empty; Mark was finally home with his family. Some books were stacked up on the bedside table; all about horses. He picked one and opened it at the bookmark, undoubtedly left by Maya.
Pain half-forgotten, Matthew looked at him with pleading eyes. Arthur grinned.
“I am going to make a deal with you. You drink the milk and eat some of your dessert, and we’ll read one chapter.”
“Do you really need to negotiate everything, Arthur?”
Maya entered with another tray. Matthew wriggled to free himself from Arthur to get to her and she embraced the little boy heartily. The young man stood so she could take his place near the child on the bed.
“I do not.”
“Milk and dessert for one chapter? That’s bargaining to me.”
Smiling, she uncovered a bowl of soup, mashed sweet potatoes and a small bowl of chocolate mousse. Matthew’s nose twitched at the smell of the food and his eyes lit with pleasure.
The brutal desire to possess forever the wonderful picture of Maya with the child cuddled in her arms punched him hard in the stomach. Arthur inhaled deeply to repress the feeling, looking away and settling in the farthest chair he could find.
“Go on, Arthur, read. We’ll eat.”
Her teasing smile awoke more needs. She was impossible. But Matthew was sipping his soup. So he read.
***
Maya pulled the door behind them as the little boy turned in his sleep.
“The surgery is scheduled on the 30th, but I’m not sure he can wait that long…”
The worry in her voice was unmistakable and he found he wanted to reach for her; so he chose another question to distract himself from the need.
“Why don’t they feed him intravenously instead of forcing him to eat normally?”
“Gavin told me it’s better to keep his digestive system working for as long as possible. He said it will help later with the rehabilitation.”
Some hair had escaped her braid, and she pushed it off her face. Arthur noticed the shadows under her eyes; she was tired. He concentrated on their conversation again.
“He clearly couldn’t swallow the food on his tray. Why…”
“The service made a mistake when Mark checked out. Do you see this number here?”
She twisted to point to the small number on the cover of the first tray and her movement stretched her blouse. Arthur peeped at the writing above her shoulder and withdrew quickly. Her scent and the view were unnerving.
“28-B.”
“That’s the number of Mark’s bed. Matthew is 28-A. They delivered the wrong one. I talked to Moira about it but she’s…”
“Distracted.”
The word came out before he could stop himself. Maya gave him an astonished look then turned away.
“Yes. I need to talk to my assistant about the trays. I won’t be long.”
Arthur nodded and entered her office to wait. Suddenly, coming by on his lunch hour to see Matthew seemed like a bad idea. He should not have given in to the impulse. He had a lot to do before leaving the next day. His father was on his back for the Mercia contract and the Foundation’s case, and he was wasting time waiting for a woman; for Maya.
The screen saver on her computer screen was wishing him a Merry Christmas. Arthur sat on her chair, glancing at the other items on her desk; one pen was missing its cover; she had obviously played with it. A to-do-list for the day was scribbled on a Post-it.
His gaze kept coming back to the computer. All he had to do was to move the mouse to access her account. With one click or two, he could find the information they needed to clear the Foundation.
The photo near the monitor showed a middle-aged man with two girls clutched to his neck, a blonde and a brunette. The girls seemed to be laughing their hearts out, obviously trying to bring the man down on the grass: Gerald, Moira and Maya, years ago, when things were not so complicated.
Arthur looked back at the screen. Drugs hurt millions of people, most likely Moira too. Bringing down one financial resource would not stop the traffic but
Pain half-forgotten, Matthew looked at him with pleading eyes. Arthur grinned.
“I am going to make a deal with you. You drink the milk and eat some of your dessert, and we’ll read one chapter.”
“Do you really need to negotiate everything, Arthur?”
Maya entered with another tray. Matthew wriggled to free himself from Arthur to get to her and she embraced the little boy heartily. The young man stood so she could take his place near the child on the bed.
“I do not.”
“Milk and dessert for one chapter? That’s bargaining to me.”
Smiling, she uncovered a bowl of soup, mashed sweet potatoes and a small bowl of chocolate mousse. Matthew’s nose twitched at the smell of the food and his eyes lit with pleasure.
The brutal desire to possess forever the wonderful picture of Maya with the child cuddled in her arms punched him hard in the stomach. Arthur inhaled deeply to repress the feeling, looking away and settling in the farthest chair he could find.
“Go on, Arthur, read. We’ll eat.”
Her teasing smile awoke more needs. She was impossible. But Matthew was sipping his soup. So he read.
***
Maya pulled the door behind them as the little boy turned in his sleep.
“The surgery is scheduled on the 30th, but I’m not sure he can wait that long…”
The worry in her voice was unmistakable and he found he wanted to reach for her; so he chose another question to distract himself from the need.
“Why don’t they feed him intravenously instead of forcing him to eat normally?”
“Gavin told me it’s better to keep his digestive system working for as long as possible. He said it will help later with the rehabilitation.”
Some hair had escaped her braid, and she pushed it off her face. Arthur noticed the shadows under her eyes; she was tired. He concentrated on their conversation again.
“He clearly couldn’t swallow the food on his tray. Why…”
“The service made a mistake when Mark checked out. Do you see this number here?”
She twisted to point to the small number on the cover of the first tray and her movement stretched her blouse. Arthur peeped at the writing above her shoulder and withdrew quickly. Her scent and the view were unnerving.
“28-B.”
“That’s the number of Mark’s bed. Matthew is 28-A. They delivered the wrong one. I talked to Moira about it but she’s…”
“Distracted.”
The word came out before he could stop himself. Maya gave him an astonished look then turned away.
“Yes. I need to talk to my assistant about the trays. I won’t be long.”
Arthur nodded and entered her office to wait. Suddenly, coming by on his lunch hour to see Matthew seemed like a bad idea. He should not have given in to the impulse. He had a lot to do before leaving the next day. His father was on his back for the Mercia contract and the Foundation’s case, and he was wasting time waiting for a woman; for Maya.
The screen saver on her computer screen was wishing him a Merry Christmas. Arthur sat on her chair, glancing at the other items on her desk; one pen was missing its cover; she had obviously played with it. A to-do-list for the day was scribbled on a Post-it.
His gaze kept coming back to the computer. All he had to do was to move the mouse to access her account. With one click or two, he could find the information they needed to clear the Foundation.
The photo near the monitor showed a middle-aged man with two girls clutched to his neck, a blonde and a brunette. The girls seemed to be laughing their hearts out, obviously trying to bring the man down on the grass: Gerald, Moira and Maya, years ago, when things were not so complicated.
Arthur looked back at the screen. Drugs hurt millions of people, most likely Moira too. Bringing down one financial resource would not stop the traffic but
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