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“Thanks.”
Jay looks past me to his friend.
“You know the drill. Slow deep breaths. You’ll be okay,” she whispers in my ear, then strolls toward the door.
I turn my head. The world still feels thick and smoky. “Thanks,” I manage.
“No probs.” She smiles and disappears.
It’s only Jay and myself in the clinic now. He sits, elbows resting on the bed, his head on my lap. It feels so right, so good, so damn scary. I try to talk, but my throat constricts as my memory switches to replay and my lungs, already angry with me, ache with annoyance and smoke inhalation.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as tears roll down my cheeks and I cup his face, turning it up to mine.
“You should have left it up to the police.”
His hands grip my thighs.
“I know. I- I- we lost two innocent people. All I could think of was that the fucker had come back to perv over the carnage she…”
“She?” Jay straightens.
I close my eyes and force my mind to focus on the face I saw… and… “She had boobs and a nose ring. She also…” I whisper.
“What? Did you recognize her?”
“I’m not sure. But she was crying. She said it wasn’t her.” I break into another coughing fit.
Jay helps me to sit and beats my back until the spasm in my chest relents.
“I’ll drop Rhett a text and you can chat with Thomas in the morning if you feel up to it. For now, you’re mine, and you need to rest.”
His command sends a thrill down my spine, and even in my post beat up, smoke-induced state, my blood heats and my lust quickens.
Another hour passes before Jay is happy with my SATs and the sound of my lungs. He loads me and an ‘in case’ oxygen bottle into his car and drives us to his place. I know Thomas and Rochelle are also staying over, but I’m too tired to ask him to take me home. I don’t want to worry Mom and Dad, especially after the doozy argument they had last night. It’s a wonder holiday makers return each year.
Without asking, he lifts me out the passenger seat and carries me up to his bedroom where he strips us and walks us to the bathroom. I stand, too tired to think straight, and too hypnotized by the giant naked Adonis before me to want to think straight.
Cool water washes over me as his large hands caress every inch of my body, lathering it in soap. Last, he washes my hair. God, this man is straight out of a romance novel. His dick presses into the small of my back, and his fingers massage the shampoo into my scalp as his deep baritone hums a tune I can’t quite place, but I know I love it.
No one’s ever cared for me the way this man is caring for me now. One part of me is screaming for me to get the fuck out while I still can, but the other part–the more dominant me–relaxes and bathes in his… no, not love.
Afterwards, he crawls into bed and curls up behind me. His arms snake around my body, one hand cups my breast while the other slips between my legs.
“Don’t ever do that to me again.” His tone conveys his relief, anger, and vulnerability all in one.
I crumble to bits.
All I can manage is a nod as I wriggle and turn my body to face his. “I need you.”
***
“Morning.” Rochelle’s chirpy South African accent calls from the kitchen.
I swivel in my seat where I’m watching the sunrise from the deck, “Oh hi. Sleep okay?”
“Yup. Coffee?” she says, pointing at the coffee machine.
“Already got mine. Check the microwave. I got one for you and Thomas, too. Hope they’re not too cold yet.”
