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1046 Words
They retreat, leaving my brain pinwheeling. Who is this guy?
Before I can ask any more questions, a doctor sweeps in, nose in the air, all self-important and snooty in his blue scrubs and white coat. He stops short like the cops did, looking Liam up and down suspiciously.
He says, “Are you family?”
“I’m Liam Black.”
The doctor’s lips part. His eyes widen. He clasps the clipboard he’s carrying to his chest like a shield and swallows, hard.
“What’s the prognosis?” says Liam.
It sounds like It better be good news or you’re dead.
When the doctor pales, I giggle. Liam rests his hand on my shoulder and gently squeezes. I fight the urge to nuzzle it and look at the doctor instead.
He’s nervously licking his lips. “Yes. The prognosis. Ah…” He consults the clipboard. “There’s no GI bleeding or other internal injury. The CT scan showed no bleeding on the brain. Her ribs are bruised, but not broken, and the cartilage is intact.”
He looks up, ignoring me, and speaks directly to Liam. “A few days of bed rest, a week or so of limited activity, then she’ll be as good as new. She’s a very lucky girl.”
“And the swelling?”
“Swelling?” I repeat, anxiety pricking through my cottony bubble.
The doctor finally realizes I’m in the room. He gives me a cursory once over, then turns his attention back to Liam. “It should resolve in a week to ten days. The bruising, too. Ice will speed the healing process.”
“When will she be discharged?”
“I’ll get the paperwork ready now. Should be less than twenty minutes.”
“I think she should be kept another night for observation.”
Too intimidated to argue, the doctor nods. “Yes. She should be kept another night for observation.”
“When she is discharged, we’ll need some pain medication to take home.” We? Home? This is getting interesting. “Tylenol should be enough to manage the—” “Opioids,” cuts in Liam, staring hard at him.
The doctor blanches. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
“Thank you.”
Realizing he’s been dismissed, the doctor turns and leaves, shoulders slumped in relief.
When Liam turns his attention back to me, I say, “Is your last name really Black, or is that just a nod to your favorite color? Inquiring minds and all.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, something resembling a real smile curves his lips. It softens the severity of his face, giving me a glimpse of a different person, one who knows how to laugh and be happy and knows nothing at all about the various ways to maim a man.
The exact amount of torque it takes to snap a neck.
He murmurs, “I can’t believe I thought you were shy. I’m usually such a good judge of character.”
I like it that his voice changes when he speaks to me. It lowers. Softens. Becomes warmer and more intimate, as if we’re lying in bed together side by side and he’s trailing his fingers over my naked skin.
“I am shy. I told you that. I’m very awkward with strangers.”
“I’m a stranger.”
“Not anymore.”
Something about that response dissatisfies him. His smile vanishes. He leans over me, planting his hands on the mattress on either side of my pillow.
He looks dangerous now. Dangerous and beautiful, all clenched jaw and burning eyes, his nose inches from mine. His voice stays soft, though, so I know he isn’t angry. “Don’t mistake me for something I’m not, Tru.”
“Like what?”
“A good man.”
I get the feeling he wants to scare me, but he doesn’t. Even if I wanted to be afraid of him, I’m not.
I stare up into his burning eyes and say softly, “You saved my life.”
“That doesn’t make me good.” His gaze drops to my mouth, and his voice grows rough. “I did it for selfish reasons.”
When he looks into my eyes again, he lets me see everything. All the need, all the want, all the dark desire.
It sends a thrill straight through me, like nothing I’ve ever known.
I whisper, “So you’re not an assassin, then. They’re supposed to be incognito, right? But the cops know you. My doctor did, too. You nearly scared the s**t out of the poor guy. Maybe you really are The Batman.”
Liam does another of his slow, aggravated exhales, staring at me without blinking.
He smells good, like soap and cigars and testosterone, like a midnight walk in the woods. Without thinking, I reach up and touch his face. His beard is rough and springy under my fingertips.
“You’re beautiful, wolfie. Has anyone ever told you that?”
In a husky whisper, he says, “You should stop talking now.”
“I’ve recently had a brush with death, and I’m high on pain meds. I get a pass.”
When I trail my fingers across his jaw and brush his lips, he stiffens. He goes so still, I don’t think he’s even breathing. He looks as if he’s about to bolt out of the room.
“Wait,” I say, gazing at him in wonder. “This is backward. I should be afraid of you, but instead…”
“I’m not afraid of you,” he says, his dark eyes turning coal black. “I’m afraid for you. For all the ways I should scare you but don’t.” His voice drops. “For everything I want from you that I think you just might give me if I asked, though you’d dearly regret if you did.”
We stare into each other’s eyes as the heartbeat monitor next to the bed goes crazy.
His phone rings, breaking the spell.
With a low oath, he reaches up and switches off the squealing monitor. Then he straightens, turns away from me, walks to the window, and pulls his cell from his suit pocket.
- Writer
