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I’m relieved to hear that, but… “How?”
Michael raises a single brow, looking at me with a puzzled expression. “Do you really want to know the details?”
Not really. No. But I have to know one more thing.
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Then how did he die?”
“He didn’t survive the accident.”
Something about his short answers sounds very political and roundabout. My eyes take in every fancy and expensive feature of the room with a critical eye. From the four-poster canopy bed I rest on to the floor-to-ceiling windows and set of French doors leading to a large terrace with a stunning view of Miami’s downtown skyline. It all screams money. A lot of money. And that annoying small voice in the back of my mind starts waving every red flag in the damn book. I look back at the man who saved me, the father of my son, and I’m suddenly afraid that I may have swapped one nightmare for another.
“Who are you, Michael?” I whisper.
Michael frowns and tilts his head, as if trying to understand my question. “I don’t follow.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Gallo,” he says after a long second. The unfamiliar name eases my anxiety a bit. “Yours?”
“Bennett.” The last name I’ve been using slips out before I can stop it. Not that I’m about to tell him my real last name, anyway. I’m not ready to open that can of worms. If ever. “How did you find me? Were you there tonight? At that auction? Were you...going to buy someone?”
“No. Of course not. I own several businesses, and one of them is a security firm. We received an email about a human auction and attended to gather evidence. For the police of course.” He seems to tack on that last bit as more of an afterthought. “When I saw you up on that stage…I couldn’t let anything bad happen to you, Rose.”
I suck in my bottom lip, and before the confidence can leave me, I lean forward and press my lips to his cheek. It’s a quick kiss, more like an innocent peck of appreciation for saving me, but the next thing I know, Michael’s hand cups my chin, and his mouth is on mine.
“Sorry,” Michael groans when he pulls away before I even register the kiss. “I didn’t mean to do that. You’re hurt, and I didn’t—”
I reach up and stroke his cheek, savoring the small sound he makes when he nuzzles into my touch. I should have agreed with him. But the words that set everything in motion all those months ago come out instead.
“Kiss me.”
Without a moment’s delay, Michael presses his mouth to mine again. His hunger is all-consuming and all too familiar. His kiss leaves me breathless, and only his mouth can breathe life back into me. He draws back only far enough to nibble on my bottom lip, seeking permission, and I happily part for him. His tongue eagerly explores my mouth, entwining with mine in a dance as old as time. His hand caresses down my spine, urging me closer.
I swing my legs out from under the covers and move to climb onto his lap when a loud knock echoes throughout the room. I pull away quickly, embarrassed when I realize just how out of control we were about to become. But a single touch from him is all it took to erase every painful minute we spent apart these past ten months.
Michael stands and winks at me even as he adjusts his pants shamelessly. He walks to the door and opens it to reveal an elderly man wearing a white coat and carrying a worn brown leather bag.
“Rose, this is Dr. Gonzalez. He’s here to check on you now that you’re awake.”
The doctor reminds me immediately of Evelyn’s grandfather. He was a nice older man who always carried those little butterscotch candies in his pocket. Dr. Gonzalez goes through a standard exam. He checks my blood pressure, listens to my heart, and asks me to take a deep breath, which induces another coughing fit. Michael’s quick to offer me water, and I thank him with a small smile that he returns with another gentle yet firm hand squeeze.
All in all, I’m pretty banged up, but it could have been much worse. I know that. And if cuts and bruises are all I walk away with, then I’m luckier than the other victims last night.
The doctor hands Michael some antibiotic cream to put on my wrists, thighs, and knees abrasions. The bruises on my shoulder, face, and neck will just have to heal on their own.
After the doctor leaves, Michael shows me to the en suite bathroom for a shower. When I see my beaten and bruised reflection in the mirror, I’m suddenly embarrassed to strip in front of Michael when, less than thirty minutes ago, I was ready to climb him like a damn tree. Michael clears his throat and sets the stack of clothes he brought in on the counter.
“I’ll leave you alone if you’d like.”
I want to say no and ask him to stay, but I nod silently instead. As he turns to leave, I hold out my hand as if to stop him and say in a rush, “Could you…” He looks at me curiously over his shoulder, and I drop my gaze to the light gray tile floor. “Could you leave the door open and maybe…wait outside?”
“Of course.” Michael crosses the elegant bathroom in two strides. He cups the back of my head gently, aware of how sore I am, and leans down to kiss the crown of my head. “Call if you need anything.”
I raise my eyes only after he leaves, then purposely ignoring my reflection, I strip out of the tattered and ruined dress, watching it crumple to the floor. I have thesudden urge to burn the damn thing, but I settle for tossing it in the trash can instead.
