Forbidden

  “I shouldn’t,” Leah said, but he only shook his head.

  “You’re staying in here, and that’s final. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  “I am,” Owen said shortly. He went to a high wooden chest of drawers across from the foot of the bed and began rummaging in the top drawer. “Here.” He tossed her a white T-shirt. “Wear that, and hang my bathrobe up to dry.”

  “I will,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t have used it, only the towel was too short, and I didn’t want to flash you.”

  He looked at her again—really looked at her, as he hardly ever did—and she saw that the strange, hungry expression was back in his eyes. His gaze fixed on her chest. “You mean the way you are now?”

  “What?” Leah looked down at herself and was startled to see the collar of the bathrobe sagging open. The inner curves of her breasts were on display. “Oh God, I’m so sorry!” She snatched the robe closed. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Of course you didn’t,” he said, his deep voice bitter. “Why would you come to my home in the middle of the night just to tempt me?”

  She frowned. “Tempt you? What are you talking about, Owen? I’m your sister. How—”

  “Never mind.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and rubbed hard, as though to rid himself of some unwanted vision. “I’m tired. I’m babbling. Look, get some sleep. I’ll be gone in the morning when you wake up, and you can let yourself out. Just be sure the door is locked.”

  “Sure, okay. Fine.” She was shaken by his words as well as the hunger she’d seen in his eyes. It almost reminded her of that one night and the strange vision she’d had after he—No, don’t think of that. Don’t. She pushed the painful memory away with difficulty and tried to smile. “Thanks again. I know I’m a pain in your ass.”

  Owen’s expression softened. “No, you’re not. Listen, I’m sorry, Leah. I know I’m a grouch. It’s—”

  “It’s what?” she urged when he stopped abruptly. This was the closest they’d come to talking in years. If he had something to say, she wanted to hear it.

  But Owen only shook his head. “It’s nothing I can talk about.” He sighed. “Go to bed, okay? You look beat.”

  In fact, she felt a lot worse than beat. Her head was throbbing, and she was hot and cold all over. But there was no way she was going to admit that, not to him. “Okay,” she said instead, nodding. “Night.”

  “Night…little sister.”

  She looked at him in wonder. “You haven’t called me that in years. Not since… Not for a long time,” she hastily corrected herself.

  “I know,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry about that.” Then he turned and left the room, leaving Leah to stare after him in uncertainty.

  She lay in the dark in the middle of the huge bed for what felt like ages, staring at the shadowy ceiling. Owen hated her, wanted to avoid her, was clearly sorry she’d moved here. Why? You know why. Stop avoiding it. It all goes back to that night. But could his dislike of her really be traced back to that one kiss?

  Leah turned on her side. I was so sad after that. So devastated. And then I had that weird…dream, vision. Whatever.

  She’d been lying in her bed just as she was now, having cried herself to the brink of exhaustion, when the dream had come. Only it couldn’t have been a dream, because she wasn’t asleep yet. In it, she’d seen a white palace made of pure, pristine marble, slender columns rising toward the sky. There was a door too. A set of double doors, actually, but they were immense—taller than the tallest building Leah had ever seen.

  But as beautiful and strange as the background was, what had drawn her into the dream was the sight of the two winged beings standing before the huge golden doors. Guarding it, she realized. The two were beautiful, with matching hair and eyes, much like hers and Owen’s. And they were entwined. Though their wings hid most of their bodies, Leah somehow knew they were making love.

  “The lock and the key,” a voice had whispered in her mind. “They belong to each other. Eternally joined. Eternally together. Ariel and Micah—Leah and Owen. Always and forever one…”

  Feeling strange, Leah blinked at the darkened ceiling. She hadn’t just been remembering the strange vision she’d had so many years ago—she had actually been reliving it. She tried desperately to hold on to it, but already the names and images were fading from her mind. She was left with nothing more than a feeling so strong, it was impossible to deny—the feeling that she had done the right thing in coming to seek Owen out. The feeling that they belonged together.

