Between Want and Need Ch. 01

He seemed a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm of her welcome. "I- I just came by to see if you were doing okay, Cheyanne."

"And then what? Leave?! I can't allow you to do that, you're my hero!"

"Hero," Jerome scoffed, looking both amused and skeptical of the designation.

"You bet," the nurse chimed in as she walked past him to check on Cheyanne's head bandage. "You covered her with your jacket before the paramedics showed up, right?"

He nodded at her. "Right."

"Nice touch. She might have gone into shock if you hadn't." The woman sent him an oblique, enjoy-your-moment smile.

"See? I told you," Cheyanne said, her eyes sparkling. "Now come here and get your reward or I'll jump out of this bed to where you are!"

Jerome laughed and walked to her at last. "Alright, alright, no jumping. I'm here." He accepted the glass of passionfruit juice from her.

"Thanks."

"That's the best I can do," Cheyanne dismissed then gave him a cheeky grin. "For now, that is."

"Okay, I hate to have to tell you this but visiting hours are over in five minutes," the nurse informed them as she headed to the door. Then she turned around and smiled at Jerome. "But since you're the first person to visit that she recognizes, I'll give you another five minutes."

"That is so cool. Thank you," Cheyanne answered for him. The nurse smilingly lifted a shoulder and walked out of the room.

"Where'd you go, Jerome? I woke up yesterday and they told me you'd gone."

Jerome shrugged. "I saw your family arrive and figured you were in good hands."

"You'd be surprised," Cheyanne replied, her voice dull. "I woke up to a mob of people staring at me and I didn't know a single one of them."

"Not one?"

She shook her head. "They spent all afternoon keeping me company. I felt so bad I couldn't remember. I found myself wishing it was you spending the afternoon with me." Her smile brightened her face. "And here you are."

The welcoming light in her eyes left him off balance. His voice gruff, he began, "Yeah, well, I can't stay too long-"

"You can't leave when the nurse gave you extra time. Plus, I haven't even told you the most interesting part - I think the doctor was coming on to me. I may still have some amnesia but I'm pretty sure I've never had to sit naked to the waist for a doctor to listen to my heartbeat!"

Jerome gave her a laughing look. "Aren't we reaching here just a little?"

"That's exactly what I said!" Her indignant expression melted away and she burst out laughing.

"But the good news is, my memory's starting to come back. I remember I live in Brooklyn, I have a cat named Yorrick, and I work as an occupational therapist! I remember my patients, my neighbors and my colleagues!" She gave him an excited smile. "That's great, right?"

"It is," Jerome agreed, nodding. "Looks like you'll be back to normal in no time."

"Yeah, well, I'm still glad you came back, Jerome." Her expression grew a bit more serious. "You know, your face was the only one I knew for a while. I kept referring to it in my mind, over and over, so I wouldn't forget you too. I felt like if I knew your name and your face, then at least my brain wasn't broken beyond repair."

Jerome set his juice on the overbed table and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "There is nothing wrong with your brain," he told her firmly.

"I know," Cheyanne whispered. "I know, but at some point I thought that... you'll think I'm so silly, but I thought that you might be an angel."

He raised his eyebrows and she smiled again. "Oh, come on. Don't act like you haven't had your eyes described that way before."

"I haven't, actually. You're the first," Jerome murmured. He leaned his forehead against hers and smiled back. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Cheyanne placed a small hand on the front of his shirt but when Jerome didn't move, she realized that she was waiting for him to kiss her. That she wanted him to kiss her.

Her hand slid up round the nape of his neck and pulled ever so slightly. He bent. Closing her eyes, she tilted up her face and kissed him.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sweetness of the kiss. It was so perfect, she was afraid he would break it off if she moved. But she found she could kiss him again, then again, thrice more. His lips molded to hers and returned her kisses, to her gratification.

Cheyanne ran her tongue along his bottom lip, inviting his own tongue to join the party. Jerome did not hesitate to part his lips for her and soon she was moaning in deep pleasure as he took over the kiss. She wound her arms around his neck and increased the pressure of his lips on hers.

They drew back at the same moment, both rather short of breath, and stared into each other's eyes. Cheyanne searched for an encouraging sign in his face but his expression was arrested. Like he thought what he was doing was wrong.

"It's okay, Jerome," she whispered. At the same time, her hand caught his and pulled it up to cover her breast. "It's alright."

