Authors: LR Potter
She tried to shrug out of the hold
on her arms, but they were just too strong. Using a different tactic, she
dropped her center of gravity by dropping to the ground, hoping to throw off
their balance, but they just tightened their grips until they were holding her
off the ground. As she replaced her feet on the ground, she lifted her head
just in time for it to snap back as Blondie’s fist caught her jaw with an
uppercut.
“You bitch!” he screamed.
Tate stumbled back, but remained on
her feet due to the tight hold on both arms. As Blondie stepped forward
menacingly once more, Tate closed her eyes in preparation for the next hit. She
exhaled when she heard a voice coming from the back of the bar.
“Hey, what’s going on here?”
Jace
shouted.
The guys hesitated for only a moment
before shoving her to the ground and sprinting off. Over his shoulder, Blondie
shouted, “Next time, babe.”
Tate sat for a second, trying to
unscramble her jarred brains. Remembering her money, she tried to scramble to
her knees, but found the action almost impossible due to the rattling in her
head. Sluggishly, she rolled to her knees and began trying to retrieve all the
bills she could catch.
Jace
raced up and knelt down
in front of her.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he ran
his hands gently over her face and down to her shoulders. Her shoulders sagged
as the adrenaline, which had kept her going, exited her body. Taking several deep
breaths to tighten her rioting emotions, Tate rolled to her feet and began to
rise. She swayed slightly from the sustained hits from both Blondie’s head and
his fist.
Jace
grabbed her arms involuntarily in an
effort to keep her on her feet.
She shrugged out of his arms
angrily. “I’m fine, thanks,” she said more abruptly than she intended. She
immediately felt ashamed; she wasn’t angry at him – he was just a convenient
scapegoat.
She began to search around and
gathered up more of her bills. After a moment, as he had with the water,
Jace
began to help her pick up the money. She took a deep
breath as her anger quickly deserted her, leaving her feeling exhausted and
vulnerable.
“Don’t worry about it,
Jace
. I got this. I’m fine, you can go. Thanks for your help,”
she said woodenly.
Turning his head to glance over at
her, he said, “Don’t be silly. I’m not leaving you out here alone. Come on.
I’ll help you gather what we can then I’ll walk you to your door.”
As Tate lowered her body down onto
her haunches to continue gathering up money, the quick descent caused her
stomach to roil nearly uncontrollably at the motion. Rising, she stumbled over
to the trashcan near the exit of the bar, lifted the lid, and began to heave.
She was startled when she felt cool hands pulling the hair that’d escaped her
elastic
hairband
away from her face. Her face flamed
in embarrassment.
Without lifting her face, she
mumbled, “
Jace
, please leave. I’m fine.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Tate, I’m
a doctor. Trust me when I say, you are
not
fine. You’ve received blows
to your head and now you’re throwing up. In my profession, we call this
not
being
fine – in fact, it’s the exact opposite. You need to be lying down. Come on.
We’ve gotten all the money I can see. I’ll help you upstairs.”
She lifted a hand and wiped the back
of her trembling fingers against her lips. She almost declined his offer, but
truth be told, her limbs were trembling so badly – probably from delayed shock
– she didn’t know if she could make it upstairs without his help. With a slight
nod of her head, she allowed him to wrap his arm around her waist and walk her
up what felt like a thousand steps to her apartment. She reached down to her
apron to get her keys, when she remembered she wasn’t wearing it.
Heaving an exhausted sigh, she
lifted her eyes up into the questioning eyes of
Jace
Staton’s
.
“My keys are in my apron, down
there,” she huffed.
Comprehension dawned. “You stay here
and I’ll go back down, okay?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Jace
raced back down the stairs and
searched around until he located her black apron. As he made his way back, Tate
glanced down at her shirt and was surprised to see red splattered on it.