  How can that be? It doesn’t make sense.

  But it didn’t seem to matter if it made sense or not. The feeling persisted and followed her into sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning she felt horrible. She had a vague memory of Owen ghosting in at some ungodly early hour and taking some clothes from the closet, but it might have been a dream. The next time she woke up, pale, early morning light was shining through the drapes and turning the entire room a watery blue. What time was it? Owen expected her to be gone when he got home, and here she was, lying in his bed.

  She tried to get up and groaned. God, she felt terrible. Everything ached, and she was burning up—even her eyelids felt like they were on fire. After slumping back down onto the pillows, she turned her head to look at the red numerals on the digital alarm clock. Nine o’clock. That’s not so bad. Maybe I can just lie here a little while longer, until I feel better. I’ll get up in an hour or so.

  It got later and later, the sunlight slanting through the windows at a different angle, turning golden and then orange and then red. Finally the sun set, and Leah was in darkness again, but by then she was so ill, she didn’t even know it.

  She drifted in and out of dreams, always meaning to get up and never quite able to do it. Again she had the vision of the two feathered beings—one male and one female—standing at attention before a set of double doors made of pure, gleaming gold. Through the cracks in the door she saw light—a light so terrible and beautiful and brilliant, it seemed it would surely blind her if she looked at it too long. But she couldn’t look away.

  “Turn your face away, my love,” murmured a low, somehow familiar masculine voice. “Turn your face away and look at me.”

  “Look at me. Leah, can you hear me? Look at me!” The voice was more urgent now, and someone was shaking her shoulder. “Leah?”

  “Leah?” Owen shook her again, trying to get some response. At first he’d been annoyed when he had come home from a full day at the hospital and found her still asleep in his bed. But one look at her flushed cheeks and the rapid, shallow way she was breathing convinced him something was very wrong.

  He had no idea how high her fever was, but without even touching her, he could feel the heat baking off of her. Even more worrisome, her head lolled limply to one side when he shook her. Could she have caught something on the flight over here? Airplanes were notoriously bad places for the spread of viruses. Close quarters and an enclosed airspace were the perfect environments for spreading germs. And then she’d gotten soaked through last night, which probably didn’t help matters.

  Need to get her to the ER, he thought. But I have to get that fever down first. He hurried across the hall to the bathroom, where he started to run a cold bath in the deep, free-standing tub. Then he ran back and gathered Leah in his arms. She was still wearing only the thin white T-shirt he’d given her to sleep in, and she’d sweat through it until it was practically transparent, but he didn’t care about that now. Now his only concern was saving her, getting her temperature down to a manageable level before she fried her brain. If she hasn’t already.

  He took her into the bathroom and laid her carefully down inside the porcelain tub. The water was only a few inches deep, but she still shivered uncontrollably as her heated skin touched it. She was so hot, Owen almost expected to see steam rising from the tub. The bath had one good effect at l
east—it finally brought her around.

  “Wha…?” She opened her eyes a crack, and she stared up at him in obvious confusion.

  “Leah?” He looked at her anxiously. “How are you? Do you know where you are?”

  “O-Owen?” She shook her head and began to shiver more violently. “What? Why am I in the tub? What h-happened?”

  “You’re sick. Very sick.” He frowned. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  She shrugged, and the shrug turned into another violent shiver. “D-didn’t feel l-like g-getting up. B-besides, you n-never answer anyway.”

  Owen felt a stab of guilt. She was right. Even if she had called, would he have answered his phone? Probably not. He would have put her off, pushed her away like he always did. And all because he couldn’t control himself around her.

  “Did you at least drink anything today?” he asked. He couldn’t let the guilt consume him, or he wasn’t going to be able to treat her effectively.

  Weakly, she shook her head. “C-couldn’t get out of b-bed,” she admitted. “T-too weak.”

