Wintertime Bad Boy: A Christmas Suspense Romance (Alphas Unboxed Book 3) Page 9

  I gnash my teeth. “Damien is not my keeper. I don’t need a goddamn escort. Go away.”

  He shakes his head, solemnly. “No can do.”

  “This is stalking.” I’m quivering with rage.

  He blinks, almost innocently. “I’m just following orders.”

  “Does Damien pay you?” I retort. When he just stares at me, a stubborn expression on his face, I snarl. “You can’t just follow me home!”

  “What if something happens to you?” he asks, a brow lifted. “What if there’s another mugger lurking about?” He shakes his head. “No can do.”

  I bristle with barely restrained anger and frustration, uneasiness creeping in. I don’t know this man aside from the fact that he is either friends with Damien or works for him in some capacity. He clearly enjoys violence and that doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t want him following me home.

  I see the bus approaching from the corner of my eye and as my hand reaches into my bag, I try to bury the guilt of what I’m about to do but a girl has to do what a girl has to do to protect herself.

  Carson doesn’t see the mace until it’s right in front of his eyes and he only has time to widen them in shock, before he’s howling as the liquid makes contact with his eyes, and I’m running for my dear life, desperate to reach the bus.

  I make it in the nick of time and bury myself in the first available seat I can find. Out of breath, I pant, trying to catch my breath as I try to convince myself that this was the only way to protect myself.

  By the time I reach my apartment, I am drained, and I enter, closing the door behind me. A delicious smell wafts toward me and I struggle to hold on to my anger.

  “Damien?” I call out as I tug off my shoes.

  “Mon chéri!”

  I walk into the living room to see him stirring something in a pot. There is something baking in the oven, if the yellow light is any indication.

  “What are you doing?”

  He glances toward me. “Mushroom soup and freshly baked baguettes. I thought you might be hungry when you got back.”

  The words are so casual and yet they seize me by the throat and my jaw moves as I struggle to say something. When was the last time someone—?

  And then I remember Carson and the anger returns, if a little bit thinner now.

  “I maced your friend,” I say, bluntly.

  He doesn’t skip a beat, stirring the soup. “Carson?”

  I toss down my bag, noting that the lighting in the room is brighter. He changed the bulbs. My arms cross over my chest and I press my lips together into a thin line. “I don’t appreciate what you did.”

  “Walking home alone is dangerous, especially for a pretty little thing like you.” He doesn’t sound the least bit ashamed and it irks me.

  “I take the bus!”

  “Which drops you off quite a distance away.”

  A growl escapes my lips. “Either way, I would appreciate you keeping out of my private life. Whether I walk home alone or not, it’s my business. I don’t need somebody following me home. Don’t forget that you’re only here for this week and then you’re gone.”

  He stills at my words and then looks over his shoulder, his green eyes wintery. His tone is calm but there is a cruel edge to it. “So eager to get rid of me, Alex? Or do you just prefer your isolation in this dump?”

  His words hit the target and my face pales. But I control myself, careful not to let the hurt show or the wound that shouldn’t be so grievous.

  “Perhaps I do.” My words are soft as I struggle to hide the shame. My movements are slow and exaggerated as I pick up my bag, a heavy dullness in my limbs. “I’m going to go to bed.”

  I’m no longer hungry.

  I’m lonely.

  I miss my father.

  I miss myself, the one who would not have taken this sort of crap from anyone.

  But this is what I have been reduced to so I can’t say anything.

  “Mon chéri—” I hear the regret in his voice but I just turn around and go to my room. Since he refused to take my bed, I still have the privacy of my room, and I’m just so unbearably sad right now that even breathing is hard.

  I don’t even change out of my clothing, pointedly ignoring the emptiness in my stomach, as I curl up under the blanket and will myself to sleep, not paying attention to the tears slipping out of my eyes.

  At some point in the night, I feel a hand cupping my face, a thumb tracing the path of my tears and I hear a familiar accented voice. “My poor wounded little bird.” A press of warm lips on my forehead and a voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry, my darling.”

  I sigh into the dream, the gnawing in my stomach uncomfortable.

  When I wake up, it’s three in the morning and my head is aching. I wander outside in a daze, looking for the medicine box to get some aspirin and I knock into the door before I locate the small drawer where I keep the emergency medicines. It’s dark in the living room so I grope around, blindly for the bottle of aspirin.

  The light flickers on. “Mon chéri?”

  I blink, blinded by the sudden glare, and mumble. “Go back to sleep.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  I stare at the contents of the drawer, trying to recognize the aspirin bottle.

  “Nothing. Just go back to sleep.”