She liked him kissing her, welcomed his touch. It felt so right, so natural.

With an indistinct whisper, Jerome let her pull him down for another kiss. He tried to tell himself he was just comforting her. That anyone seeing them would understand.

All the same, it felt too much like he was taking advantage of her. He hastily moved back, ending their kiss.

"We gotta stop now, Cheyanne," he rasped.

"Why?"

He ignored her hand over his giving her breast a squeeze. "You know we can't do this."

"I don't see a ring on my finger," Cheyanne pointed out.

Jerome pulled back a little to see her face. "And did it cross your mind to check for a ring on my finger?"

She smiled and lifted a coy shoulder. A soft laugh left him as he shook his head. "I'm no angel - but I think we've established who the devil is here."

"Guilty," she giggled. Her lips brushed over his in soft encouragement. "But I still think you can take me to heaven-"

"No."

Jerome pulled his reluctant hand away and regarded her with a serious look. "You're hurt, sweet pea, you need your rest."

His fingers brushed the bandage at her temple. "How's your injury?" he asked, his voice as soft as his touch.

Cheyanne shrugged and eased her head sideways, letting him look. "Better. Apparently, I cut myself on some glass or something, it was a pretty nasty gash. I had to get some stitches and they thought I might need a transfusion at some point. Even took some of my blood to check the type."

Jerome was now frowning as his gaze met hers again. "I'm O negative, universal donor," he informed her gravely. "I can donate."

She gave him a melting smile and palmed his smooth cheek. "And I just got a visit from all seven of my siblings," she reminded him.

"Oh." Jerome gave a rueful grimace and nodded. "Right, right."

"It's alright," she whispered, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. "You make me absent-minded, too, Jerome."

Their noses were touching again. After a second's hesitation, he closed the narrow distance and kissed her again.

The blood raced in her veins. This man was going to drive her crazy. He must know what he was doing to her; certainly, she knew she was too overwhelmed to hide her reaction from him.

Jerome broke off the kiss with a breathless apology, then took a second to get his bearings.

"I should get going now," he whispered.

"When can I see you again?" Cheyanne queried, searching his shut-in expression.

He sighed and shook his head. "I... Look, Cheyanne-"

"Chey," she corrected huskily.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment before the quiet slide of the door announced the nurse's return.

"You're gonna have to wrap it up now," she said with a kindly smile.

"Okay," Cheyanne said, in such wistful tones that the nurse chuckled.

"There's always tomorrow," the older woman pointed out.

Jerome cleared his throat before he spoke. "Yeah, I don't think I can make it."

Cheyanne turned to him with an anxious look and he gave her a difficult smile. "I'm sorry," he said, the strain evident in his voice.

"You'll be even sorrier when you go home and think about what kind of condition you left me in," she pouted. She knew she was guilting him, but she couldn't stop herself. She just wanted to know that he'd be back.

"I know everything you've been through, sweet pea," Jerome pleaded, but she cut him short.

"Not everything!" Cheyanne sent the nurse a pointed glance. "Tell him!"

She waited for her to give him a detailed rundown of the procedures she'd been bombarded with since she'd been admitted. With luck, the nurse would add the odd tiny but alarming embellishment here and there.

"My pleasure," the nurse agreed with a laugh. With a look of feigned sympathy towards the sole, cornered male, she drawled, "Congratulations, hun. Y'all are pregnant."

* * *

Jerome lay awake in his bed, unable for an hour now to get to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt Cheyanne's soft lips beneath his own. He could still hear her gasps of pleasure, and those impatient little sounds were just as bad for his self-control now as they had been yesterday. When he'd almost climbed into an amnesiac's bed and exploited her gratitude to the fullest.

Christ, had he really been all over her like that? Yeah, but she'd been all over him, too. It wasn't exactly an excuse. Jerome couldn't remember the last time a woman had come on to him so strong. He'd always enjoyed the chase, but Cheyanne was a small predator in her own right, gentle but wholly effective.

She had turned up the heat from the second he'd walked into the room. Her every look, every smile, every touch had screamed out her interest in him.

She had shown no trepidation regarding the dramatic difference in their sizes; while he was of average height, Cheyanne was a doll at just under five feet. Oh no, she wasn't about to let that, or other more dramatic differences between them, slow her down.