  “Then you’re severely dehydrated too. Hang on.” He turned, grabbed the drinking glass he kept on the side of the sink, and filled it at the faucet. Then, supporting her head carefully, he held the glass to her lips. “Here,” he said roughly. “Tampa city water isn’t the best, but it’ll have to do for now. Drink.”

  She tried, but her teeth chattered against the rim of the glass. Still, Owen managed to get some of the water in her, which made him feel better. A high fever and severe dehydration were a killer combination—literally. If he could get her fever down and force enough liquids into her, she would be all right.

  “Relax,” he told her, taking the glass away. “Just relax and let the water cool you down.”

  “C-cold enough already,” she protested. “F-f-freezing!”

  “I know it feels like that, but you’re dangerously hot. You must have caught something on the plane yesterday and then getting soaked in the rain made it worse. As soon as I get you stable, you’re going straight to the ER.”

  Leah’s eyes widened. “N-no. Please, Owen! I d-don’t want to g-go. Not t-to the hospital.”

  “Why…? Oh. The time your appendix burst,” he said, remembering. Leah had only been ten at the time, and Owen had been away at a summer camp, but he vividly remembered the sick, frightened feeling that had swept over him for no reason. They had been closer then—much closer—and he’d sworn he could feel her pain and fear even though she was miles away. His mother had told him later that Leah had nearly died, and only the skill of the surgeon on duty had saved her. It was one of the things that had cemented his wish to be not only a doctor, but a surgeon.

  But the experience had scarred Leah permanently. She was so frightened of hospitals, she had refused to ever go near one again. Luckily she was usually quite healthy. But now…

  “Not the hospital,” she begged again, her eyes wide with fear. “D-don’t need to go, anyway.”

  “Yes, you do,” he insisted. “Look, Leah, I know you’re frightened, but I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise.”

  “Don’t need to,” she insisted stubbornly. “J-just…just t-touch me.”

  “What?” He looked at her uncertainly.

  “Touch me,” she said with painful clarity, obviously going out of her way to enunciate each word. “L-like when we were kids. When I hurt m-myself. Y-you always—”

  “Oh. Right.” Of course—his healing touch—the gift he never acknowledged out loud but always knew was there, waiting to be used. It didn’t always work, but for something like this—a fever and chills—it would be effective. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Because for so long you’ve been too damn busy trying not to touch her. Well, he was pretty sure he could manage not to molest her now. Even soaking wet and half naked in the bathtub, Leah was sick and scared. At the moment she provoked all his protective instincts, but none of his unnatural urges. I can touch her. I can help her without hurting her, this time at least.

  The realization was like a light going off inside his head. Leah didn’t always have to be off-limits. He could still touch her, still comfort and heal her. And that was all he wanted to do. Just wrap her in his—wings?—arms and hold her until she was well again.

  “All right,” he said. He reached down and cupped her face. Caressing her hot cheek, he stroked down her slender throat. He never consciously thought about healing someone when he touched them. It just seemed like a natural thing. But this time, he did. He concentrated fiercely, imagining the fever like a fire inside her that he had to put out.

  After several minutes, he assessed her again. Touching her cheek was helping, but not as much as he had hoped. He could still feel the fever inside her—like banked flames ready to roar back to life the moment they had the chance. And then there was the underlying source of the fever—whatever bug or virus she’d caught on the plane. It was still there, gaining ground.

  More. She needs more. Skin-to-skin contact. Yes, that sounded right. But he didn’t want to scare her or give her the wrong idea.

  “Leah,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “Some,” she admitted. “I th-think it’s helping.”

  “But not enough.”

  “Please!” Her eyes widened. “Not—”

  “I’m not going to take you to the hospital,” he said, trying to silence her fears. “Not if I can get you stabilized. But in order to do that, I need to touch you more. I need…” He coughed, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I need to have more contact with you. Would that bother you?”

  She looked at him in wonder. “Of c-course not, Owen. Wh-why would you even ask?”

