Chapter 15 – Cain
“All done, Mr. Prescott. You’re lucky. It won’t impact your hand function at all. It was a bad bleed, but just three stitches did the trick.”
The blonde nurse with eyes that aren’t Rhiannon’s color tells me as she finishes wrapping my hand, then squeezes my thigh a little higher than what I’d call appropriate given my thigh was never injured.
Rhiannon’s sitting in the chair in the corner, and though the nurse has no way of knowing whether we’re together or not, it feels like a disrespectful assumption for her to make, and one that crosses the lines of professional boundaries.
That is, unless it’s obvious to her and everyone around us that Rhiannon and I don’t fit together.
“Thanks,” I say with a simple nod.
She smiles again, resting one hand gently on her hip, the other falling to her throat like she’s playing with an invisible necklace.
“So, how did it happen?”
Oh, we’re making small talk now.
I notice Rhiannon sit up in the chair, her whole body going stiff.
“I bumped into a vase in my house and knocked it over. Tried to catch it, but it slipped and cracked. My hand got cut on some of the shards while I was cleaning up.”
The nurse studies my face like she’s searching for the lie. “And you brought the maid with you?”
Rhiannon snorts softly from the corner but before I can respond she stands to join us.
“We prefer cleaning personnel. But also, this is just a costume.” She winks suggestively and the nurse blushes, her mouth dropping into an ‘O’ like she’s finally realizing we came here together.
But we’re not together. So why did Rhiannon say that?
Rhiannon laughs. “I’m just kidding. This is my uniform. Hi, I’m the maid who cut his hand.” She extends her hand to shake the nurses who now looks confused and uncomfortable.
“Um, are you two together?”
We both answer no at the exact same time. I cut my eyes at her with a glare but she’s smiling, not looking my way. I mean, we aren’t together, but she was a little too eager in making that clear.
“Okay, well,” the nurse smiles at me again, “you’re all set Mr. Prescott, just head on out whenever you’re ready.” Then she practically sprints out of the room before we can make things anymore awkward.
“I can take a cab home,” I tell her.
“Maybe that nurse will give you a ride,” she says with a wide, knowing grin. “Come on. Don’t be like that. My car is safe, and I don’t mind driving you. I’ll drop you off on my way out of the city.”
I hesitate, not sure if I should spend any more alone time with her both out of fear for my physical safety and mental health.
Since being trapped in this hospital room with her, silently waiting to be seen and then stitched up, her warm scent has enveloped me, reminding me of our nights spent naked together.
I’ve been painfully fighting to stay soft ever since.
So much for getting Rhiannon out of my system. This entire situation did nothing for me except make me like her more.
I sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”
We make our way out of the bustling, mid-town ER and towards the parking garage of the hospital but before we can exit, Rhiannon stops us to get a soda from one of the vending machines near the entrance.
“I haven’t had any caffeine since breakfast this morning and I’m dreading this drive home,” she says.
I lean one shoulder against the vending machine, watching her carefully. “I see Matt’s latest story on the dangers of consuming soda haven’t deterred you from drinking it.”
She snorts as she presses the bottle to her lips, swallowing with a sigh. “Wow. Chemicals have never tasted so good.”
I can’t fight the smile now. “You’re an interesting woman. You know that, right? Here I was thinking you were this carefree, easy going, wild bird and all along you’re a woman who makes videos, cleans penthouses and coaches people on how to have sex.”
She snorts, a spray of soda escaping her mouth and landing on the uniform she’s still wearing. It makes me smile—she didn’t bother changing before bringing me here, didn’t feel the need to impress anyone or care what they might think.
We’re in New York City, the fashion capital of North America and she simply doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks about her. I like that, the unfiltered ease of just being herself no matter the circumstances. She’s never self-conscious and the most confident woman I’ve ever met.
I tend to intimidate most people, but I don’t think I’ve ever been able to do that with Rhiannon. And I don’t want to.
“Dammit,” she brushes off the orange, and then opts to unbutton her shirt even lower, as if a few more buttons can conceal the bright soda stain that’s lingering there now, only drawing my eyes to her chest again.
And her nipples... her very visible, hard, nipples. Ones that I’ve loved to suck on.