Raising a hand to her forehead, she felt the sticky substance on her fingertips
as well as the huge knot there. She winced at the pain. As she glanced at the
blood on her fingers, she once more felt her stomach clench. She raised her
non-bloody hand to her mouth and swallowed repeatedly to keep everything left
in her stomach down. She hated the sight of blood; especially her own. She felt
dizziness wash over her, and slowly, she slid down with her back against the
door until she was sitting. She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around
them, and leaned her forehead on her knees.
She heard
Jace
above her head unlocking the door, but didn’t lift her head until he knelt down
in front of her and helped her to her feet. She felt beads of sweat pop up on
her forehead as she stood and once again tried to stop the roiling of her stomach.
Jace
opened the door to her small apartment and
ushered her in while keeping his hand firmly on her arm. He felt around the
wall for the light switch and illuminated their path. He walked them through
her compact kitchen into her even more compact living room. He sat her down in
an old, box-shaped chair, covered in cracked brown leather.
Kneeling once more in front of her,
he leaned over and snapped on the table-side lamp. With his cool fingers, he
gently probed the knot on her forehead. She winced at his touch but said
nothing. Instead, she concentrated on his scent; it was composed of male sweat,
his own personal musk, and a tiny whiff of some slightly spicy cologne.
Overall, it was a very tempting smell. She inhaled deeply, hoping to store the
smell into the olfactory cells in her brain.
Placing his pointer finger in front
of her eyes, he said softly, “Follow my finger with your eyes.”
“I’m fine, really,” she protested.
Placing his pointer finger against
her lips, he said, “
Shh
. For once, please do as you
are told, okay? I’m a doctor, I’ll decide if you’re fine, if you don’t mind.”
Lifting his finger once more, Tate
followed his finger right, then left. Satisfied, he brought both hands up and
reached behind her to remove the elastic band from her hair. With soothing
hands, he gently ran his fingers over her scalp, searching for other bumps or
lacerations. She closed her eyes at his touch and savored his nearness. His
presence was a soothing balm to her dampened spirit. He made her feel safe…
special even. A person set apart.
She couldn’t want this man. He would
break her heart, of this she was sure. The image of the red-lacquered
fingernails against his bicep filled her mind. Her eyes snapped open and she
intended to pull back and ask him to leave. But as her eyes opened, she found
herself staring into his magnificent baby blues. His expression was filled with
compassion, tenderness, and sparks of desire. Her breath caught in her throat.
As he neared, she closed her eyes in preparation of his kiss, but quickly
snapped them back open and lifted a hand to his chest to stop him.
“I’m sorry, but well,
ewww
,” she grimaced. “I just threw up, for goodness sakes.
I can’t do this. I need to brush my teeth and…”
As before, he pressed his pointer
finger against her lips before placing a soft kiss on her forehead. After the
brief contact, he pulled away and smiled at her as he tucked her hair behind
her ears.
“Do you have any aspirin, ibuprofen,
or anything like that?” he asked.
“In the bathroom cabinet, through
the bedroom.”
He ran his fingers tenderly over the
bruise starting to show on her
jawline
, and his lips
tightened into thin lines. He went into her bedroom, then towards the kitchen.
She heard a cabinet door open, then water running. Soon, he returned with a glass
of water, the tablets, a wet cloth, and a glass filled with ice. He handed her
the tablets which she placed in her mouth and washed them down with half the
water.
She flinched when he took the cloth
and gently cleansed the blood away from the knot on her head. When he was
satisfied, he took the cloth, poured the ice into it, and placed it in her hand
before guiding it up to the injury.
He lifted his hand to her, palm-side
up. She placed her hand in his and he slowly pulled her up.
“I think it’s time I got you in bed,
don’t you?”
Her face flamed and she stammered,
“I… I… I don’t… I can’t… I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”
Confusion flitted across his
features before a smile broke across his face.
“Oh, but I think you can. In fact,
as your doctor, I insist. I promise
,
it will be quite
painless. In fact, I’ve heard many women actually enjoy it,” he said with a
grin and a lifted eyebrow.
