Chapter 9
Day Three
I am pinned to the bedroom floor, my cheek pressed flat against the hard surface, unable to raise my head, because a small hand is exerting incredible pressure on it. One of my arms is bent painfully up my back.
And a tiny woman, even more slight than Haley, is sitting on top of me. Growling. That’s the only word for the guttural noise coming from her throat. It’s audible even above the yelping dogs who are going nuts out in the hallway.
The door flies open and the dogs spill in, leaping over me in delight as if this woman has laid me out on the floor purely for their entertainment. Out of one eye, I look up to see Haley standing there, hands on hips.
“Sam,” she barks, wide eyes fixed on the crazy woman. “It’s OK. I know him. He’s staying here.”
The woman’s grip on my arm loosens a little and I groan at the release of the pain.
“Really?” she says. “You didn’t say?”
“No,” Haley sighs. “I didn’t. Look, it’s a long story, but—”
“But it’s one that can wait till this mad cow gets off me,” I say.
The cow in question shoves my arm upwards again, and I wince.
“Sam.” Haley’s patient voice is like a mother trying to calm a toddler tantrum. It’s easy for her to be patient; she’s not the one who’s being assaulted. “This is Christian. You know, Christian Steele . From the band.” I hear a small huff of annoyance from above as Haley pleads with this wild creature who’s hurting me to do as she asks. “Please, let him up and I will explain.”
The woman mutters to herself, as if reluctant to free me, but does as requested. She releases my arm and clambers to her feet. Even though she’s small, it’s a relief to get her weight off my back. I crane my head upwards and glare at her. She meets my eyes with an unapologetic glower.
I roll over and sit up, drawing my knees towards my chest and resting my forehead between them for a bit. I’m still dazed from when my head whacked the floor as I went down. Not to mention the shock of being wrestled to the ground by some five-foot-nothing girl in navy scrubs. There’s a damn big dent to my ego bigger than the one in my head.
“Sam,” Haley says, in that same smooth tone, “how about you go make some coffee? And maybe take the dogs?”
Tully and Mularkey are still dancing around us, the only ones enjoying this damn situation .
“Come on girls,” Sam calls and they follow her out the door. Haley closes it behind them. Now it’s safe, I rise to my feet and stagger to the bed.
“What the fuck, Haley? Who is that?”
“Shh, Christian,” she hushes. “Look, it’s a long story.”
“OK, I’m listening,” I grumble.
She sits beside me and continues in that toddler-soothing voice.
“Well, that’s Samantha. My friend. She’s a nurse.”
“Better get her back in here, then, to fix the damage she’s done.” I rub at my shoulder, where jabbing pain like I’ve touched a mains-powered electric fence still shoots all the way up from my elbow. “Why the hell did she grab me like that? And why doesn’t she know who I am?”
I’m not vain about my fame, and sure, guitarists don’t get their face splattered around like lead singers, but surely most people of a certain age in this country would recognise me.
“Look, Sam’s not really into popular music. Apart from knowing it’s Ollies band, she hasn’t a clue about Stellar Riot. And she’s one of those rare people who has no interest in social media.”
“Well, can’t fault her for that,” I say. I’ve never hidden my loathing for all that shit. “But really, to just launch in and attack me…”
Haley sighs impatiently and carries on in a low voice.
“About three years ago, late one night when she was coming off shift, Sam was attacked in the hospital car park. It was awful. She was lucky—some people came along and the guy took off. Cops got him later. She wasn’t badly hurt, but it still really messed her up.”
“Shit, that’s terrible. ”
OK, maybe I’m feeling a tiny bit sorry for this girl, Sam—even if my head still throbs, and the tendons in my arm are so stretched I doubt I could even hold my guitar.
“And as part of moving on from that, she took up martial arts—Krav Maga. She’s been doing it for a while.”
“Well, she’s really good at it. Black belt, I suppose?”
I rub at my temple where I can feel a lump. My fingers graze over my brow. Can you break your eyebrow? There’s bone there and sharp pain.
“They don’t have belts.”
“Well, if they did, hers would definitely be black. She’s a fucking master.”
“Thanks,” a shy voice says, as the door swings wide.
The tiny nurse stands in the doorway. She’s clutching something wrapped in a cloth. Her face wears a benign expression that’s hard to reconcile with the ferocity I’ve seen she’s capable of.
“Let’s get some ice on that.”
No one would believe this is the banshee who, with one flick of the slender arm now presenting what looks like a bag of frozen peas tied up in a tea towel, had me down and begging for mercy. Her voice is efficient but kind. Even so, I draw back, wary, but she’s not deterred, and presses the freezing parcel against my head.
