Body (8 page)

“You don’t have to apologize or answer for anything. Enjoy your real date!” The shrill tone surprises even me as I hang up on him. Immediately the phone rings again and I ignore it. It keeps ringing and ringing until I smash the power button and turn the damn thing off.

In my desire to bolt, I wasn’t paying attention, just following the need to get away.
To escape.
The darkened section of the city I’ve found myself in isn’t exactly appealing. Why the hell do I always get myself in these situations? Did I do something to someone in a past life to have such crummy karma? Glancing around the dark street, I realize I’m lost. Running blindly in varying directions so that I wouldn’t be followed seemed like a great plan at the time. Now, not so much.

Ahead, a streetlamp illuminates a small area and looks like the best place to stop and call a cab. Pressing zero on the phone, I get the operator. The woman is helpful, and I look up at the street sign to tell her where I’m stranded. She connects me to a cab company that assures me they will pick me up in fifteen minutes.

This night went from good, to bad, to worse in what seemed like a nanosecond. The thought of having to sit in the same room with Chase tomorrow at the meeting, knowing what he and Tatiana are going to do all night makes me want to hurl. I place my phone in my pocket and lean against the chain link fence behind me to rifle through my purse. Maybe I can find a loose hair-tie and get the sweaty hair off my neck. Crazy ending to what started out to be an amazing day.

Crunching leaves and the sound of footsteps behind me makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Without warning, a large hand comes around my neck and pulls me against the fence. The metal digs into my back as my feet flail and kick out. Reflexively, I use both hands to yank at the hand restricting my breath, but it won’t budge.

“You fucking scream, bitch, and I’ll kill you,” says a man’s voice next to my ear. The stench of sweat mixed with cigarettes is revolting. My body stiffens and trembles. Instantly, I’m taken back to a memory of when Justin would hold me down. I remember the glazed faraway look in his eyes right before he’d strike. Panic rips through my chest and fear takes over my defenses. The attacker’s voice rips through all thoughts, “You listen to me, you little cunt. Hand me your purse now, and I won’t kill you.”

The cold, hard steel of a gun presses against my skull as his other hand squeezes the tender skin at my neck, cutting off all air. I gag and choke at the vice-like grip around my throat. Oh God, please no!

“Okay, okay. Whatever you want,” I’m barely able to get out through his snake like constriction on my neck, preventing much sound.

His hand grips my neck like a steel claw, nails digging in, piercing the flesh. I feel blood pool and drip down my neck in small little streams like the legs of red wine, dancing along a swirled glass. Pain sears through my neck and chest, black and white stars pop in my peripheral vision like flashes of a camera lens. I’m going to die. I remember the feeling all too well when Justin left me on the cold hard floor of our apartment a few years ago to bleed out.

“You can have whatever you want, please!” A choked, raspy sob spills from my lungs. I hold up my purse and the man squeezes the tender flesh of my neck so tight I can’t breathe. “Good bitch!” he says from over my shoulder. He snatches the purse from my hand.

He lets my neck go long enough for a blood curdling scream to roar through the empty street just as his hand strikes my face with the hard metal of his gun. The world goes black.

***

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Someone turn off the alarm. The beeping continues like Chinese water torture against the frayed edges of consciousness. My eyelashes are heavy and hard to open. It’s as if the lashes are weighed down by tiny manacles holding onto each strand. The sickening smell of bleach and antiseptic fills the air. A hammer knocks against my forehead.
Bam. Bam. Bam

The pressure above my eye feels like someone hit me with a baseball bat. With shaking fingers, I feel my face. A large bandage covers the tender spot above my eye. My cheek bone is twice its normal size.

The memory of what happened slams me into the here and now.
Oh God.
Bile rises in my throat leaving a sour taste. I was robbed. At gunpoint. I had been waiting for the taxi. Opening my eyes, the haze and cloudiness slowly fades. When I get my eyes open and blink rapidly, I’m able to look around. The white room is dimly lit from behind my bed. As I make my visual trek around the room, my gaze settles onto the very pissed off face of one Chase Davis. Anger pumps off his large form in waves, and I start to shake. I’ve seen anger like that in the eyes of another man. I don’t care to ever experience it again. He stands and pulls the blanket over me more tightly, tucking the sides around me. I have to hold my breath, trying desperately not to flinch. Panic rises like a high tide at sundown. “How did I get here?” I croak, voice thickened by drugs. He grabs the pink plastic water cup sitting on the side table and brings the straw to my lips. I sip. Pure heaven. He sets down the cup and takes a seat next to the bed, arms crossed defensively.

