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I release the arm, and reach back, trying to rake the eyes of my attacker with my fingernails, but they’re met with a knit mask. I grab for it and try to tug it off. Maybe if I can unmask him, he’ll let me go long enough for me to run to Hardin. If I can do that, I know I’ll be okay.
My attacker swears as the mask slips up and drops me to my feet. I scramble away from him, but when his fist connects with the side of my head, I drop to the ground fully, my cheek pressing into the wet grass. And another punch leaves me close to blacking out.
“Get the fuck off her!” There’s a crackle in the air, a rush of warmth, and then my attacker is pushed off me. I lift my head and blink blearily. Hardin is still ten feet away from me. And there is no one else around us.
How the hell did that happen?
Hardin flies past me. There’s the thud of bodies colliding and the sound of fists on flesh, followed by grunts of pain and muffled shouting. Then the crunch of boots on gravel, fast ones running away from me, even fast ones coming toward me.
Gentle hands turn me, gather me against a solid chest, while hands run over my body, checking me for injury. I breathe in the leather and spice scent that I know so well, let it soothe me even though it has no reason to. “Ro, love, are you okay?”
Even though my head’s pounding, I nod, reaching up to touch the glint of silver at his mouth. His lips pucker against my fingertips like he can’t help it. “You just can’t stay away from me, can you?”
His forehead presses to mine as he lets out a small laugh. “Never again, love,” he says, between kisses dropped all over my face, being careful to avoid my throbbing temple. “I’m never leaving you alone again.”
Hardin carries me to his car, tucks me into the passenger seat before hopping behind the wheel. He pulls out his phone and has a brief conversation with someone that I hardly even hear, because he’s speaking at such a low volume and my head is pounding like crazy.
I’m vaguely aware of him starting the car and navigating through the streets, but I’m highly aware of his warm palm pressed into the wet fabric that covers my thigh. My entire focus becomes that spot, the small bit of heat chasing away the chill of the rain and the shock of what had happened.
“Love,” he says after a bit, glancing in my direction. “Talk to me. Stay awake and talk to me.”
I would roll my eyes at him, but I’m pretty sure it would hurt. “I don’t have a concussion, Hardin,” I assure him.
His full lips quirk up. “Are you a doctor, now, my Rosalind?”
Sighing, I curl my arms around my stomach. “I’m not dizzy or tired or nauseous. I’m not slurring my speech. My vision seems fine. I have a headache though, and I’m cold. If anything, I think I’m in shock.”
He grins at me, his thumb stroking over the denim on my leg. “So you did become a doctor.”
“Obviously, in the week since I’ve seen you, I went to medical school, got a degree and became a physician.” I pick up the hand that’s pressed into my thigh and lace my fingers through his, squeezing gently. “When we were kids, Desi fell out of a tree and got a concussion. I remember the questions they asked he, because they were very different from the ones they usually asked me. I thought it was interesting.”
Hardin picks up my hand and brushes my knuckles against his lips. “What are you doing here?” I ask, as he returns our entwined hands to my lap.
He glances at me. “In London? Or at the graveyard?”
“Both.”
“I’m visiting my family. Sam let me know you were in town visiting Desi. I was with them when you called and offered to come get you, so they wouldn’t be late for dinner with my parents. Thank bloody god, too.”
Oh, shit. I straighten in my chair and start shaking my head, but stop with a hiss when it feels like my brain is sloshing around in my skull. “I can’t go to the dinner. I can’t meet your parents like this.”
He gives me this look, like I should know better. “Relax, my Rosalind, we aren’t meeting them. We’ll leave that for a time when you haven’t just been attacked. I know you’ll want to make a good impression.”
I settle back into the seat, relief filtering through me. “Are you satisfied that I don’t have a concussion now?”
Another glance. “Yes, but I still want you to talk to me.”
“Why?”
“I missed your voice, love.”
I try to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest. This is a man that practically tortured me for months. I can’t get all gushy when he says one nice thing to me.
“Who was it?”
“Who was who?”
“Don’t be dense, Hardin. The person who attacked me. Do you know who it was?”
