Wintertime Bad Boy: A Christmas Suspense Romance (Alphas Unboxed Book 3) Read online

  “I—” I stand frozen in place, unable to comprehend what my eyes are seeing. “Dam- Damien, where did all this food come from?”

  I feel his presence behind me before I hear the footsteps and then he’s brushing past me and my stomach quivers at how close he is.

  “I have my sources.”

  He sits down on the couch and I see how carefully he moves as if each movement is painful. I swallow. “If you keep this up, your wound won’t heal and your stitches will pull out.”

  He glances at me, cheerfully. “I’ll be careful, mon chéri. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” I say, tensely. “But you said you want me to look after you so that you can recover and I can’t help you if you act like a brat.”

  There’s a flicker of some emotion in his eyes, dark and dangerous, and yet it doesn’t feel threatening. He pats the seat next to him. “Come sit.”

  I have no choice but to obey as he pushes a plate of eggs and bacon toward me. “You’re too thin. You should eat more.”

  I stare at him. “Are you the patient here, or am I?”

  He grins as he puts some orange slices on my plate. “I am.”

  “Then, you have to listen to me when I tell you that you can’t do something.”

  “Of course, mon chéri. Here, take this too.”

  He keeps piling food on my plate and I don’t know what to do. It’s clear that he’s paying as much attention to me as one would to a child throwing a tantrum and I purse my lips, not touching my plate. If he doesn’t want to listen to me, I have ways of handling even the most difficult of patients.

  “Damien.” My voice is firm.

  That has him raising a brow. “Yes, mon—”

  “This isn’t going to work if you do this.”

  He stills, watching me, curiously, as if he’s fascinated by the stern expression on my face.

  I’m no longer the woman he’s been flirting with and toying with. My nurse persona is back on and Nurse Alex doesn’t allow her patients to walk all over her. He’s paying me to help him recover and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t receive the best care I can give him. After all, he’s paying me more than I deserve.

  “You can’t eat all this.” I nudge his plate away. “You were lucky that the knife missed anything important. Otherwise I’d be dragging your ass to the hospital even if I had to knock you out to do so. But for the next few days, you need to be on a liquid diet, no solids. We’ll get you on solids in three days if you’re recovering well. Also, you have to lay in bed. No more walking around. Otherwise I will tie you to the bed. You can take my room for the week.”

  My instructions are clipped and concise and I see the way he’s watching me and I try not to let it unnerve me.

  “Are those your orders, Nurse?” he asks me softly.

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re not dying on my watch so don’t even think of trying to act cute. I don’t care how many times you’ve been stabbed in the past”—from the looks of the scars on his body, there have been plenty such incidents—“And I don’t care how you recovered from those. But if you’re under my roof, you listen to what I tell you to do.”

  There’s a heavy silence following my declaration and I wonder if I’ve finally pissed him off and he’s going to leave. Then he chuckles. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you, mon petite ange?”

  I make a mental note to look up all these nicknames that he’s been keep calling me.

  “You’re giving me a ridiculous amount of money,” I say, trying to keep my tone curt. “If I didn’t need it so—The point is, that if you want to recover in a week, you need to let me look after you and that means you eat what I tell you to eat and move when I tell you to move.”

  His lips are curled in that lazy smirk of his and I desperately wish I could develop some sort of immunity to it, because it’s putting all sorts of wicked ideas in my head and they remind me of his dark promises from last night.

  ‘And you’ll be so good for me, won’t you?’

  My insides tighten at the memory of his purred words. I spent half the night imagining myself pleas—

  Immediately I shake off the thought. “It’s better if you sleep on the bed than the couch. I’ll get some medicines for you. Thankfully, the knife went through flesh rather than any organ which is why you didn’t bleed to death.” I pause then, looking a little reluctant. He’s clearly running from somebody. “If—Do you want to talk to the police?”

  He studies me. “No.” I can see from the look in his eyes, even as he sits so relaxed, he’s in unbearable pain and I don’t understand why he’s pushing himself like this. But I don’t get a chance to say anything before he straightens up, slowly, his legs touching mine. “No police. But in return for listening to you, I will want a favor in return.”