  Because I’ve spent the past ten years wanting to touch you and stopping myself from doing it. But he didn’t speak his guilt out loud. Instead he stripped off his green scrub shirt, baring his chest, and then helped her sit up.

  Leah shivered frantically as the cool air hit her already wet and cold body. The sodden T-shirt clung to her like ice. “P-please, Owen,” she begged softly, her teeth chattering. “N-need to get out. D-dry off.”

  “Okay. This will be easier if you’re out of the tub anyway.” He started to wrap a towel around her, but she plucked helplessly at the wet T-shirt and looked up at him hopefully.

  “Please…?”

  Owen hesitated. Did he dare to let her be completely naked while he held her? Could he trust himself? She’s hurt, in pain. I’m healing her, and nothing else. Taking a deep breath, he nodded and helped drag the cold, soggy material up over her head. He dropped it with a wet plop on the floor and helped Leah stand and get out of the tub. Then he toweled her off briskly, trying to warm her up a little.

  Her pale skin was covered in goose bumps, and her hair hung lank and dripping down her back. Owen tended to it, trying to squeeze as much water out of it as he could. Then, deciding she was too weak to walk, he lifted her and carried her across the hall to the bedroom.

  He sat her gently on a big, overstuffed chair in the corner of his bedroom. She was still wrapped in just the towel, but her shivering was a little better. “Okay for a minute?” he asked. When she nodded, he went to the closet and pulled out a spare set of sheets. He didn’t know why it was important to him, but if he was going to do this—to hold her and try to heal her in such an intimate way—he wanted everything to be fresh and clean and perfect.

  After stripping away the dirty linen, he rapidly remade the bed and then turned back to Leah. She was slumped in the chair, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow. Not good. It looked like the fever was trying to make a comeback.

  Quickly he scooped her up in his arms, eliciting a tiny moan of protest from her, and laid her on the bed. The towel came off easily enough, and then she was bare—completely naked in the middle of his bed.

  Owen didn’t allow himself any time to study her. He wasn’t there to admire the tight pink peaks of her nipples or the curls that topped the curve of her
sex like a mound of gold. He was going to heal her; that was all. And my pants are staying on. Yes, he thought, glancing down at his plain green scrub pants. That made sense. But he did toe off his shoes before climbing into bed with her.

  Owen closed his eyes and let his instinct and his silent gift guide him. Gathering her close, he pressed his chest against hers, trying not to notice as her soft breasts rubbed against his bare skin. Then he concentrated, imagining the virus that was wreaking havoc in her body. It was a bug, a parasite, and he was going to stamp it out, eradicate it completely so it could never hurt her again.

  He was concentrating so fiercely that he barely noticed when Leah stirred against him. At first she just lay there, but then, moving slowly, she put her arms around his neck and leaned her cheek on his shoulder. She said something then, too soft for him to catch. But a moment later, she repeated it, and Owen realized it was his name.

  “Yes?” He opened his eyes and looked down at her. Her cheek was pillowed on his shoulder, as though she was too weak to lift her head. He felt another surge of protectiveness when he saw the dark circles, like bruises, under her vivid blue eyes.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Know you don’t…don’t like to touch me.”

  “Leah,” he murmured, running his hands soothingly up and down her back. “Oh, Leah, that’s not it.”

  “What, then?” she murmured. “Was it that time when we were kids that we…? Because that’s over, Owen. Ancient…ancient history. It can’t be that, can it?”

  Ancient history? Oh, Leah, if only you knew. It’s not over. Not for me.

  But he could never tell her that. If she knew the real reason he was reluctant to touch her, it would make her hate him. And though he had been pushing her away for the past ten years, he couldn’t bear the thought of that—the thought of her knowing his dirty secret, the source of his shame and pain. The way she would look at him, the disgust in her eyes when she learned what he wanted from her. How he really felt… No, he couldn’t risk it—ever.