Leanne

First things first. I need a shower and that claw tub is perfect. A curtain that goes all the way around me, a rain shower head and a handheld option too? I almost wish Wilson was here with me, but he's right we need to clean up first.

Leanne pulled the sundress she brought with her out of her duffel. Sunshine streaming in through her windows warmed her room and the delicate fragrance of hyacinth blooming somewhere on a balcony wafted in when she cranked open one of the diamond segmented panes. No wonder everyone said there's nothing like Paris in spring.

Great, it didn't wrinkle, and the halter has a built in bra. I wonder if it's too fancy, but I don't care.

The seersucker skirt topped with crisp pale lime green cotton jersey that tied in a bow at her neck was perfect.

She did a bit of jig into the shower and pulled the curtain shut. The water felt glorious, and she basked in the sensuous sensations of soft raindrops cascading over her when she rinsed the conditioner out of her hair. When she discovered the blow dryer in a drawer at the vanity, Leanne made quick work of drying her hair. Styling a few waving curls into the feathers, she decided a haircut was the first thing on her list when she got home.

Slipping into a high cut pair of panties, she let her dress settle at her waist and tied the bow at her nape before pulling her hair free. The lighter green of her irises popped when she check her eyes. A quick dab of gloss on her lips and she was done.

She pulled her instrument case out of the bottom of her tote bag. Slipping into the hallway she closed the door gently behind her and went back toward the sitting room. There was baby grand piano there, between two windows. Leanne went over the the wall where the orchids sat on shelves or clung to pieces of bark. A hanging basket had spikes of blossoms draped halfway down the wall. A bank of grow lights on the ceiling were off and a cart in one corner had a spray bottle of water and other gardening tools displayed on it.

Elise must be serious about taking care of her collection.

The room was bright, but sunlight only made bright spots on the parquet flooring. Going over to the piano she put her flute down on the bench, sat, and flexed her fingers. Could she even remember how to play? Once the flute came into her life, she forgot the piano existed. When Keith moved in with her mother, he told her to sell it.

"Hey gorgeous, do you play?" Wilson's question startled her.

"Not in about six years. I picked up the flute in grade six, and pretty much never touched a keyboard again."

"Do you remember Chopsticks?"

Wilson started the familiar chord pattern.

"Doesn't everyone?"

Since he took the chords, she took the melody, and when Wilson added the sustained bass chords to go with it, she giggled.

"Just keep up that melody, I'm going to improvise a bit," Wilson said.

She concentrated harder as a jazz riff added itself into the chords.

"Man, you can really play. When did you learn?" Leanne said. Her body swayed to the rhythm Wilson created.

"I had to, so I could accompany myself when I sing." He started with a scat jazz adlib.

When they finally came to a stop by mutual instinct, applause sounded from behind them. Leanne spun around, to face a young woman who had to be Wilson's sister. She had the same deep brown hair color cut in shaggy layers which went just past her shoulders. A cowlick at the crown of her head, stuck up just enough to keep her from having perfect hair. The same brown eyes with flecks of golden whiskey watched them.

"Willa?" Wilson bounced up from the piano bench and met her in the center of the room.

"Merde (shit), you're taller than me now." She grabbed his shoulders hard before she threw her arms around him. "I can't believe you're here little brother."

"I can't either. Three more months and I'm out from under Dad too. Ouch! Shit that hurts." Wilson hissed and shrugged out of his sister's hug.

"What's going on. Let me see."

"Just a bruise. It'll heal." Wilson moved away from Willa.

"Let me see. Sometimes a bruise isn't just a bruise. Take the t-shirt off."

Is he going to let her see it?

"Don't argue. I'm going to be an ER specialist. We need to get you looked at if this isn't nothing much like you think. Take a deep breath." Willa ordered.

"Don't argue, Wilson. She's right. You probably shouldn't have been on this flight," Leanne said.

"And I thought you were on my side." Wilson's response reminded her of a pouty child.

"She's right," Willa said. "Off."

"What's going on?" Their mother walked in.

"He's injured." Willa's clipped tones indicated her concern.

"Off with the t-shirt," Elise seconded her daughter's orders.

Wilson pulled the beige cotton over his damp head and the women gasped.

"That's no little bruise. Take a deep breath again," Willa ordered.

Wilson winced as he did as he was told.

Leanne came over to grab his hand. Squeezing three times, she said, "You should see the on bump on his leg." She pointed to the top of his right thigh. "We iced it and it's a bit better, but I'm worried about it."

"Geeze, Leanne." Wilson blushed bright red before he dropped her hand.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about. We're both doctors. Your father?" His mother's frown said she already knew the answer.

"Just before he left for the airport. He was on the BA to London." Wilson hugged himself.

"You might have a cracked rib here," Willa ran her finger over the darkest part of the bruise. "Not much the ER can do that you haven't already done. Jeans." She pointed at the floor.

Leanne saw a toned six pack and nicely defined pecs. His arms were ropy, not muscle bound, and she felt a stirring in her center. And when she got a look at his bare legs, she licked her lips. His eyes never left hers as his sister rolled the bottom of his boxers up to expose another deep purple splotch.

Wilson grabbed her hand when his sister probed the ugly swollen bump.

"Not good. Any aches in the man parts?" Willa cocked her head waiting for his answer.

Wilson shook his head. "No. Everything's working."

I hope there's nothing really wrong and we can treat it with ice, rest, and Advil™. God he's got a body under those loose clothes. I guess being shy about getting touched is as bad as me thinking I'm fat or ugly. We're both hiding our own issues.