  I blink at him, uneasily. “I’m not—I’m not shooting anybody.”

  His eyes widen slightly as if taken aback by my declaration. “Shoot—What?” Then he chuckles in understanding. “You misunderstand. I want you to pass along a message to Braden.”

  “A message?” I repeat, slowly.

  He looks amused by how skeptical I sound. “Yes, a small message. I’ll write it out for you. You just hand it to him.”

  “Okay,” I say, slowly.

  “And, I might have a visitor in the afternoon.”

  A visitor?

  I purse my lips. “You’re not part of some street gang, are you? Because I don’t want to be stabbed or shot.”

  He grins suddenly. “Not at all, mon chéri.”

  “Will I get in trouble for letting you stay here?” I ask, seriously. Money or not, I really don’t think I should be throwing my life away.

  The laughter in his eyes dies and is replaced by a serious look and he’s reaching out, his large hand cupping my face. “I won’t let you get hurt, mon petit poussin. You saved my life. I always repay my debts.”

  That’s not what I was asking, but okay. It will have to do for now.

  His hand is rough and it sends delicious tingles down my spine and it takes me a minute to push it away. He just smirks.

  “You—” I clear my throat. “I have to go to work in three hours. I’ll make you some broth and Jello.”

  “And coffee.”

  I raise a brow. “You shouldn’t—”

  “You said it’s only a flesh wound,” he responds cheekily.

  I sigh. “Fine. But after you eat something, I want you to lie down and—”

  “Do you have a laptop?”

  “Can you stop interrupting me for like five seconds?” I burst out, annoyed, and he lifts his brow. I blush at the reprimand in his eyes and mutter, “I mean—Yes, I have a laptop.”

  There’s a darkness in his eyes that is really addictive and I don’t know why I’m so intrigued by it.

  I walk over to the almost ancient laptop and bring it to him. “It’s, um, a bit slow.”

  He studies the laptop with a disdainful expression in his eyes but he doesn’t utter a protest and accepts it. I leave my breakfast untouched, that look in his eyes leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, my hunger evaporating.

  As I take out some raw frozen chicken wings that I’d picked up on sale a few weeks ago, and start preparing the broth, I feel ashamed of myself for how it eats at me every time evidence of my hard times are presented before him. I know I should be grateful that I have a roof over my head and at least one meal a day to eat, but the human in me can’t help but feel the sharp sting of humiliation. I glance at the eggs in the fridge, at the bacon so carelessly tossed inside and I feel worse.

  I prepare him a light breakfast that will be easy on his stomach and then some Jello to offset the broth. And at his request, I prepare a coffee, making sure to overdose it with milk.

  I ignore the way he casts a dismayed look at the breakfast I put in front of him and I deliberately remove his plate of eggs and bacon.

  “Nothing fried,” I tell him, as I cover the plate and tuck it into the fridge. “You’ll thank me for it, later.”

  He looks tired and I know he’s over exerted himself far more than he should have.

  “Let me check your bandages first,” I say and bring over the first aid kit.

  He casts off his sweater, obligingly, and I struggle to keep my gaze completely professional. My brow wrinkles into a frown as I stare at the carelessly tied bandage on his stomach.

  “Did you reapply it?”

  He doesn’t look perturbed, leaning against the back of the couch, watching me, his tone casual. “It started bleeding again.”

  I have the urge to hit him upside the head, and my words are a growl. “Of course it will bleed if you move around so damn much. I told you to stay still last night, didn’t I?”

  “You’ve got a bit of temper there, mon chéri.” He sounds pleased for some reason.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t have a temper.”

  He smirks. “I never said it’s a bad thing. I like my women to be fiery. All the better for when I’ll make you submit in bed.”

  Even as his words cause a frisson of helpless desire inside of me, I keep my face calm. “Good thing I’m not your woman then. Now, stop fidgeting. I need to change this.”