“Let’s get out of here,” I bark a little too aggressively because my hand and cock now both hurt, and I can’t stand being this close to her any longer without touching her.
“Okay, geez, we’re going.”
I spin on my heel and quicken my pace, my dress shoes echoing through the concrete gloom of the parking garage. She hustles to keep up, a little out of breath by the time she catches me.
“I take it your hand’s feeling better?” she pants, fumbling with her keys to unlock my door first because apparently, she’s determined to be helpful now and doesn’t want me to have to wait.
She’s so close that I can feel the heat of her body against mine, her perfume curling in the air between us.
It would take almost nothing to pin her against the car, to let instinct win and feel the weight of her pulse under my palm as I kiss her roughly.
To press her between me and the door until she knows exactly how hard she makes me all the time, and how fucking confused I am because of it.
But I don’t.
Instead, I take a full step back, putting space between us where I want none. Her brows knit, confusion flickering across her face like she can’t understand why I’m moving away instead of into the passenger door that she’s holding open.
And maybe she’s right to be confused because I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I’ve never felt so unsure about my next move. While Rhiannon seems all confidence and surety, I feel the least confident I’ve ever felt in my life when I’m around her.
I just know I need to fix this. I need to get her out of my goddamn system.
“Yeah,” I bite out, way too sharp. “Feels great.”
Then I duck past her and slide into the seat before I can say something worse.
“Okay, damn,” she mutters under her breath, shutting the door with a huff before circling the hood of the car.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending like I need a nap and trying to quiet the noise that’s inside my head. I think she’ll get the hint that I don’t want to talk on the drive home, but we don’t even make it out of the garage before she starts.
“So… Have you lived in New York City your whole life?”
“Yes.”
I’m being short, but at this point, I can’t afford to learn anything more about her that I like. It’s quiet for a few beats before I decide to play along. Maybe I can steer the conversation in a direction where she tells me something super fucked up about her that ends this torture.
“I assume you live outside of the city?”
She nods and immediately her whole face lights up.
Fuck my life.
“I live in Brookhaven.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a small town situated between Hartford and New York City. It’s built around this beautiful lake that fuels a lot of our economy. Mostly blue-collar workers have lived there but some of the city folk like yourself have started buying up the houses.”
“Sounds like it’s quite a commute to get to the hotel for work.”
“I only work at the hotel one or two days a week. I normally take the train when I do, but like I said, I was meeting up with Leo today, so I drove.”
“I see.”
We continue to drive in silence. I want to say something more to her, but don’t know where to start so I do the only thing I know how to do with her, provoke her.
Partially because I think that’ll get her to slip up, and partially because I love when she gets flustered.
And I especially love when she dishes it back to me. Something no other woman ever does.
I grab the orange soda bottle from the console and press it to my lips taking a long, exaggerated swig.
She catches me out of the corner of her eye but doesn’t make any movement to stop me.
“I wouldn’t do that. I have a compulsive condition where I constantly backwash.”
I choke on a swallow, sputtering and spitting orange soda all over her dusty dashboard. Never in my fucking life have I done anything like that before. And if it were my car that I just spewed orange soda over, I’d be furious.
“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that when my mouth is full.”
“Really?” she says with an eye roll.
“Well, what the hell kind of condition is that?” I choke out, pounding on my chest, trying to clear the soda that’s made its way down into the wrong part of my throat. The part where liquids go to die.
Maybe she was right. She’s a hazard to me.
She shrugs as she keeps driving, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“You’re fucking with me?”
She laughs. “Yeah. I am.”
“Why do you keep trying to kill me?”
“Choking on orange soda is hardly an attempt on your life. I didn’t pour it down your throat and force you to drink it. I don’t think that will hold up in court and you wouldn’t want to lose another case to me, would you?”
“Ouch.”
She laughs then her face turns more serious. “Look, I’m really sorry about your hand. I wasn’t thinking and I was trying to deflect. I’ll tell my manager I broke the vase, and they’ll deduct it from my paycheck.”
I shake my head. “That thing was worthless to me.”
“I guarantee it’s worth a couple thousands.”
Something tells me that’s money Rhiannon can’t spare to lose.