Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
ROSE
Present
“No!” Adrenaline pumped through my veins as my eyes snapped open from my slumber, my heart thundering in my chest. The same nightmare had been haunting me for days, yet I could barely remember the fragments.
A menacing man flashed through my memory, though I couldn’t make out his face.
His voice slithered through my mind like a garbled radio transmission, the words twisted and indistinct.
Footsteps echoed ominously in the silence, each step vibrating through my bones as he neared.
I remembered huddling against the wall, warding him away with two hands held in front of my face.
He kept advancing, and suddenly, his hand shot out to grab my neck, and he…
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the images to fade. They persisted, nonetheless, taunting me. My long hair clung to my sweat-dampened neck as I tried sitting upright, but the heavy arm slung over my chest kept me in place.
“What the hell?” I whispered, turning to find Dr. Maxwell’s eyes were already on me.
I nearly jumped at the figure filling the bed. What startled me more was his clothing, or lack thereof.
Last night, Dr. Maxwell had plucked me out of the medical suite and carried me to his presidential suite, insisting my ankle wouldn’t be ready for weight bearing until the next day.
It was a duplex with a grand living room downstairs and a bedroom upstairs.
I was momentarily stunned when I saw the suite.
It was eerily familiar, like I had been here before and we had done this song and dance in another life.
Dr. Maxwell didn’t say much during the short walk and only put me down once we reached the bed. At some point, he had stripped down to a pair of black boxer shorts, and my robe had ended up on the floor.
I instinctively pulled the sheet up to my chin. As a result, the cover slipped away from him, revealing the defined edges of his hip bones and the sculpted indentations of muscles.
A knot formed in my stomach as the fuzzy memories of last night slowly resurfaced—the massage, then the tongue massage, and, of course, the all-consuming kiss.
With a sharp inhale, I turned away from him. The bedroom had a panoramic view of the ocean, though the curtains were partially drawn. Soft morning light filtered into the room, casting odd shadows on the wall.
“Morning,” he said in his signature baritone voice.
“M-morning,” I managed, forcing myself to face him.
My breath caught in my throat when our gazes clashed. His dirty-blond hair was slightly disheveled, framing eyes heavy from sleep. But it didn’t hide the blazing heat in them or the charming half smile gracing his face.
Why was he in such a good mood?
This was the first time his expressions mimicked anything close to contentment. I wouldn’t go as far as to say he was happy, more like happy-adjacent. He was pleased about waking up next to me.
My clammy hands reached up to brush a stray hair out of my face, unintentionally exposing my cleavage.
My face burned hot under his scrutiny. The dark look he fostered whenever he took stock of my features and fixated on my bare skin…
There was an undeniable intensity behind it, a wildness that couldn’t be contained.
With a quick blink, I regained control of the sheet and covered myself. But I still couldn’t catch my breath as memories from last night washed over me. The intoxicating kisses, his voice, that look, it was all too familiar.
That was when the realization hit me like a gut punch—I knew this man.
Figments of the past had been taunting me for days, but I couldn’t piece them all together. But ever since he kissed me, I became certain of one thing. He had kissed me like that before.
For days, I’d had vivid dreams of a different life. All this time, I thought it was my subconscious acting out. Except those weren’t dreams, they were hazy memories. I knew this man before I lost my memories—he was my professor.
Why did he lie about our past? He must have had nefarious reasons for going to such great lengths to conceal our acquaintance.
A cold sweat trickled down my back. Latent panic had the air around my ears buzzing with a ringing sound. What if Dr. Maxwell was the madman I had been running from?
My spine straightened as I remembered how he had broken the deliveryman’s hand. Suddenly, the fact that he was made of pure muscles no longer had me salivating. Even at my strongest, I wouldn’t stand a chance against a man like him.
My mind reeled as he lifted to his elbows. The smirk on his face turned into a wolfish grin, and I realized it was because I was staring at him. He thought I was enamored by him. But this wasn’t adoration; I was freaking out.
I jumped when he spoke again.
“Bad dream?”
“W-what?” I stammered, cursing the tremor in my voice.