A corner of Jerome's mouth jerked upward. It was kind of nice to have a female lose it like that. Maybe he should stop feeling guilty and start wondering how in the hell he'd escaped her feminine clutches at all.

His fingers twitched as he recalled how her braless breast had felt through her thin hospital gown. It had taken her less than ten minutes to get him to that point. Just what would that little bitty thing have accomplished if he'd arrived an hour earlier? A subtle tide of heat swept his body at the possibilities.

Moving that overbed table out of the way would be no trouble at all... And there was that curtain that went all the way round her bed, so...

No, no, no! Jerome firmly took control of his thoughts. The lady was pregnant. From the shocked look on her face, he could tell she'd forgotten about that too. And the father, he imagined. She'd thought she was available.

So he could totally have nailed her with no condom.

Alright, so Cheyanne had clearly gotten to him. She was damn good and he was only human. There was nothing wrong with reacting to her like the attractive woman she was. So she was someone else's woman - neither of them had known.

And all she'd had done was call him her hero, compliment his eyes, shower him with her gratitude. It was his own damn responsibility if that's all it took to make him putty in her hands.

The truth was, being treated like some kind of superhero had messed with his head. And after Cheyanne posturing herself the breathless, starry-eyed damsel - or more exactly, groupie! - he feared it would be a while before his head returned to normal size.

The sleepless hours stretched out before him. His lonesome mind turned the memory of Cheyanne into a full-blown fantasy, in which she seduces him thoroughly after he arrives at the start of visiting hours.

Jerome shook his head clear of the provocative image and made a resolution there and then: he would not go back to see Cheyanne. After the hospital discharged her, their paths would never cross again. He was back on the straight and narrow, and there he would stay. And if he happened to misbehave in the occasional dream or fantasy, well, at least no one would get hurt.

* * *

Cheyanne couldn't figure out what it was: while visits from friends and neighbors could move her to tears, visits from her family left her cold. Not hostile or antagonistic or anything like that. Just unresponsive.

They were faithful in coming every day, a pair or trio showing up with a stuffed animal or flowers. But the conversation was conventional, shallow, tepid. Cheyanne began to get the idea that her relatives did not know her very much more than she knew them.

It appeared she had bonded with her unborn child more successfully than with them. The minute the nurse had revealed her pregnancy, she'd remembered every step of her long, painstaking journey to the right man. It had taken a lot of time, research and dedication but eventually she had found Mr. Right.

More specifically, she had found Mr. Right's sperm and got herself fertilized with it. It had felt like the right move, given her age and career stability. It still felt like the right choice.

Being an occupational therapist had exposed her to a world in which children met with serious obstacles. She oversaw the education of dozens of young ones who suffered from one learning disability or another and if they could succeed in obtaining what they needed, why couldn't she?

Cheyanne had always planned on being a young mother. Yet her twenty-seventh birthday loomed ever closer without a single peal of wedding bells to be heard. So she had taken the initiative, started her family regardless of her dismal love life.

A tender smile touched her lips as her hand palmed her still-flat belly. They'd be alright. She had no doubt she'd have all the love and energy necessary for single parenting. As a matter of fact, a steady relationship with a man would just get in her way. She couldn't possibly make time for one in between prenatal clinic, work and the parenting classes she intended to attend.

Cheyanne felt her breast tingle as the memory of Jerome's hand upon it bloomed in her mind. Okay, so maybe she still had an appetite for a man, if not the time. That was natural. But did he feel the same way about her?

She sipped her herbal tea and curled up even tighter on the couch. She was forced to concede that he very well might not want to entangle himself in her affairs. And after he'd had a gun pulled on him because of her, she couldn't blame him.

Besides, now that she was expecting, she was hardly an irresistible catch.

Cheyanne just wished there was a way to repay him for his troubles. But she didn't know where he lived, where he worked, where he might be found. Jerome had left her life as abruptly as he'd entered it. She may as well rest up and prepare for her return to work next week.

Her soft sigh was interrupted by the tinkling of her phone. Setting her tea on the low coffee table, she picked up the cellphone beside it.

"I'm not going anywhere, Annie."

Cheyanne frowned at the text for a long time, the words rousing distant echoes in her mind. There was that name that she hated for some reason. But who called her Annie? And why did she feel so negatively about it? What could fill her with such aversion and dread?