“You were mugged. The taxi driver found you and called 911.” Chase’s eyes narrow, and he holds his chin tight, teeth clenched. The man is
really
upset.

The evening’s events come back to me. Tears well and I grip the blanket tightly. “You could have been killed, Gillian.” His voice is horrified, perhaps even emotional. “You were accosted, roughed up, and left in a very tough neighborhood. I am so angry with you.” 

Tears slide down my cheeks, and he wipes them away with both of his thumbs. His touch is so light against my skin I can barely feel it.

“Why are you here?”

He winces at my question.

“The nurses searched your clothing. My business card was in the pocket of your blazer with your cell phone. My call was the last you received.” He gets up and paces the small space like a caged animal. “You have no idea what it was like being told that you had been attacked,” He takes a harrowed breath and shoves his fingers though his hair roughly. “Then, I come to the hospital and see you like…like this! You could have died!” His gaze holds mine with a questioning look. I have no answer.

“I’m sorry you had to leave Tatiana for me.” I grumble and look away. I wish he’d just leave.

He grips my chin and lightly tugs it back so he can look me in the eyes. “Tatiana means nothing to me. You on the other hand…” He sighs heavily and slumps back into the chair next to me. He’s too far away to reach.

“Tell me…” I urge, desperate to find out what he was going to say.

The nurse walks in, destroying the moment. “Welcome to the world of the living, Mrs. Davis.” I’m certain the look on my face is one of complete confusion. Chase leans forward and clasps my hand. It’s warm and comforting. I latch on to his lifeline as it if will disappear at any moment.

“When can I take my wife home?” Maybe that blow to the head was worse than I thought?

“Once the doctor looks her over, checks the stitches, and gives you the okay. Then you can take her home.” She smiles at Chase, but he’s staring at me. “You gave this man quite a scare, young lady.” The nurse gestures to Chase. He shrugs and looks away. “You should have seen the way he burst into the ER, roaring, demanding access to you immediately. Like he was a real life Superman.” She clucks her tongue and the image makes me snicker a little. He is a real life Superman. Chase squeezes my hand and the nurse leaves.

“Your wife?” I ask.

“They asked if I was next of kin. I told them we were married.”

“I thought you never lied. That dishonesty was weakness?” I stare deeply into his eyes.

He looks away. “It is. I had a moment.” He won’t look me in the eye. The doctor comes in and explains that I have a concussion, a bruised cheekbone, five crescent shaped cuts in my neck, and a few stitches above my right eye where the gunman hit me with the butt of the weapon.

Chase grips my hand so tightly I almost cry out as the doctor revisits each wound. I clasp Chase’s hand in both of mine and pet the top one. His thumb traces an infinity symbol over my wrist while the doctor explains that a concussion is a traumatic brain injury that alters the way your brain functions. The effects are usually temporary, but can include problems with headache, concentration, memory, judgment, balance and coordination. He tells us that I will need to be awakened every two hours, asked to remember three items, and then to repeat them at the next waking. He also informs us that the police want to take a statement.

“Not tonight,” Chase interrupts. “I’m taking her home. She’s had a traumatic evening.” He pulls me against his side and I snuggle in.

The nurse brings me some scrubs and hospital slippers and I slip into the little bathroom, changing out of my hospital gown. When I return, she hands Chase the bag with my soiled bloody clothes in it. Might as well toss the entire lot in the trash. I’ll never wear that outfit again.

“Gillian, I have my people on this. That fucker won’t get away with hurting you.” He embraces me, his strong arms enveloping me. Warm and safe. In his arms, I lean my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It should calm and soothe, but it does the exact opposite. The tidal wave of emotions, remembering the night’s activities, rips through me. Tears form and spill unchecked onto his shirt. Deep gut wrenching sobs roar from my scratchy throat as the realization of what happened truly invades my being. Chase’s arms hold me tight, gifting me his protection and solace as I weep.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Chase coos as he pets my hair. “I’m taking you back to the hotel.” I nod into his chest, not capable of speech.