Oh, she didn’t doubt that at all.
What kind of girl did he think she was anyway? Just because she was a waitress
didn’t mean she fell into bed with just anyone and everyone – at least, not
anymore. While she appreciated his help tonight, there was no way she was going
to sleep with him! He laughed as her anger grew, which only made her angrier.
Pulling her up against his hard
body, making her achingly aware of all she would be missing, he whispered
against her ear, “To sleep – you need to sleep. I promise
,
you’ll feel better tomorrow. Okay?” he finished with a chuckle.
“Okay,” she whispered, as her face
flamed once again.
He helped her to her room and to her
bed with its cheap, white chenille covers, and set her down. He reached down
and untied her black non-skid shoe, then the other, and let them drop to the
floor.
Rising once more, he asked, “Can I
help remove any other articles of clothing?”
Swallowing at his provocative words,
she whispered, “No, thanks.”
“Okay, well, you finish getting
ready for bed. I’ll be in the living room. If you need anything, just call,
okay?”
“You don’t need to stay, I’m good,”
she protested.
“Medicine one-o-one, never leave
someone with a head injury. Sorry, I took an oath. You’re stuck with me. I’ll
just be on the couch. Unless, of course, you’d rather I slept here with you,”
he said with a grin.
She grabbed a pillow and handed it
to him. “Couch, please.”
Looking at the pillow, he said, “Is
that your final answer?”
She glanced at the lonely side of
her bed and hated her answer, “Yes.”
§§§
“
Tanga
,
come on out, sweetheart.
Let me see how you look,” she heard from the other side of the door.
“No,”
came
the abrupt answer.
“Come on, honey. You’re beautiful.
Is it so wrong to want to share your beauty with everyone? Did you apply the
glittery oil like I said?”
The young blonde tossed her curls
over her shoulder and stared at the oil glittering on her forearms. “Yes,” she
whispered.
“I bet you look amazing. Come on out
and let Daddy see,” said the man in his kindest voice.
“I’m embarrassed,” she whispered as
she leaned against the door.
“Honey, you have absolutely nothing
to be embarrassed about. Come on now, let me see.”
“I’m scared, Daddy. Please don’t
make me,” she whimpered.
“
Tanga
,
you better get your little ass out here right now!” he ordered.
The young girl trembled at his tone.
Daddy had a mean streak. As her face flamed, she slowly turned the knob on the
door and eased it open. Dragging out the ‘reveal’ as long as she could, the
young girl stepped through the door into the bright room and closed her eyes as
shame washed over her. It wasn’t proper for fathers to see their teenage
daughters naked – no matter what he said.
Grabbing her hand, he led her into
the middle of the bright room. Even with her eyes closed, she felt him as he
moved around her. From behind, he grabbed her shoulders and pressed himself
against her. In her hair, he whispered huskily, “God, you are so beautiful. You
will be worth your weight in gold. Of this I am sure.”
Her stomach clenched when she felt
his hands slide down her arms over the oil. She kept her eyes clamped shut as
tight as she could when she felt him return to stand in front of her.
With almost a choked voice, he
whispered, “You missed a couple of spots, sweetheart. That will never do.” She
felt his fingertips begin by her ears and travel down her neck, then still
lower….
Tate gasped awake. No, no, no! She
refused to be sucked back into
that
nightmare. It’d been such a long
time since she’d had it. Why had it come back now? Then she remembered Blondie
and the attack. Of course, fear. Fear had brought it back, it always did. She
suspected retelling the tale to Dr. Randall hadn’t helped either. She turned
her head and saw the red digits of her clock radio proclaimed it was
four-eighteen. Her head was pounding. Grabbing her housecoat and the ibuprofen,
Tate silently moved through the apartment, ever conscious of
Jace
sleeping on the couch. Creeping into the kitchen, she
grabbed her glass from earlier, refilled it with water, and swallowed the
tablets.