The Commitment (The Unrestrained #2) (23 page)

"I can't talk you into taking the afternoon off? Even you deserve a vacation…"

"I don't think I can," he said. "Since I'm staying longer, I have to finish up some work for our next shareholder meeting. Then I have to go in and get my first shot. The oncologist wants to do a peripheral blood stem cell harvest. I have to take growth factors that will increase the number of stem cells in my blood."

"The Filgrastim?"

He nodded. "I'll be taking it for four days before they do the harvest."

"I did some reading. You won't be feeling well for a while?"

"Just mild bone pain. Nothing I won't be able to handle. Nothing worse than how you feel the day after a really hard workout at the gym." He smiled softly. "We'll have a nice quiet night together.

I hugged him more closely, eager for the night to finally arrive.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Drake dropped me off at the studio, and this time, he didn’t seem as suspicious of me going there, despite being alone with two or three men he didn’t really know. I was glad – his jealousy made me smile, but I didn’t want him to really feel any concern. I didn’t even think about them other than as fellow artists.

I helped Keith, the other artist sharing the studio, work on a couple of new frames for his collection in repayment for Nathaniel helping me with mine. The guys at the studio were anything if not communitarian and cooperative. All for one and one for all, seemed to be their motto.

Keith was an interesting contrast to Nathaniel and Jules. Unlike them, he wasn't a pothead, nor did he look like he stepped out of the sixties and I couldn’t imagine the word 'dude' or 'herb' crossing his lips. He was tall with longish dark hair and eyes. He wore a black turtleneck and jeans, and looked more like he belonged in a Lit class about Lord Byron than in an art studio. His paintings were portraits of people, street people, shopkeepers, city celebrities and the buildings they inhabited. They were all dark and brooding, like him.

When I finished putting the final coat of gesso on the canvases, I said goodbye to Nathaniel and Keith and then took a taxi back to Drake's apartment in Chelsea. At about eleven, the phone rang. I answered and it was Maureen.

"Drake's at the hospital getting his first shot," I said when she asked for him.

"He already did it and left."

"He said he had some other work as well."

"He must have turned his cell off. You tell Drake that I've spoken with all the staff and they know not to let him back on the ward. If he tries to see Liam again, they've been instructed to call the police."

A wave of shock and anger raced through me. "Drake only wanted to see his son. Surely you can understand that."

"What I
understand
is that Drake is dangerous. He punched Chris in the face. You should keep that in mind, Kate. I don’t know who you are but listen to me. Drake thinks he has everything under control but he's fooling himself. He's one stressor away from losing it."

I tried to keep my voice calm, but it shook when I spoke. "He's one of the calmest men I know."

"He fights his nature really hard, but underneath, there's a lot of anger bottled up. He thinks that by being involved in
that
lifestyle he can control it, but it's still there. Don't say I didn’t warn you."

"Goodbye," I said and hung up on her. I'd had just about enough women warning me off Drake. First Dawn and now Maureen.

I sat alone in the apartment and wondered what to do. Drake had to watch himself. It was understandable that he'd want to visit his son. I just hoped he didn’t try to see Liam again. He didn’t need this kind of aggravation.

Once I calmed down, I spent the afternoon planning out my canvas, dividing up my sketch into quadrants so I could transfer the outline onto the larger surface and not lose the dimensions.

I texted Drake to see when he was coming back and if I could fix anything for dinner, but he must have been busy, in meetings or appointments and didn't answer my texts. Finally late in the afternoon, he texted me once – a brief message to say he'd received his first injection and would be at his apartment in Chelsea by six o'clock. We'd have a quiet dinner and spend the evening at home.

We ate a late supper and then spent the rest of the evening lying together on the couch listening to old music. There was no time that felt right to tell him about Maureen. We were having such a nice time together, I hated ruining it by giving him her message.

I ran my hand over his stomach, touching the bandage from his first injection.

"Will they give you another needle in your gut tomorrow?"

He nodded. "I'll be a real pin cushion when they're finished. But what I'm going through is nothing compared to what Liam's experiencing."

"What's happening to him?"

He sighed. "They have to give him drugs to destroy his bone marrow. Chemotherapy and radiation."

"For how long?"

"Four to seven days, depending. By the time my donation is ready, he'll be ready to take it."

"When will you know if the transplant takes?"

Drake sighed again. "A couple of weeks. Maureen said she'd keep me updated and I have my own contacts in the hospital, so I should know by the end of the month if his body is tolerating the new stem cells and if the transplant has been successful." He was silent for a few moments, but I could tell he wanted to say something. "Do you mind waiting? I know you withdrew from the graduate program, thinking that we'd be in Africa by now."

"I don't mind waiting at all. I want to be with you, wherever that is."

"Thank you," he said and kissed the top of my head as I lay in his arms.

"Life's too short to worry about a few months when something as important as this comes up," I added. "Columbia will still be here when I get back. My scholarship's safe as long as I start up again at the end of my leave. Besides, I'm so happy to be painting again."

He squeezed me in his arms. "I don't want you regretting being with me. When we come back, I’ll make sure not to distract you from finishing your Masters. Or focusing on your art. Whatever makes you happy."

"I won't regret this," I said, looking up in his eyes. "I'm
so
looking forward to Africa and that surprises me, considering my history. I
want
to go to Kenya, go on safari, see the positive things you've described. I want to wash away the bad memories from Mangaize."

"I want you to see it," he said, stroking my cheek. "I want the ghosts of the camps to be chased away by good things."

