Page 30 of Broken Surrender
They disappeared, exiting through the house, and I ran for the closet, but I couldn’t find the panic button under Desmond’s bag. I dumped out the contents, rifling through the toys, but it wasn’t there either.
I ran across the yard, my robe flapping in the wind. I banged on Desmond’s sliding glass door. The estate manager took a deep breath and scowled at me, but once Desmond appeared in the window, my heart dropped.
Why was I so relieved?
He slammed open the door, his fists clenched. “What happened?”
“I tried,” I whimpered. “The panic button. I couldn’t find it. I tried—”
He pulled me in close, wrapping his biceps around me like a cocoon. “Get my security on the Dalton House,” he said to the estate manager. “And call for a doctor.”
“Yes, sir.”
He swooped me into his arms, then carried me through the house. I should have cried, but I could hardly breathe. Everything slowed down like we were dredging through wet sand, but he took me to a giant marble white and gray bathroom. The tile chilled my skin and Desmond bundled me in a blanket and stroked my hair, asking me questions, and I tried to tell him about the man and the guards, how they asked about Eros, but none of my words made sense. I kept replaying the events in my head: What was Eros? What had John done with it? And why was it so important that they were willing to hurt me for it?
A few minutes later, a doctor arrived with a technician. They took mobile x-rays and tended to my ribs and eyes, ignoring the bruises on my ass. After a healthy dose of painkillers and a giant ice pack, they left, and Desmond locked me in the bathroom, leaving his estate manager guarding the door.
Through the door, Desmond’s voice carried through the house as he hollered at his men, carrying out orders. The estate manager winced, then handed me a set of oversized clothes.
“If there’s anything you need, madam,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. I tucked the blanket around my shoulders. “Does he often yell like that?”
“Never, madam.” He lifted his shoulders slightly. “It appears this evening has stirred him.”
Warmth filled my chest, but I pushed it away. It meant nothing. I didn’t care about Desmond—at least, I told myself I didn’t—but I liked knowing that he cared enough to be upset. Then panic rose in my core; would he be upset with me? He had made me promise never to let another man touch me like that, and while it hadn’t been up to me, would he be upset that I hadn’t escaped sooner? That I hadn’t used his panic button? That I had lost it somehow?
A half an hour later, Desmond excused the estate manager, then came into the room, helping me off of the floor.
“How are you?” he asked.
I swallowed hard. He was calm, like everything was fine.
“You’re not mad?” I asked.
“Why would I be mad?”
“The panic button,” I stammered. “I lost it. And you told me not to let a man touch me like that again.”
“I’m not mad about that,” he barked, his jaw clenched. “But I am angry that you would think so little of me. I’m angry at myself for letting this happen—”
I laughed, and he glared at me, daring me to explain myself. I shrank away. “You had nothing to do with strangers breaking into my house,” I said. “Did you?”
“I could have prevented it and you know it,” he growled. I sucked in a breath and his shoulders sunk down. Then he broadened his chest. “I’m staying at your house tonight. We’ll go there and wait for their return. My security team is already there, surveying the scene, and will be working all night. But I want to go there myself, to make sure that they don’t miss anything.”
I was honestly relieved that he wanted to stay with me. “All right,” I said.
Silence passed between us, the tension ripe in the air. I let go of the blanket, then slipped into the pajama bottoms the estate manager had brought me. They were loose around my hips; they must have been one of Desmond’s pairs.
“Even if I’m controlling you through blackmail, you’re stillmine,Lena,” he said in a low voice. He met my eyes, and I tried to lower my gaze, but he raised a hand, stopping me. “You were hurt. I could have stopped it.”
His face was red, his eyes bulging. He was furious then, but not at me.At himself.The words slipped out before I could stop them: “Were you avoiding me?”
He studied me. “I had work to do,” he said slowly.
So that’s what it was, then. Hewasavoiding me, and that was why he blamed himself for the home invasion.
“Everyone gets busy,” I said.