We leave the hospital and he ushers me into his limo. I don’t see the scenery on the way back. The pain medication they filled me with starts to take effect, and I lean heavily into Chase’s solid form. I must have dozed off because we’re at the hotel and Chase is lifting me from the limo. I lull against his chest as he carries me through the hotel. I can only imagine what we look like. Hopefully, people don’t notice much at this time of night. Really though, I’m too far gone to care.

“Mr. Davis, Sir, do you need a wheelchair?” A man asks in the background.

“No. I’m not letting her go.”

His comment makes me feel warm and snuggly. I hear the ding of the elevator and soon we’re rising. Moments later, I’m on a big, soft bed. Chase pulls off my scrub pants and tucks my legs under the silky soft, cool linen sheets. He goes to the dresser and pulls out a white V-neck t-shirt. I watch in a daze, unable to do much other than stare. He drags the scrub top over my head, careful of my swollen face.

I wait in my black lacey bra for him to put the shirt on me. “Jesus Christ, Gillian. What did that fucker do to you?” His tone is strained. His fingertips are feather light on my neck. Moving my hair to the side, he turns me toward the lamp light. He’s seeing the marks left by my attackers nails embossed into the tender skin of my neck. Chase surprises me by bringing his face close, then trailing soft kisses along the entire surface. The gesture is incredibly sweet. He’s such a dichotomy. One minute he’s challenging and demanding, the next, gentle and tender.

“Never again will you be hurt, Gillian. I’ll make certain of it,” he promises between the soothing pecks of his lips against my flesh. I shiver from the feel of his mouth on me, more than from the trauma I experienced. A traitorous tear escapes and drips onto his face.

He grabs the soft, white t-shirt and lightly pulls it over my body. It smells of fabric softener and laundry soap. I lean back and rest my head against the pillow. “Rest, Baby, just rest. I’ll wake you every two hours as the doctor ordered.” He kisses the part of my forehead not ensconced in a bandage.

I’m fading fast. Without opening my eyes, I whisper, “Thank you. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“My pleasure. Taking care of you is my pleasure.”

Chapter 5

True to his word, Chase wakes me two hours later. I expect the hotel alarm clock, not soft soothing fingers caressing my face and hairline. A bone chilling cold creeps along the sensitive skin of my cheekbone. My eyelids flicker open and gaze into sleepy, half-hooded, azure eyes. His features are different under the muted glow of the bedside lamp, more comforting, less intense. I could get used to seeing these bedroom eyes. He holds an icepack against my swollen cheek. The icy chill sends shivers through me.

“Gillian, what’s my name?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Chase,” I say groggily. The pain medication makes my tongue feel thick and swollen.

“Here, Baby, take these.” He puts two small white pills on the tip of my tongue and hands me a glass of water.
When did he start calling me, Baby?
“The doctor said it will help with the swelling and the pain from your stitches.” I swallow the pills and lay back down.

He sets the glass down, brings the covers back up to my chin and puts the icepack on the bedside table. His gaze clocks every inch of my face, a mercurial look fastened to his features. I smile dreamily at him. Chase is pretty.

“Why, thank you,” he says, amusement in his tone. I didn’t realize I said the thought aloud, but disregard taking it back. It’s the truth.

He plants a soft kiss against my lips. His right hand cradles the undamaged side of my face. I return the kiss as he slides satiny lips against mine. He continues the slow assault on my mouth, not increasing the pressure or taking it further. Just kissing me how he wants. Like a man who cherishes his woman. This is dangerous territory we’re entering.

Chase’s tongue strokes my bottom lip, and I slide my fingers into his hairline, tickling his scalp and increasing the pressure. That’s all the permission he needs. Taking the invitation greedily, he uses his mouth to swallow me whole. His tongue sweeps past my teeth and against my tongue in long unhurried swipes. A moan leaves me on a rasp of breath. He tastes good, rich and utterly male. I want his body on top of me, coating every surface with his warm skin. Tugging at his shoulders, I attempt to bring him against my chest. It doesn’t work. He’s a solid rock, unmovable. I grunt in frustration, scissoring my legs to aid in my goal. Unfortunately, Chase does the exact opposite of what I want and pulls away.