I snuggled more closely in his arms and enjoyed his warmth.

"I think I'll sneak in before Liam gets the transplant. Maybe when he's sleeping, so I can check on him. As his biological father, I think I have the right."

It was then I knew I had to give him Maureen's message.

I took in a deep breath. "Drake, there's something I have to tell you." I relayed Maureen's message.

He sat up, pulling me up with him.

"Fucking Christ," Drake said, his face blanching. "She actually said staff would call the
police
if I went to the ward again?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, then held his head as if he had a headache.

"I'm sorry," I said and stroked his back. "She said you punched Chris."

He glanced at me and shook his head. "Yeah I
punched
the
sonofabitch
after he punched me. He said he didn’t want a pervert anywhere near his son as long as Liam was a minor. As if I'd be some bad influence on Liam.
Christ
," Drake said and got up, going to look out the window. "All I wanted was to see him and speak with him, give him the photograph of his grandfather. I don’t care
what
they told Liam – say it's some distant uncle on someone's side. Let him know he had a relative who was heroic and maybe one day tell him the truth about me. But no. So, yeah, when he punched me, I
popped
the bastard a good one in return."

I stood dumbstruck at Drake's anger. I'd never witnessed it before. I'd seen his happiness, his humor. I'd seen his passion. But never real anger. Even when I revealed that someone had seen our agreement, he didn't get angry.

We went to bed soon after that, and Drake tossed and turned in bed beside me. There was nothing I could do to soothe him and for some reason, he wasn't interested in sex, so I lay there and listened to him sigh for quite some time before sleep finally took him.

The next few days flew by. I worked at the studio while Drake was out getting his shot or doing whatever it was he did at the foundation or his father's business. He grew progressively achy and tired as the day approached for his procedure, but he never once initiated sex and so I waited, wondering what was wrong and whether it was just the medicine or everything that happened.

On my part, I'd sketched my drawing onto the canvas and had started to apply paint. By the end of the third morning, it was starting to look like a real painting. I was really happy with it – the lush smoothness of his body in the rumpled covers, the color of his fair skin against the white sheets, his dark hair, the morning light, his beautiful body… it would look wonderful over a bed. Even with his erection, it was artistic rather than pornographic. Still, I was glad Nathaniel talked me into making two canvases. I decided I'd copy the painting onto the second one, but would strategically place a corner of a sheet over his groin to cover his genitals. I could show that canvas to my family and friends, if I wanted to.

By the fourth day of his shots of Filgrastim, Drake didn't feel much like anything except lying on the couch with a blanket on, drinking tea and eating my homemade scones with jam the way my mother used to make them for me when I was sick. We still hadn't had sex, and it was just as well since I had my period. I was glad that he was under the weather for the duration and didn't try to seduce me. He went for his last shot first thing in the morning while I worked at the studio and I came home after lunch to spend the afternoon with him while he lay on the couch.

Finally, the day came when Drake was scheduled to do the procedure, and he woke up with a headache.

He groaned as he lay beside me. "As much as I'm glad I'm able to do this, I'll be really happy to get rid of this headache."

I stroked his back. "How long before you start feeling back to normal?"

He rolled over and faced me, dark circles under his eyes. "A few days. It's really nothing. Just a few aches and a headache. Nothing more than what I'd get after a really intense workout or a flu."

He leaned over and kissed me and then rolled slowly out of the bed, sitting on the edge for a moment, rubbing his head. He sighed and got up, padding naked to the bathroom where I heard him take a pee. Then, the shower started and he stepped inside. I didn't want to shower with him, so I stayed nestled in the thick coverlet, lying in Drake's warm spot, enjoying the scent of his cologne on his pillow.

"You not going to join me?" he said from the shower.

"No, you go ahead without me. I'll have one later."

He hummed to himself as he showered and so the water must have revitalized him. He'd be happy that today was the day he'd do the procedure. From what Maureen had written in emails, and from what Drake's contacts in the hospital told him, Liam was stable but the sooner he got the transplant the better.

He came out after the shower, a towel around his waist, his hair freshly brushed and I marveled once again at how sexy and beautiful he was. He stood in front of his closet and sorted through his shirts, selecting a deep blue one, which he hung over the chair beside the closet. Then he pulled out some suit trousers in a matching deep blue and the jacket that went with it. He went to his bureau and removed a fresh pair of socks and boxer briefs and started to dress while I watched.

I lay on the bed, my arm behind my head, and enjoyed the spectacle of Drake dressing. He looked so good naked, his muscular back and buttocks tensing as he dressed. His trousers fit so nicely. I really had to spend more time touching him. Once he felt better and I was finished with my period, I decided I wanted to run my hands all over him.

"What is going on in that mind of yours, Ms. Bennet? You're being far too quiet."

I smiled. "I was thinking how nice your ass is and how I intend to touch it and run my hands all over your body when you're feeling up to sex."

He pulled his shirt on, fastening the cuffs before buttoning the shirt. He left the top couple of buttons undone. No tie today.

He came to the bed and leaned over me, his eyes intense.

"I'm sorry we've been so chaste the last few days. I'll make it up to you."

"You don't have to make anything up," I said, pushing a hank of wet hair behind his ear. "I understand. Besides, I'm under the weather, too."

"I didn't let you get away with that excuse, so technically, you shouldn't have let me, but I tell you what," he said stroked my cheek. "When I feel better, you can give me a nice massage and pretend you're my favorite harem girl."