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But had he done it intentionally? Had all of it been some sort of plan to keep her from making trouble, to prevent a lawsuit, as Bruno had said?
Could Bruno Neeley, in all his demented anger, have been right?
“Viv, are you okay?”
She shook her head slowly, trying to process it. “No, actually, I’m not.”
The room began to spin, the floor rising and falling beneath her feet, as if she stood on the deck of a ship trying to stay afloat on a stormy sea. Her dress was torn, her skin bruised, her face sore, her body shaking and her heart...oh, her heart was playing all kinds of crazy games with her head.
Yes, of course.
It was all just too much. Everything overwhelmed her, and nothing made sense.
And suddenly, without warning, all the strength drained from Viv’s body, and she fainted right into Damien’s arms.
* * *
DAMIEN SAT BY her hospital bed all night.
He held her hand, consoled her when she cried out in her sleep, barked at each doctor or nurse who came into the private room to make sure they kept her safe and well.
She wasn’t badly hurt, thank God. Not physically, anyway.
But she’d been stalked, terrified and assaulted. Her emotional reaction to Bruno Neeley’s attack had left her confused and frightened.
After she’d fainted, he’d insisted that paramedics take her to the hospital, and had further insisted on riding with her in the ambulance. Lex and Amelia had followed, and they’d waited with him while doctors examined Viv. None of them were family, but Damien had lied and called himself her fiancé, finding the word a lot easier to utter than he’d ever have imagined.
With no one else to talk to about her condition, the doctor had confirmed for him that Viv had no life-threatening injuries. Her ribs were bruised, and she had some other abrasions and cuts. Worse, she was probably suffering from shock. She’d been admitted and Damien hadn’t left her side since.
Throughout the night, she’d ranged from dozing to crying. Eventually, somewhere around 3:00 a.m., she’d shared the details of the whole story in soft whispers while he’d lain in the narrow hospital bed, holding her.
The recounting seemed to help, and she’d finally fallen into a real sleep. While she’d slumbered, Damien had sat in the chair beside her, keeping watch. Still wearing his tux, he’d tossed the jacket and tie aside, and unbuttoned his shirt. Nothing would induce him to leave, and he’d glared at anyone who suggested that he do so. He’d stayed there, for hours, sending up prayers of thanks that she was all right, fully aware of how close she’d come to calamity.
If he hadn’t heard that scream, Viv might have been in need of a rape kit, or worse. Bruno Neeley had been enraged, drunk and, apparently, high. There would have been no stopping him, and she would have been helpless to fight him off.
“Thank you, God,” he mumbled again as he brought her pale hand to his lips and kissed it.
“Damien?”
He immediately rose from his chair and leaned over her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She blinked and glanced around the room. Early morning sunshine had brightened the room. “I guess I really slept.”
“The doctor said that was the best thing you could do.”
He would have urged her to get even more rest, but the police officers who’d taken Neeley into custody last night had said they’d be by first thing this morning to get Viv’s statement.
“So it wasn’t a dream,” she whispered.
“Nightmare, maybe”
“Yeah.” She took a deep, calming breath. “You stayed all night?”
“Of course.
“Thank you.”
“Lex and Amelia left at around midnight. Amelia said she’d come again this morning.”
“She doesn’t have to do that,” she said, struggling to sit up.
He helped her, tucking the sheet and blanket around her, then pushing the button to raise the bed to an inclining position. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“Water?”
Glad to have something to do, he crossed the room and poured her a glass from the plastic pitcher a nurse had left. Bringing the glass to the bed, he held it to her lips, supporting her head while she sipped.
She winced as the cup scraped against her swollen, bloodstained lip, and Damien flinched. His hand tightened on the cup, but he managed to hold it steady and not spill it, not wanting to reveal his fury. It had been hard enough not to bellow with rage when he watched the rising sun send shards of light over her face, highlighting the faint bruises on her jaw.
“Thanks.” Then, apparently remembering some of their jumbled conversation during the night, she added, “You didn’t call my family, right?”
