Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
Mia
What a week. I wandered around the little cabin, tied snugly into Armin’s terrycloth robe while he shopped for supplies. I tinkered a bit with the stovetop coffee pot in the kitchen but decided to wait for him to come back and do it.
I was getting spoiled.
It had been a wild ride. My fever had gotten so bad, there were two nights and a day I didn’t entirely remember. After that I’d been in bed another couple of days.
Only since yesterday did I feel well enough to get up, walk around a little. I thought about a good cup of coffee and noticed a rumbling in my stomach. Good signs. I could sit up unassisted. My bruises were still there, but everything else was snapped back in place.
I shuddered with the memory of the pain. That wasn’t something I’d soon forget.
A dirty bag by the door caught my eye, sitting on an overturned milk crate. It took me a few blinks to recognize it as my purse, caked in mud.
I walked over to it and peered inside. There she was on top, my Beretta.
Wow. He must have seen it. I pulled it out and opened the chamber. All six bullets still inside.
I closed it up and replaced it in the purse. Hadn’t needed to use it on my suspected axe murderer, after all. I’d been very wrong about Armin.
I’d actually been happy to see him when my fever broke and I opened my eyes. He’d looked so damn scared, hovering above me, daubing at my forehead with a cool washcloth.
“What’s the matter?” I’d blurted out.
“Nothing, now,” was all he’d said. And he’d smiled, though his eyes were still haunted.
Armin respected my wishes after all, kept me out of the hospital. Did all the nursing himself. And I was grateful.
It would have been a real can of worms, the hospital.
I made my way over to the fireplace to poke at the glowing embers. The sun peeked through the cabin’s porthole-shaped window to streak a sunbeam across the sofa. Called my name, insisted I lay down and take a hard-earned nap after my walk around the place.
Okay, sofa: noted.
First I moseyed into the kitchen to glance over the wine rack. He’d added a few bottles since yesterday. I plucked a fancy-labeled Bordeaux out of its slot and set it on the counter for Armin to uncork when he got back.
I was going soft. I had to get out of here.
A couple more days. I could have that, couldn’t I?
Watch it, girl. You’re not in East Greenwich to fall in love.
I lay back on the couch, scoffing at myself.
Love, ha. I didn’t have any illusions. We lived in a capitalist country, and I was smack dab in the middle of a very extended business transaction.
Wasn’t my style to get attached. I could mark myself safe from those kinds of feelings, billionaire or not. Money didn’t impress me much.
Though I had to admit, I was happy to see Armin whenever he walked into the room. I’d gotten used to his shape, his calm, his kindness, those country mannerisms of his.
And from time to time my body had gotten a little too enthusiastic about him. So had his, that was no secret either. Especially when I’d asked him to rub that bruise cream on me. I’d thought long and hard about the bulge in his jeans before I fell asleep.
Now that I was feeling better, I’d started to fantasize about a more passionate goodbye than a hug and a handshake.
After all, we were adults.
We could have some adult fun before we parted ways.