Page 14 of Keeping Eveline

As he lay her down on the couch in his office, he clocked the bruise and slight abrasions on her cheek. His biggest concern was the large lump on her temple.

The fact she’d fainted at his feet wasn’t a good sign.

Eveline needed the hospital, and she needed it now.

As he pulled his phone out of his pocket, a light moan came from the direction of the couch.

He squatted by her side. “Stay still,” Ox murmured. “I’m going to get you help.”

“Okay.” The word was so quiet he doubted what she’d said, and her eyelids stopped fluttering, like she had settled back down to sleep.

If she had a concussion, that was the worst thing for her to do, so he gently nudged her shoulder. “Eveline.”

A long, low, painful groan from the depths of her throat sounded, and he pulled his hand back like he’d been singed by a hot pan.

Her eyes popped open, pain darkening in their brown depths. “Hurts,” she muttered.

“Sorry, baby.”

What the hell happened to her? The question rolled around his brain as he made the call to get her help.

While Ox was on the phone, he also called down to the security desk and informed Walt to expect the paramedics and to get them up to his offices as quickly as possible.

Waiting was never something he’d enjoyed doing. He’d lost count of the times he’d had to sit in the hot desert waiting. Waiting for the insurgents to show. Waiting to see if the intel they’d been given was right. Waiting to get the hell out of there and back to base so he could shower the dirt away with low-pressure, tepid water.

As much as those times waiting had sucked, it was nothing to right now. Time seemed to drag ass, and the longer they took to get to the office, the harder it was to keep his emotions under control.

Seeing a woman, any woman, hurt in the way that Eveline had been was always hard, but this time, Ox wanted to find whoever had done this to her and pummel them into the ground.

The shrill of his desk phone broke through his anger, and he strode over to it, scooping the receiver up. “What!”

“Mr. Matthews, paramedics are on their way up.”

Ox took a deep breath, held it for a moment before blowing it out. “Right. Thanks, Walt, appreciate the call.”

A momentary twang of regret sliced through him at the way he’d snapped at the security guard. Before he left, he’d make sure he apologized to the man.

“Help is here, Eveline. I’m just going to greet them at the elevator,” he said unnecessarily to the barely conscious woman.

“Mmmkay.”

Hearing her mumbled reply released some of his worry, not all of it, but a small part. It wouldn’t completely disappear until he knew exactly what was wrong with her.

As he went to meet the paramedics, he refused to acknowledge why it was so important to him that Eveline be okay.

Why he’d forgotten she was supposed to be the enemy and had now become someone he worried about.

Three hours and two cups of God-awful coffee later, Ox was still waiting to hear from the ER doctor.

What the hell was taking so long?

The waiting room he sat in was full of people, so that explained the delay. If he’d had his way, he would’ve stayed in the cubicle with Eveline, but he’d been rushed out when she’d vomited after they’d brought her in—a clear concussion sign.

A nurse had bustled him out of the room, assuring him that they would look after his fiancée and the best thing he could do for Eveline was to let them do their job. The curtain had then been snapped shut, and Ox had made his way to where he now sat.

The paramedics at the office had been quick and efficient, and when they’d told him he couldn’t travel with Eveline, he’d stared the guy down and had announced that he wasn’t going to be leaving his fiancée. The lie tripped off his tongue easily—and he felt no remorse for saying it either. He hadn’t wanted Eveline to be frightened if she woke up en route to the hospital and didn’t know what was going on.

His pocket vibrated, and he pulled out his phone. Cass was calling him. Ox glanced at the time on the phone, it was close to eleven p.m. Why was she calling so late?

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