Page 202 of Mangled Memory
The weak bark from Christian is followed quickly by a moan. My eyes fly to his face. The pain etched there is evident.
“You’re awake.” Sometimes I’m Captain Obvious. I jump to my feet and reach for him. “What do you need?”
“Are you okay?”
“You’re in the hospital and asking if I’m okay?” I put a hand to his forehead. “Not feverish. Did you hit your head? Oh no, poor Georgio.”
“Princess.” It’s warm and sensual and almost teasing. He captures my hand, kissing my knuckles, before looking me up and down. “What are you wearing?”
“Now I’m really afraid. You were shot and we’re discussing fashion?” I look down my body. “I was cold. Thatroom—whatever it is, is cold and damp, and it seeped into my bones. I wanted warm and cozy, so I grabbed a sweatshirt with my yoga pants.”
“You grabbedmysweatshirt. I like it.”
At least he’s not angry. I shrug. “The doctors have come in and out. You’re stable and will live.”
“Good to hear.”
“Note to self, gunshot wounds make you pithy and flirty. I’ll file that away.”
He tugs my hand, and I fall toward him, catching myself before I crash into him. “Correction, my wife being funny makes me happy. Flirty is just a natural by-product.” His face morphs to heated but for one second a grimace crosses his features.
“What is it?”
“Hurts like a bitch. I have a hole in my body where it doesn’t belong.”
“Let me get a doctor.” I begin to pull away, but the grasp on my hand tightens.
“Ayla?”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me first.”
So I do. He cups my head and holds me to him. This kiss isn’t hard or possessive, but tender, and when I pull back his hand remains, and his eyes hold mine. “I was terrified. I can’t remember being as scared as I was last night.”His voice is a ragged whisper.
“I was scared too.” My voice sounds like I dragged it across gravel.
“Ayla.” His eyes close. When they reopen, fire blazes there. “I wasn’t scared for me.” His hand at the back of my head squeezes in emphasis. “I didn’t know how to protect you. I was vulnerable and I made you vulnerable, and that’s unacceptable. It will never happen again.”
His eyes bore into mine, and the hold on my head nearly bites with pain, but not in the dominating, sexual way it did last night. There’s no doubting he means it. I give in and nod.
“Next time, tell Fitz not to leave without giving me an update. Or a blanket.”
He releases me, his face purposefully blank.
“Watching him go but not knowing when I’d be released was annoying. Impressive cameras by the way… that whole screen ofThe Truman Show. Only, it’sThe Barone Show, I guess. By the way, what was up with the masked men skirting around the grounds, avoiding the outside cameras?”
His face is a mask.
Controlled.
Aware.
Calculating.
He reaches for his phone, thumbing over icons before typing something. His eyes scan the device as moments pass in silence.
I sit on the edge of his bed, no longer held captive by his huge palm on my skull, and watch as he reviews what I saw last night. His eyes flick to mine before returning to the screen.
