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“I called you. You’re the best there is. Get your ass over here now.”
“I assume ‘here’ is your new residence?” Raiden’s apoplectic expletive made Antonio sigh. “Calm down before you give yourself a stroke. I’d rather have only one patient on my hands when I arrive.” Before Raiden yelled the building down, he heard slamming doors on the other end of the phone, then before the line went dead, Antonio said, “I’m already on my way.”
Shaking out of control, Raiden threw the phone down and pounced on Scarlett. He checked her pulse and breathing over and over, caressed and crooned to her to please wake up.
She didn’t. She remained unconscious until Antonio arrived, what felt like an eternity later. It had actually been only ten minutes, which he’d counted second for second. From his perspiring condition, it was clear Antonio had run the whole way from his hotel a few blocks away.
In those endless minutes, Raiden had dressed Scarlett in her underwear, then wrapped her freezing body in the comforter. He’d been wrapped around her to transfer his body heat to her when Steve had let in Antonio. He could now barely relinquish her still form and stand aside to let Antonio start his exam.
Antonio had come prepared, with his magical medical bag as they called it, with supplies and instruments inside ready to handle anything from simple cuts to major field surgery.
He examined Scarlett with all-knowing hands and all-seeing eyes, took her pressure, drew blood, performed neurologic tests, used a few instruments Raiden didn’t recognize. Then he finally put everything back into his bag.
Out of his mind by now, Raiden growled like a cornered beast. “Why didn’t you wake her up?”
Antonio looked up at him serenely. “Because I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
Antonio looked at him with those imperturbable green eyes. “I might be capable of almost anything medically, but contrary to common belief, I can’t perform miracles.”
“It would take a miracle to wake her up now?” He nearly choked on the words.
“Stop making the worst assumptions, Raiden, for your own health. What you see in movies with instant injections and slaps and smelling salts are just for drama’s sake. In the real world you should leave an unconscious person to wake up on her own, as long as we’ve made sure nothing else is wrong with her.”
“But there has to be something wrong with her. She just turned off and won’t turn back on!”
“I have a diagnosis for that.” Antonio stood up, looked him in the eyes like someone about to impart something that would change his life. Then he did. “She’s totally exhausted. And seriously upset. And certainly pregnant.”
* * *
Scarlett surfaced from what felt like an abyss.
It had been dark and oppressive down there. But she’d been unwilling to escape it. It had at least been safe, and better than the alternative. That of coming out only to face a far worse bleakness. That of Raiden’s rejection.
She’d offered him herself, no strings attached, forever if he’d take her that long. The dismay on his face had hurt so much, she hadn’t been able to handle it. She had wished she’d just stop feeling anything so it wouldn’t hurt anymore.
She realized she’d fainted. Which was weird. That was the first time her consciousness had given out, yielded to the refuge of oblivion. Not even in her worst of times, and she’d had some nightmarish ones, had it come to her rescue like that. But then, none of those times had been as brutal as knowing it was over with Raiden. Now she was reluctant to exit its protection, wanted to remain in its cold cloak forever.
But there was no use. She was already awake. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew what she’d see. Raiden.
He was standing beside the bed, looking down at her. She could feel his gaze on her, emitting impatience, no doubt for her to come around. There was something else, too. Agitation.
Was that on account of her fainting, or of the offer she’d made before she had? Or both? Did he think he’d have a hysterical female on his hands once she woke up? One who’d start clinging and causing him problems he couldn’t afford?
Might as well open her eyes and
reassure him that he had nothing to fear from her. She’d made a desperate bid for more time with him, and she’d lost. As she’d known she would. But she’d had to try. Now it was over, and she’d go in silence as she’d intended. But he didn’t know that. It was time to let him know.
She opened her eyes, and his image filled her aching gaze. He’d put on pants, was standing over her like a monolith, every muscle in his majestic body bunched, making him look even more perfect, more intimidating. That body that had owned and pleasured hers in magical ways would soon be only a memory. Just like everything else with him. Even his confession that he’d been with no other woman. No matter how he desired her, his plans were what mattered to him. As they should.
Struggling to prop herself up, she pushed hair out of her eyes. “Sorry for passing out on you like that.”
“How can you apologize? It isn’t as if you could have done something about it.”
He sounded hoarse. She did, too, her voice abused with too many cries of pleasure. It felt so strange, made her feel so cold, after that indescribable interlude of intimacy, for him to be standing there, separate from her. But she’d known all along that this was coming. Maybe this fainting spell had been timely, ending the scene she would have so impulsively caused. Now discussing it would be without the flagrant emotions of the moment, would be distant and detached.
She sat up. “I guess not. But I do apologize for what I said before I fainted. It must have been the euphoric high after the incredible sex. But I’m taking back everything I said and we’re returning to our scheduled separation. In fact, I think I just pushed the date forward. We had the revelations and confessions and got everything out in the open and off our chests, and had an unprecedented session worthy of a last hurrah. Anything after that would be redundant, so it’s time to say our goodbyes.”
