her, until Mac cleared his throat.

  “If we don’t get going soon, we’re going to be late for your appointment.”

  He didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to leave the house for the first time since he’d arrive.

  “What are you planning to do while I’m gone?” he asked her, ignoring Mac.

  “Go to the grocery store,” she answered with a laugh. “We’re out of everything again.”

  “You’re not going anywhere else?” he asked, thinking of the boyfriend she hadn’t seen in over a week.

  “I’ll be back before you are,” she said. Then she stroked a hand over his hair. “Don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right, no matter what happens during the appointment.”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said. At least he wasn’t afraid of what she thought he was afraid of. He was determined to get his eyesight back and return to the man he used to be, but right now he was more afraid of losing Josie to this Sam before he could make that happen. He cupped a hand around the back of her neck. “I want you here when I get back. That’s not a request.”

  A pause. “Okay.” But her voice sounded a little hollow to him, the way it did whenever she was biting back what she really wanted to say.

  He kissed her again, reminded her of who had made her come too many times to count this week. He would have kept on kissing her, but Mac cleared his throat even louder this time.

  “Let me walk you to the car,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Mac can handle that.”

  When he got his sight back, he could finally woo Josie the way he wanted to woo her. Bring her out to L.A. and show her the life she could have with him if she just got rid of this Sam joker. Meanwhile, the less Josie saw of him being led around like an invalid the better.

  “But I want to.”

  “I’ll see you when I get back.” He let her out of his embrace. “Now get.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott,” she answered. But this time she sounded less like she was joking, and more like she was very reluctantly following his orders.

  He waited until he heard her go through the kitchen door, before he allowed Mac to lead him outside.

  “So you and Josie, huh?” Mac said after they were in the car.

  He liked the sound of that. “Yeah, me and Josie. You have anything to say about that?”

  “Nope, just fishing for some gossip.”

  He was fairly sure Mac was joking, but another dark cloud passed over his thoughts. What would the L.A. gossip rags say if they knew what was going on here? That he was paying a woman from his past an insane amount of money to sleep with him?

  “That fish ain’t going to bite,” he told Mac. “So you might as well turn on the radio.”

  The mood remained jovial in the car, but it soured soon after they arrived at UAB’s Callahan Eye Hospital.

  “Hunh…” Mac said after they were escorted into a room and told Dr. Grant, their neuro-ophthamology fellow, would be joining them very soon.

  “What?” Beau asked.

  “That nurse led us into an office. I would have thought we’d be doing this in an exam room.”

  So did Beau. In fact, instead of saying hello when the doctor came in a few minutes later, he asked, “Shouldn’t we be in an exam room?”

  “No need,” Dr. Grant answered. “I’ve looked over the charts your assistant Carol sent me, and I can already tell you’re a very promising candidate for the procedure we’re developing to treat cortical blindness with neural stem cell transplantation.”

  Beau grinned. “Exactly what I wanted to hear. When do we get started?”

  “Get started?” the doctor said.

  He sounded confused, which made Beau frown. “You told my assistant you wanted to meet with me?”

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “To talk about how our research might affect your case. As you may or may not know, the Prescott Trust continues to be one of UAB’s most generous donors. However, the money has traditionally been directed toward the School of Business, per your father’s will. I was hoping you might be interested in either diverting some of that ongoing allocation or donating to the Department of Ophthalmology yourself, since you might be able to benefit from the research we’re doing here… someday.”

  “When you say ‘someday,’ do you mean someday next month?” Beau asked.

  “More like someday in the next decade—I hope.” The doctor’s voice sounded very agitated now. “I’m sorry, Mr. Prescott, I didn’t purposefully mean to mislead you. But now I’m seeing something might have been lost in translation when I talked with your assistant about all of this.”

  Beau gritted his teeth together. “She said you said that you had fixed cases like mine before. Hundreds of them.”

  “Again I’m extremely sorry, Mr. Prescott. When she said you were interested in my research, I assumed she had read my papers in full, and I was so excited about possibly getting your financial support for the Department of Ophthalmology—but I should have given more of a mind toward managing your expectations.”

  Beau could barely comprehend what this guy was telling him. How the hell was he supposed to manage his expectations? He either got his sight back and returned to playing football, or his whole life was ruined.

  He held up a hand up to stop the doctor’s blathering. “Did you or did you not cure hundreds of cortical blindness cases like you claimed?”

  “Yes, I did,” the doctor said
, his voice laced with frustration. “In mice. Those cases I told your assistant about referred to the work we’ve done with mice. We’re still several years away from being able pursue human trials, and there are a few hoops to jump through before that—hoops that will require a lot of time and money, which is why I wanted to meet with you…”

  He kept talking, but Beau didn’t hear much beyond “in mice.”

  “Get me out of here,” he told Mac.

  “Mr. Prescott, I’m sorry to have disappointed you, but if you could just consider how much a large donation would benefit the work we’re doing here.”

  “Mac!” he bit out.

  Less than five minutes later he was back in the passenger side of Mac’s car.

  “Call Carol and tell her she’s fired,” he said as soon as he heard Mac get in on the passenger side.

  “Firing folks isn’t exactly in my job description,” Mac said. “I’m just supposed to be your home aide.”

  “Fire her and then I want you to find a doctor who can fix me.”

  “Man, I know you’re in your feelings right now. I would be, too. Maybe what we should do is call Josie. She’s the kind of girl you want by your side after you get news like this.”

  Beau gritted his teeth. Mac had no idea Josie had professed her love to another man twice within earshot and that she was only with him because he was paying her.

  “Mac, I’m going to say this once,” he said. “Don’t talk to me about Josie. You have no idea what kind of girl she is, so keep opinions about her to yourself. Either do what I tell you, or you can find another job, too.”

  “Sorry, man, I overstepped.” Mac started up the car. “I’ll ask around and do some research. See what I can find.”

  They drove the rest of the way home in silence.

  JOSIE WAS HOME when he arrived back at the house, just like she said she would be. He knew this because she showed up a few minutes after Mac left him alone in his bedroom. Right after he’d just laid himself down on his bed with the weight of the world crushing down on his chest.