He raised an eyebrow. “You look a little pale. Did you have a bad dream?” He watched me, assessing every emotion that crossed my face. “Or did you remember something?” His tone was casual yet somehow sharp. I could tell the answer mattered with how he awaited my response.
My heart rate quickened, and I forced a weak smile. “Oh. I, erm, yeah, I had a bad dream,” I told him, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t remember what it was about.”
He studied me momentarily, and I fought the urge to squirm. Those piercing blue eyes dissected me, trying to catch me in a lie. “Interesting,” he mused, a hint of something indecipherable in his eyes. “You screamed over a bad dream you can’t even remember.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. The air was squeezed out of my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “I didn’t scream,” I said in a placating tone. “It was more like a gasp.”
I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact, desperately searching for a way to end the conversation. I had no idea if my explanation was convincing, and lying to him was impossible.
“Ow.” I clutched my ankle when it suddenly flared up.
He immediately bolted upright. “Does your ankle hurt?” he asked, his voice softer, almost caring, and his interrogation over my nightmare all but forgotten.
Saved by the bell .
When I nodded, he rotated my ankle to examine the swelling, and I said a silent prayer for the distraction. He gave me anti-inflammatory pills and applied an ointment.
I watched him work and couldn’t make sense of my situation. If he were the man from my nightmares, why was he healing me? Why did he save me in the first place? Perhaps I was mistaken, and my mind was playing tricks on me.
I had to calm down. He couldn’t be the man from my nightmares, because if he wanted to kill me, he would have done so already. Instead, he had saved me from certain death.
“How does it feel now?” he asked.
I plastered on what I hoped was a convincing smile. “Much better. Thank you.”
The ointment and medication weren’t miracle treatments, but he wouldn’t let me out of bed if I said I was in pain. At least the swelling had decreased. I patiently waited for him to come to the same conclusion.
When he was satisfied with the progress, he grabbed the room service menu from the nightstand and ordered breakfast over the phone. I used the opportunity to pick up the robe from the ground and draped it around my shoulders.
I hobbled to the bathroom and turned on the sink. The stream wasn’t loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
What the hell was going on?
I knew Caden Maxwell. He was my professor but kissed me like he was my boyfriend. Why did he conceal his identity and our relationship to one another?
I didn’t have the answers, and I couldn’t confront him, either. Not when I was vulnerable and completely at his mercy. The staff bowed down to him, and even Amelie acted like his minion. He was the law on this boat, and no one would save me if my accusations made him volatile.
Then I remembered his interaction with Jace, who had tried taking the heat for me.
Perhaps there was one person on this boat who wasn’t under the doctor’s thumb.
We had a five-minute conversation and hadn’t exactly laid down the foundation for a lifelong friendship.
Confiding in him was a big gamble, but I was trapped on this boat with no one else to turn to.
Until I spoke to him or figured out the extent of my past with Dr. Maxwell, I needed to stay on guard.
I used the facilities, brushed my teeth, and washed my face with a cleanser.
The aesthetician had left behind an entire beauty line in the medical suite, and I was surprised to find out they had mysteriously migrated to Dr. Maxwell’s bathroom.
There were numerous items, including a serum, moisturizer, eye cream, and sunscreen.
I used all the products to extend my time in the bathroom until I heard a knock on the door.
“Food’s here,” Dr. Maxwell called out from the other side of the door.
The words were music to my ears, and I was already salivating.
Even the fear of my possible killer couldn’t keep me away from food.
With a deep breath, I opened the door and found him with a small trolley laden with covered dishes.
He had put on a pair of sweatpants, his chest still bare.
He looked nothing like the professional doctor from yesterday in a white coat.
It looked like we were at home, and he was cozy.
Intimate, like a person deeply familiar with me.
My eyes involuntarily lingered on his torso.
It wasn’t my fault that his looks muddied my mind every damn time.
A woman awaiting execution at the gallows would be just as stumped by him.
I wasn’t embellishing his beauty. If anything, I wasn’t doing him justice because I was wary about the whole he might have tried to murder me dilemma.