Lying In Bed Read Online Free Page B

him. After gently rinsing out the cut and looking at it closely for a long time to check there was no glass in it, he poured peroxide over it. It stung and I winced, involuntarily jerking my hand away but he’d anticipated that and held on.
    “I know. Hurts like hell doesn’t it? It’ll stop in a minute.”
    He was right. By the time he’d finished dressing the wound, the sting was gone
    Done, he gently ran his finger around the edge of the Band-Aid to make sure it had adhered.
    “Cut still throbbing?”
    “A little.”
    “But it’s not stinging anymore is it?”
    “No.”
    We were still standing in the small white-tiled room, by the sink. I put the first aid kit away and he followed me out into the hall.
    “You were right.” I said.
    “I never mind being right.” He grinned - and the corner of his mouth titled upwards again. “But right about what?”
    “It would have been hard for me to do that with my left hand. Now, how can I help you? Can I find something for you? Obviously you didn’t come into the store to play doctor.” I cringed at the double entendre, surprised that I even noticed it. Hoping he hadn’t. “But thank you.”
    He nodded.
    “So… what can I help you with?” I asked.
    “Marlowe Wyatt, is she here?”
    He wasn’t joking.
    “I’m Marlowe.”
    A frown creased his forehead and I felt as if I’d been dropped from a high distance and was in a free fall.
    It occurred to me to ask him why he was disappointed that
I
was the person he’d came to see. But I didn’t. Partly because his face had relaxed so quickly that I was no longer sure I’d read his expression correctly.
    “Marlowe,” he repeated my name as if he was getting used to it. “I called earlier. Someone named Grace told me that you’d be here and I didn’t need an appointment.”
    “No, you don’t. Except for the eight weeks before Valentine’s day.”
    “Yeah, I read about you and Valentine’s Day gifts a few months ago. That’s why I’m here.”
    Since the article had run I’d been incredibly busy. Sending lovers, husbands or wives sexy letters or stories had become a popular gift. I’d gotten more than thirty clients. Including the woman who’d shot the photos for the article, Vivienne Chancy. First she’d taken me up on my free offer and then hired me to write three more letters for her. She was on the road, working on a travel book and was trying to keep a new relationship going while she was gone. The long distance, she said, wasn’t working in her favor.
    I’d been surprised she’d needed to try so hard. She was a talented, successful woman, not someone who I imagined needed the help of erotic letters to attract anyone.
    When I told Grace what I thought, she said her soul swam in shallow water and it would stop her from succeeding at the kind of relationship she craved.
    How did she know? I asked.
    Grace had winked - code for the spirits, the stars, and magic.
    “Grace told me someone had called. Mr. Brown, I think she said. Is that you?”
    “Gideon,” he said as he extended his hand and then withdrew it. “Forgot about your hand.”
    “Thanks again. For helping me. For walking in when you did.”
    I opened the door to my office and he followed me inside.
    “So,” I said. “How can I help you?”

5.
    “How many of these have you written?” he asked me after I’d handed him the heavy scrapbook of my samples. On the front, in hand-tooled gold letters read: Lady Chatterley’s Letters.
    “I don’t know. Maybe a few dozen originals… a hundred personalized from pre-existing stories.”
    Examining the cover, Gideon ran his long fingers over the letters, tracing their outlines. I responded as if he were drawing them on my bare skin. The L slid down my spine, turned and then swaggered halfway across my waist. The C curved in a smooth semi- circle under my breast.
    When he stroked the smooth leather cover, I felt his hand glide between my thighs.
    “You aren’t sure?”
    “I never