  He just smiles, idly, unperturbed by my rejection and I keep my touch light as I unbind the wrapping and study the wound. The stitches are holding and I disinfect the area again before putting on the gauze, securely.

  “No showers.” I order, sternly. “I’ll get you a sponge.” On seeing the wicked look in his eyes, I narrow mine, my tone terse. “So that you can wash yourself.”

  He pouts at that and the sulky look shouldn’t be as adorable on him as it is. “But, mon chéri. Moving my arms hurts.”

  I pack up the first aid kit, my tone calm, even as my hea
rt races. “Don’t be a baby.”

  He pats the seat beside him, his eyes laughing. “Come have breakfast with the baby then.”

  My lips twitch but I sit down. I eat the food he prepared and as the first bite of the crisp bacon enters my mouth, an involuntary moan escapes me.

  This is delicious!

  I feel his eyes watching me but I ignore him and quickly devour the meal.

  He eats the broth and I feel a little bad because I know my cooking skills aren’t exactly the best but he doesn’t complain.

  I leave to get dressed because I have to go to the bank and deposit the check. As I exit the bedroom, I study my jacket with a frown, poking at the tear in it. I look up to see Damien sitting on the couch, his legs stretched out on it, the laptop in his lap.

  Feeling a bit guilty, I say, “I’ve changed the sheets on the bed so you can move in there.” I don’t remind him of the faulty heating, only saying, “I’ll bring some soup from this Chinese place nearby for dinner.”

  I shuffle by the doorway, nervous for some reason.

  He looks at me. “Look after Braden for me. And hand him this message please.” And he gives a small note with the phrase, ‘The sparrow doesn’t fly east.’ written on it.

  I blink at him. “Is that code for something?”

  He winks at me, but doesn’t offer anything else.

  I leave with a sigh.

  Braden Fox is wide awake by the time I reach his room. He’s refused pain medication according to an annoyed Annie and his alert eyes study me intently as I enter the room, carefully shutting the door behind me. I feel awkward and out of place as I approach him. “Um, I have a message for you.”

  He blinks slowly and I see the suspicion dart into his eyes. His hand is reaching for something and I pass him the note that Damien gave me before I left the apartment. He takes the message from my hand and it takes an extra effort from him to unfold it and read it. He freezes. His voice is hoarse. “Damien’s alive?!”

  I nod. “He’s staying at my apartment. I—He was insistent I look after you.”

  “Do you have a phone?” he suddenly demands and without thinking I hand it to him after retrieving it.

  He dials a number with shaking hands and waits with the phone pressed to his ear. After a few seconds, I see his face go lax with relief. “How bad is it?”

  I don’t know what Damien says but Braden swallows before responding. “They’re going to release me in four days.” He nods at something. “That’s what I thought.”

  Then he’s shaking his head. “Nothing. They got away.”

  He doesn’t seem overly concerned about me overhearing the conversation but I step back and say, “I’ll come take the phone from you later.”

  I feel his eyes on me as I leave.

  Moving about in the hospital feels bizarre to me as I recall that I have a stranger living in my apartment who casually offered me ten thousand dollars which the bank manager assured me would be transferred to my account in three days after he verified the funding source of the check.

  “Alex! Hey!” I hear Mathilda’s voice call out to me from the nurse’s station where an attractive young man is standing in a suit. He looks to be about fourteen or fifteen and his expression is stoic.

  As I reach them, my friend says, “This is Matt Sawyer. He’s Mr. Fox’s emergency contact. Do you mind taking him to—?”

  “Yeah, of course. Right this way, Mr. Sawyer.”

  The man—no, boy—looks at me, silently, before nodding. He clearly doesn’t seem to be the talkative type and I have never been an intrusive person so I let the silence between us linger.

  Opening the door of the private room, I begin, “Mr. Fox, you have a—Where do you think you’re going?”

  The next part of the sentence is torn out in the form of a growl as I stride forward and grab the man who is half out of the window by the back of his shirt, yanking him back in.