“Hold it there with your good arm.”
She guides my left hand upwards and I cup the makeshift ice pack tight. It’s painful yet immediately brings some relief to the throbbing. Then, with a delicacy I’d not have expected, Sam unbuttons my shirt and slides my right arm free. I see her eyes flicker over my tattoos as her fingers probe gently.
“Does that hurt? ”
“A little.” Under her touch, my muscles relax and my tendons no longer scream at me so loudly.
“Haley, do you have anything we can rub into this? You know, a muscle cream, sports liniment or something?”
“I doubt it.” Haley laughs. “We’re not exactly the sporty types around here. But I’ll check the bathroom. You never know.”
I’m not hopeful. My friend Ollie is a notorious slug when it comes to deliberate exercise. Lean and wiry, he’s one of those people who looks like he’s super fit, when actually his morning workout is simply getting upright. When you see him on stage, where he brings a huge energy, you’d swear he’d be the sort of guy who runs a marathon before breakfast. Not him—that’s me. Growing up on the farm, I crave early rising and time in the outdoors. Pounding the streets each morning keeps me sane. The lack of this outlet is yet another reason I’m struggling after being a caged animal for days.
Haley returns a minute later with a plastic tube.
“Well, guess Ollie had this from when he was training for that charity run.”
I remember it well. The lazy bastard moaned for weeks in the lead up. Even though it was only a pathetic little 10k, he’d had to run each day to avoid total embarrassment, hated every moment and didn’t hesitate to let us all know.
Sam grabs the tube and squirts a large blob of the gel onto her hand. It smells like a locker room, searing my nose hairs. With well-practised strokes, she works it into my arm. It’s both fiery hot and icy cold at the same time. I close my eyes, succumbing to the soothing pressure of small fingers. By the time she’s done, it feels much better. Not good, but better .
“OK, I’ll finish those coffees,” she says, manoeuvring my shirt back up over my shoulder.
She scurries from the room. I suspect with the job completed, she’s dropped out of nurse mode and shame at the damage she’s wrought on an innocent man is rearing its head. As it should.
I look down at my shirt still hanging loose, my chest and stomach exposed, and try to fumble at the buttons with my good arm. Seeing I’m losing the battle, Haley steps in front of me.
“Here,” she says, a tentative hand reaching for the flapping shirt front, her eyes not meeting mine. I’m sitting on the bed, legs spread wide, and she’s standing between them. My cock twitches, sensing her nearness. God, I’d love to pull her in close and crush her tight against me.
I tense under the brush of a dainty finger tracing my collarbone as she tugs the two pieces of fabric, fastening the top button. She’s taking it slowly. I’m sure it’s because she’s trying to avoid touching my skin as much as possible. But it’s merely having the effect of prolonging the process, and I’m not complaining. It’s like the delicious intimacy of slow undressing in reverse and I tingle all over.
The shirt is spread wider the lower she gets, and I shudder a little at the delicate fingertips which graze the skin at my waist as she draws the two sides together. Her eyes are on the job and feeling her focus on my body sends a surge of heat through me.
The final button doesn’t want to go, and the sensation of her hands working at it just above my navel has the hairs on my body standing to attention, not to mention what’s beneath. There’s nothing I can do to cover the fact she’s totally turning me on. I should be worried about this, but whether it’s the smack to the head, or the haze of pain in my arm, I’m beyond caring .
If Haley notices my hard-on, she gives no indication. Maybe shyness prevents her gaze from roving that low. I can’t meet her eyes to check.
“There, all done,” she says. There’s a bloom of colour in her face as she steps back, as if she’s as acutely aware of the arc of energy between us. Mine is blatant attraction. And hers?
I feel the absence of her from my space with a jolt of loss. I already miss her closeness, the caress of her hands, even though it wasn’t a touch of affection—or was it? It felt good to have her attend to my needs.
My other need is making its presence felt, uncomfortable in my jeans. I rise to my feet with the shirt buttoned, but hanging all loose. I’d love nothing better than to ask her to tuck it in for me. I imagine that little hand forcing itself into the waistband, the curve of it thrusting over my arse, or pushing down over my hip bones at the front. But the length of the shirt conveniently covers the even larger bulge in my pants produced by these thoughts.
No matter anyway, she’s already heading for the door.
“Let’s get that coffee,” she says.
The dogs, who’ve been sitting observing us with curiosity, bound out ahead of her, as if the invitation is for them.