Chapter 7 #3
So the important thing now was to savor every second of this time, while she wasn’t alone. While there was a man willing to sit by her bedside night after night and who was right now rattling pans in the kitchen.
Though the temptation was there to simply bask in this feeling, she knew she had to become well enough to get going soon. Every minute spent here was a luscious, golden temptation. She couldn’t afford to get used to this—to having someone look after her. To having a dangerous man on her side.
Now that her head was clear, flashes of memory were coming back. She couldn’t remember every detail of what had happened outside her hotel but the heart of it was that Harry Bolt had come running toward her and had killed three of Gerald’s men to save her.
A man like that on your side would make anyone feel safe.
She couldn’t afford that. Couldn’t afford to get used to the feeling of safety.
Get well and get out.
Step number one was to stand on her own two feet.
Okay. She’d been walking her whole life. How hard could it be to get back on her feet?
Ellen threw back the blanket, slowly shifted until her legs hung over the bed, looked down and swallowed. Whoa. The floor was way way down. She’d never been hospitalized before. Who knew hospital beds were so high?
How to do this? Maybe one leg at a time? Shifting her hips, she reached down with her right leg, stretching to find purchase on the shiny hardwood floor. Ah. One foot planted on the ground, now the other—
Harry appeared at the door. “What would you like—hey!”
Ellen placed her left foot on the ground and her knees buckled. She gasped, stretched out her hands to break her fall and found herself swung up against a hard chest.
Her startled eyes met his. How had he moved so fast? He’d been at the door then he was right beside her to catch her fall. She hadn’t even seen him move.
A memory stirred. Harry racing at what seemed like the speed of light toward her, gun out, already shooting…
The man was fast.
He was scowling. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Ahm…getting out of bed? I’m not an invalid. And you yourself said the wound wasn’t serious.”
Harry’s scowl smoothed out as he looked down at her in his arms, golden eyes glowing.
“You’re scared,” he said softly. “You’re scared of being weak. You’re scared he’ll find you when you can’t fight back.”
Oh God, it was like he was looking right into her soul. “Or can’t run away.”
“You don’t have to be scared about that,” he replied, in a matter of fact tone. “He’s not going to find you. No one’s going to find you. No one’s going to hurt you, ever again.”
Ellen glanced down at the floor, so shiny and stable and safe. That safety was deceptive, just as everything else was. She couldn’t even stand on her own two feet on that floor.
“I know how you feel.” It was so odd, having this conversation while being held in his arms in his study that had been turned into a hospital room. Somewhere there was a light pinging sound, exactly the sound a toaster would make when the bread was ready.
“Hmm?” He’d said something while she was completely distracted by—well, by the most incredible male body she’d ever touched.
Gerald’s company had been full of buff men, often with that body-builder’s waddle that was so unattractive and ridiculous. They all cultivated a real tough don’t-mess-with-me air, but it turned out it was all a bluff, because Harry Bolt had beat three of them, hands down.
She could feel why he had prevailed. Instinctively, one arm had gone around his shoulders, her other hand braced on his chest. She’d never felt flesh like this before, like skin over warm steel. He was built like a racing engine, muscles long and lean, wrapped around big bones.
“I said, I know how you feel. I know what it’s like to feel weak, barely able to stand. It’s horrible. I hated every second of it, and I didn’t have someone after me. I can imagine how you feel.”
Ellen’s eyes met his in surprise. He was perfectly serious, sober even. Long grooves in his cheeks, full mouth closed to a thin line, eyes grave. It seemed impossible to her that the man holding her in his arms as easily as if she were a child had been—
“What do you mean? You were weak? Weak how??”
Even saying it sounded outlandish. The parts of him she could see and feel—strong neck, the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen, huge sinewy hands—could never have been called weak. He was simply too large a man.
His mouth turned down and he shrugged one massive shoulder. Ellen dipped and rose with the movement.
“Got shot up in—in where I was deployed, about a year ago. Had four operations in as many weeks. Lost 60 lbs. Couldn’t walk for months. Yeah, I was pretty banged up there for a while.”
Ellen covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. It must have been really serious. How did you get back in shape?”
One side of his mouth turned up. “I can’t take any credit at all.
It was my brothers who forced me to get back in shape.