  “Ow!” he complains as I march him back to bed. “Be gentle with me!”

  “Get in bed!” I order him, my eyes narrowed. He takes one peek at me and then hastens to obey, his entire face pale with exertion. Irritation blooms within me. “Are the two of you incapable of listening to simple orders?!”

  He watches me, sheepishly. “I had something to do.”

  “I don’t care,” I snap. “You can do it later. Once you’re released from the hospital. You’re not supposed to move!”

  I don’t even know how he moved because even slight movement should be causing him unbearable agony.

  Something occurs to me and my eyes now turn into slits. “Did Damien put you up to this?”

  His eyes widen and when he doesn’t say anything, that’s confirmation enough and I growl, “Of course he did. I’m going to kill him when I get back home. It’s bad enough that he’s a shitty patient. Now he has you climbing out hospital windows after one phone call.”

  Braden looks like he’s about to choke. “W-What?”

  “You’re Alexandra Jameson?” came a quiet voice from behind me, reminding me of the person I had brought in with me.

  I look over my shoulder and clear my throat. “Yes, um, Mr. Fox, you have a visitor.”

  Even as I say that, I suddenly wonder why I had to guide the man all the way here when he could have simply found the room by himself.

  “What’re you doing here?” Braden demands and I step aside to see Matt stare at him as if he’s bored beyond belief. “I’m your emergency contact.” He looks toward me and there is a flicker of distrust in his eyes. “Your apartment is too small.”

  I gape at him. “Excuse me?”

  He continues. “You don’t have a proper bed or sufficient heating or food. You can’t—”

  “Oh, shut it, you brat!” Braden growls from where he’s reclining on the bed. “Alexandra saved Damien’s life.”

  “It’s Alex,” I correct out of force of habit, staring at the youth who’s now looking at Braden instead, his lips curled into a sneer. “Have you seen the shithole living conditions Damien is—”

  My blood is cold. “How do you know what my apartment looks like?”

  He lifts a disdainful brow. “I brought over supplies for breakfast.”

  Suddenly, even the amount of money seems to be irrelevant. I had not been counting on other strangers traipsing all over my home, looking at it like it’s no better than a junkyard. My face pales and my stomach feels queasy as humiliation seizes me by the throat.

  Matt is still talking. “For all the money you’ve squeezed out of him—”

  “Matt, shut the fuck up!” Braden’s words are a snarl and he looks furious, as if he’s ready to jump out of bed and thrash the boy.

  I feel small and want to curl up around myself, to hide from the disgust in this stranger’s eyes who had looked at the shabby state of my home.

  Matt glares at Braden. “You don’t know the—”

  “I know that she saved his life when she didn’t have to, when none of us could.” Braden’s voice has an edge in it. “I know that she is qualified to nurse him back to health. And I know that Damien is grateful to her.” He turns his head to me, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, Nurse Alex. Matt is a little overprotective when it comes to Damien.”

  I don’t meet Braden’s eyes, my entire body feeling cold. My voice is quiet. “Can I have my phone back?”

  My heart is tight in my chest and as he hands it to me, my hands are shaking, my eyes feeling hot. In the back of my head, I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t know this man and his opinion shouldn’t matter to me. But I’m only human and I have been through hell and back this past year and to have him mock my broken down home that is all I have left, it tears at something inside of me and I want to leave. I want to go somewhere far away where I don’t have to look at him or hear that judgment in his voice that only serves to remind me of how my entire life is falling apart.

  “Nurse Alex?” Braden looks up at my face and his hand tightens on my scratched phone that has clearly seen better days. He looks uneasy and a little worried. “Please ignore Matt. He doesn’t think before opening his stupid mouth.”

  A huff comes from behind me.

  My lips curve into a smile that is completely false, my eyes carefully blank. “My phone, please.”

  He has no choice but to hand over the phone to me and I turn on my heel and walk away, a burning sensation in my chest. It’s really hard to breathe. As I close the door, I hear Braden say, “Damien’s going to kill you for this.”