Chapter 43
CHAPTER 43
I was falling in love with Porter .
And I had no idea how he felt about me.
His actions told me he cared, but all my feeble attempts to move this sham into reality had fallen spectacularly flat. I mean, I’d all but confessed my heart to him on my deathbed.
If he felt anything back, wouldn’t that have inspired some sort of conversation? Instead, in the same breath, he was asking me for absolute trust while threatening to walk.
Maybe that was the price for loving this man. You gave him your heart, and he responded by being the best man you’ve ever met without promises to stay. He still felt so distant, so far away.
I needed some reassurance. Having his body against mine would chase those fears away.
Hopeful, I asked, “Does this mean we can have sex now?”
He frowned. “You’re still recovering from surgery.”
“A blow job, then.”
“When you’re better.”
“I feel loads better already. ”
A ghost of a smile traced his lips. “Get some sleep. Obey your security team.”
He stepped back from me.
“You’re not going to be here?”
“No.”
I wanted to ask him where he was going and who he’d be seeing, but we’d just finished the trust talk. What if he was going to see Felicia? I hated how small and jealous I felt. The situation was infuriating, but I bit the question before it escaped my mouth.
“Talk,” he demanded.
“If our situations were reversed, wouldn’t you want to know where I was going?”
“You want to know where I’m going?”
I did, but I didn’t want to admit that. It made me feel small and insecure.
He answered for me, “I have a meeting with Detective Christensen tonight, and then I’m going to do my own hunting.”
“Oh.” I felt stupid. “For my attacker?”
“For your attacker.”
“But he’s a dangerous person.”
“I’m a hundred times more dangerous than his worst nightmare.”
“What will you do if you find him.”
“We’ll sit down and have a talk.”
Translation: there’d be no talking.
Should I be scared for him? I doubted he’d be able to find a man that the police force couldn’t find. But maybe it’d make him feel better to look. Who was I to hinder that?
But what about Felicia? Was he back in contact with her? After spending time in my world, was he ready to go back to her?
He growled. “What’s on your mind?”
I hated myself for even saying anything, but I couldn’t stop myself from speaking, “Remember when I had your phone, and you were in the shower? The night we got pizza?”
“What about it. ”
“It showed that you had talked to Felicia. For ten minutes.”
“So?”
Was he really going to make me ask this?
“So, are you two hanging out now?”
“No.”
That should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. It only made me feel stupid for asking. “Okay.”
“Want me to help you to bed?” When I nodded, he easily lifted me into his arms and carried me to the California king-sized bed in the guest room. With infinite gentleness, he laid me into bed and pulled the covers over me. “Sleep.”
“Will you kiss me?”
He hesitated so long, my heart began to pound, but then his mouth covered mine. I moaned into the kiss that had all the passion, all the lust and chemistry that I remembered. My entire body responded to that him, remembering what the kiss could lead to, remembering how good it could feel.
He pulled back, slightly breathless. His eyes were dark with desire. But without saying another word, he walked out of the room and shut the door, and suddenly, I didn’t feel too desirable.
Another week passed, and my body healed to the point of near normalcy. Except for the tiny row of stitches on my abdomen, you’d never know I’d been stabbed.
What hadn’t returned to normal was my relationship with Porter. He was gone night and day, never telling me where he went. I barely saw him, and when I did, he was as intense and emotionless as he’d been the last two times I’d talked to him. I stressed about that. I mourned those easy-going days when he was light-hearted and fun. I missed being desired. I craved his body. Instead, this SEAL side of him intimidated and confused me.
Roo and Mom set up what they termed their ‘war room,’ which was an entire room dedicated to the comprehensive planning of my faux wedding. Out of sheer boredom, I spent a lot of time with them, helping them fill party favors for guests, doing cake tastings and discussing floral colors.
To my profound shock, they’d switched the colors of my wedding theme to a soft, gentle pink. No more smaragdine. When I asked them what had happened to the emerald green, Roo didn’t bother to glance up from his binder and said, “Porter happened.”
Even when he wasn’t here, he was here.
I woke up to a noise in the kitchen. Pulling my short robe over my body, I crept out toward the light. Porter sat on a stool beneath the light. He looked like hell. He had a black eye, and his lip was cut.
A very professional medical kit laid beside him on the counter. I approached him silently and covered my mouth when I saw what he was doing. His arm rested on a surgical towel, and he was stitching a deep cut on his forearm with a needle and a professional pair of medical forceps.
“Oh, no, Porter.” I gasped, rushing forward.
He glanced up at me. “What are you doing up?”
“What happened?”
I stared in horror at his arm. The cut was deep, and he had put in five expert stitches. Blood trickled down his forearm.
He ignored me.
“We should take you to the hospital.”
He expertly tied off the last stitch. “No need.”
“What if your arm gets infected?”
“It won’t.”
“How do you even know how to do that?” I watched as he irrigated the wound with a syringe, ripped open a package of gauze with his teeth, and covered the cut before taping it.
“We stitch ourselves up in the field all the time.” He was so casual about the fact, he could have been talking about a paper cut.
“What happened?” I stared at his face.
His bottom lip was marred by a nasty cut. He stood and stretched his arm, testing the bandage. Dark blood stained his t-shirt.
My eyes widened. “Your shirt. You’re bleeding.”
He shook his head in disgust. “Ah man, this is one of my favorite t-shirts.”
“Where else are you hurt?”
“I’m not. That isn’t my blood.”
Whose blood was it?
I felt so much dismay over this turn of events, I almost couldn’t take it. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
He gathered the suture kit up and dumped it in the garbage. “No.”
“Well, what can you tell me?”
He leaned over and dropped a hard kiss on my lips. “It’s done.”
“What’s done?”
He peeled off his t-shirt and inspected it closer. “Do you think this blood will come out?”
Desperate to help with something, I stepped forward. “I can soak it for you.”
He leaned down and pressed another hot kiss on my mouth, and a deep moan escaped me. “I’m going to shower.”
I stood there, clutching his shirt and watched his retreat. Several black and green bruises marred his muscular back. I wanted to join him. I wanted to beg him for answers. Instead, I rinsed his shirt in cold water, then soaked it.
Who had hurt him? Why had he been in a fight? What did he mean that it was over? I knew this was related to my situation, and the fact that he was hurt over it, made me feel terrible.
I crept back into bed and muffled my tears in my pillow. What was happening? Why had he been in such an extreme fight? Where was he going at night? I couldn’t stand the idea of him being hurt.
Especially because it was my fault.