Sam and Mike. You’ve met Sam, and his wife Nicole.
You haven’t met Mike, though he’s been here quite a few times to check up on you while you were out of it.
I wasn’t just banged up. I was depressed too.
Probably would have sunk into a sea of self pity if they hadn’t hired The Nazi to whip me back in shape. ”
“The Nazi?”
“Yeah. He wasn’t actually German, he was Norwegian.
Bjorg. Man, he was pitiless. Two hundred fifty pounds of pure mean.
He came every day for six months and he reported back to Sam and Mike.
When I resisted he said he was more scared of them than he was of me.
They would have whupped his ass. Me? At the beginning I was lucky if I could stagger a couple of feet before falling straight on my a… er…face.”
Ellen soaked up the tones of affection when he spoke of his brothers. She hadn’t realized that Sam and Harry were brothers. They didn’t look anything alike, except for both being tall and exceptionally well-built. But wait. Sam was named Reston. And Harry’s last name was Bolt.
“How are you brothers? Same mothers, different fathers?”
“Blood brothers, not real brothers. Long story. Tell you some other time. But they weren’t the only ones who helped me. You were responsible, too. I’m here because of you.”
She simply looked at him, too astounded for words. “Me? I never met you before. How could I have had a hand in your healing?”
“Your voice. I listened to your music endlessly in the night. I think in a very real way, your music saved my life, Eve.” His deep voice had turned low, his gaze so intense it was like being touched by hands.
“I wanted to stay in this world, in this life, to hear you sing. Hell of a thing to say, but it’s God’s truth. ”
“Ellen,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Eve is my stage name. My agent chose it. Eve, first woman, woman of mystery maybe, I don’t know what his reasoning was.
But my real name is just plain Ellen. Ellen—" At the last second, bells sounded in her head. She’d been about to tell him her last name, plunge off the precipice of trust, but she windmilled her arms in her head and stepped back.
She trusted Harry, but right now telling him her last name made her feel… almost naked.
And she was, almost naked.
Lying in his arms, she was suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that underneath a thin silk sheath, she was naked.
Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be fully aware of it. He wasn’t fondling her, but he wasn’t pretending she wasn’t in his arms, either. His left hand—his very big and very warm left hand—enveloped her left breast, his right hand curved around her thigh.
It was the closest she’d ever been to a man in…in years. And to tell the truth, she’d never been this close to such a strong man, such a…a male man.
There’d been Ben, studying for his accountancy degree like her. Nice guy, beanpole thin, much more interested in derivatives than sex.
And Joe, who had a Toyota dealership and was thirty pounds overweight and kept trying to stick what felt like a marshmallow in her.
Harry felt like another species. Bigger and stronger and tougher and faster.
He was looking down at her, gaze going from her eyes to her mouth and back. As if gauging whether…
Oh yeah. In answer to his unspoken question, Ellen tightened her arm around his neck and closed her eyes.
His mouth was as warm as his hands, only much softer. He tasted absolutely delicious—of coffee and cinnamon and butter. His twisted his mouth slightly, opening hers and his tongue licked hers.
She pulled in a startled breath at the electric current that ran through her at the touch. Searing heat that took her breath away.
It was way too intense and she pulled back.
His mouth was slightly wet from hers and it was a huge temptation to run her finger over his lips, just to see again how soft they were, the only soft thing in a hard man.
He lifted his head, just slightly, so that his mouth was only an inch from hers.
Harry’s eyes were golden flames, burning hotter than the sun.
“Where were you going just now?” He was so close his coffee-tinged breath washed over her face.
She had no breath to answer him.
Oh God. The kiss had electrified her. This was insane.
It was just a kiss. It wasn’t as if she had never been kissed before.
But it was the most sensuous kiss she’d ever had, almost as intimate as sex itself.
And, oh, it had been so long since she’d been held.
Since she’d even touched another human being, even the most casual touch, let alone this assault on the senses.
She erected a small mental barrier against him, against the oh-so-tempting and oh-so-dangerous feelings of sensuality and safety he sparked in her, and stiffened a little in his arms.
“I, ahm, I need to get to the bathroom.” And I need to get out of your arms.
Harry turned and carried her into the bathroom, gently putting her on her feet, holding on to her arms.