She jumped when the phone in her hand started to ring. But she saw her best friend's name on the caller ID and groaned. What a wuss, getting twitchy over nothing.

"Hey Trish," Cheyanne greeted, striving for a bright tone."How's it going?"

"A little hairy, but I think I've almost mastered this poverty thing."

"Oh, sweetie," Cheyanne commiserated. "Look, why don't I just wire you some-"

"No!" Trish barked, sounding mortified. "No, I did not call to borrow money and please God, don't associate my calls with that. Ever! This is about Dad."

Oh boy. Cheyanne sat up as she asked carefully, "How is he?"

"He's back in the ICU." Trish's voice was suspiciously quiet.

"I'm sure it won't be for very long this time," Cheyanne encouraged after a beat. "Didn't they say he's in remission? They'll have him back in the general ward in no time."

"He's in a coma, Chey," her best friend whispered, tears lending a tremor to her words.

"Honey, I'm so sorry. You wanna go see him?"

"No... I know you just came out of a hospital, I'm not trying to drag you back inside one. But I do need to fetch some of his stuff from the old shop..."

Trish gave a wandering explanation that seemed to go round in circles until Cheyanne jumped in. "Do you want me to take you?"

"Chey, you're supposed to be resting. I shouldn't be bothering you."

"It's just picking up some stuff, Trish. No biggie."

"But you're pregnant-"

"I don't see extra pounds stopping you." Cheyanne laughed at the indignant sputtering at the other end. "Just sit tight. I'll be at your place in twenty."

At their destination, Cheyanne opened her car door and gingerly stepped out into some smashed glass. She swung the door shut and glanced round their surroundings. "So," she mused, for lack of something better to say. "The Bronx, huh?"

Trish glanced at her over the roof of the car and arched a challenging eyebrow. "Something wrong, Dale?"

Cheyanne's eyes widened in innocent query."Wrong? Why do you ask, Patricia?"

"Oh Trish, hey." A familiar voice drifted out of the body shop Cheyanne had parked in front of. Cheyanne looked towards the speaker just as Jerome Carver came out into the sunlight to shake Trish's hand.

"I didn't recognize the car," he said with an easy smile.

"I had to sell mine," Trish grimaced. "This is my best friend's, she drove me. Cheyanne, this is the man who bought my dad's shop, Jerome."

Cheyanne gaped as he walked over to her. "Afternoon, miss," Jerome said pleasantly, proffering his hand.

She clasped it, still staring before she blurted out, "Pleasure!"

He turned to Trish, leaving her to gawk at the perspiration-dewed mahogany skin revealed by his wife-beater. In the sweltering heat, that and a pair of jeans was all he wore.

"I put all your stuff in the corner, so it's just a matter of carrying it to the car," Jerome said. "Right here, let me show you."

Cheyanne tagged along after them. "Um, what can I do to help?" she queried. Trish turned around, aghast to find her following them into the shop.

"What do you think you're doing?" she shrieked. "Get back in the car. You're wearing heels for Pete's sake!"

"So are you!"

"Um, wedges," Trish corrected, as though that didn't make them four inches high.

"Here," Jerome said, swinging a white plastic chair in front of her. "Just have a seat, we've got this."

Cheyanne crossed her arms in front of her, scowling. "So now you're ganging up against me?"

"Nobody's against you," he amended in gentle amusement. "We're just thinking of the baby. Surely you got no problem with that."

Looking into his smiling eyes offset much of her grievance but she couldn't help snatching the chair from him, slamming it down and plonking herself down on it, arms crossed.

As they loaded up her trunk, Cheyanne racked her brains for a way to talk to Jerome alone. He treated her like a stranger - which kinda stung, actually - but now that she had found him, this was too serendipitous an opportunity to ignore.

"Trish, I'm nauseous," she bleated presently. "Do you think you can run to Dunkin' Donuts for me?"

Trish stared at her with a slight frown as she dusted off her hands. "You want donuts for your nausea," she repeated slowly.

"Come on, we passed a handful of them coming here."

"Okay... we can grab some on the way home."

"No, now!" Cheyanne snapped. "I'm really nauseous- craving!"

Trish lifted her hands in acceptance of that disjointed explanation. "Back in a flash," she said on a gusty sigh. Cheyanne felt rotten for adding to her stress. But then Jerome walked back into the shed and she forgot everything else.