  I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to remember that look in his eyes as he had called my apartment, my home, a dump, in that cold voice. I don’t want to look at my home and see how it’s falling apart, to see the charity that he’s done by replacing things, the charity that I’ve not refused.

  My heart trembles.

  I hear his feet on the wooden floor as he approaches me, his voice hesitant. “You don’t look so good. Perhaps you should—”

  I push away his hand as it lands on my shoulder, in a fit of wild energy. “Don’t touch me!”

  I look up at him, furious at the way my eyes are welling up, the headache pounding behind my eyelids, this feeling of wretchedness overtaking me. “Go away.”

  The words are almost a sob, childish in nature, the pain making it difficult to control my emotions.

  “Alex...” He murmurs my name, suddenly looking horrified. There’s no smirk on his face, none of the charm that he always wears on him, and even through my pain-hazed vision, I see the tiredness on his face.

  I look away, unable to meet his gaze, feeling vulnerable and exhausted.

  “Just a headache,” I mutter, furiously looking for the aspirin bottle. As soon as I find it, Damien’s hand curls around my wrist, forcing me to go still.

  “You can’t have aspirin on an empty stomach.” His voice is quiet and I stare at his hand before trying to pull away. But he’s stronger than me and he refuses to let go.

  “I’m not hungry. Let go of me.”

  “You’ve not eaten anything.”

  “I said I’m not hungry!” The loud crack registers in my brain before I realize what I’ve done. My face pales as I see the red imprint on Damien’s cheek and horror fills me. “I’m so sorry.”

  I stumble back, dazed at what I’ve just done.

  However, he doesn’t let me move away, his hand reaching out to grasp mine. “I deserved that.”

  Then he starts dragging me to the couch. “You can hit me some more if it’ll make you feel better.”

  I’m forced on to the sofa. “But before that, you’re going to eat.”

  Ashamed at my actions, I open my mouth only to snap it shut when he gives me a sharp look. “Don’t even think about saying you’re not hungry.”

  His movements are slow as he makes his way to the stove and takes out some foiled bread and a dish which has some creamy looking substance in it. I watch him and regret seeps into me. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  He looks over his shoulder at me, shooting me a quick grin. “I know.”

  I sit in silence, wondering what the hell I’m doing.

  When he reaches for a tray, I jump to my feet. “I’ll do that.”

  I carry over the bowls of soup that smell so heavenly that my stomach grumbles. Damien carries over the bread which had been reheated but still smells fresh and of garlic.

  The first mouthful has me moaning. “What is—This is amazing.”

  He just smirks.

  The food is gone within minutes and I’m left feeling full and satiated, and a little drowsy, my headache gone.

  “Where did you learn how to cook like that?”

  I stare at the empty dishes and then at him.

  “I used to cook for my mother when I was a boy.”

  “Oh,” I smile, slightly. “She must be very proud.”

  He shrugs, and I see some of the light fading from his eyes. Then he leans toward me. “I insulted you, today. I’m sorry.”

  I feel uneasy. “I’m sorry for hitting you. “

  “I’m not.” He touches his cheek. “I deserved it for being an asshole.”

  “You’re not an asshole.” I protest half-heartedly. “You’re an okay tenant as well.” I glance toward the empty bowls. “And one hell of a cook.”

  His lips twitch. “Careful, mon chéri. All these compliments might make me think you want to marry me.”

  “If you cook like that every day, I might just.”

  He blinks and I see a strange expression on his face, and I say hastily, “That was a joke. I’m not—”

  A chuckle escapes him. “I’m not proposing today, mon chéri.”

  I sigh in relief before the last part of his sentence makes me pause.

  Today?

  However, I don’t get a chance to say anything, because he immediately says,. “You hurt Carson’s feelings. He called.”

  I wince. “Is he upset that I maced him?”

 
Damien lifts a brow. “No, that part excited the crazy bastard. He’s upset you gave him the slip.”

  I stare at him. “I don’t need—”

  “It’s not safe out there.”

  I draw in a deep breath and mentally prepare to argue with this unreasonable man. “Damien, I appreciate your concern, but think about it. You’ll be gone in a few days. You can’t possibly keep something like this up. I prefer to live grounded in reality, and despite your good intentions, this will not last.”

  He opens his mouth to argue but I raise my hand. “I mean it. These things”—I gesture towards the room—“It’s very nice of you, but I can’t take more than this. Even this is a lot.”

  He’s quiet for a few minutes, before he says in a strange tone, “You’re so sure that once I leave, I won’t come back looking for you.”

  “Why would you want to?”

  My blunt words make him blink and then he bursts into laughter. Before I know it, he’s pulling me forward, dragging me against him and I feel his lips press on the top of my head. “You darling little thing. You have no idea what you do to me.”

  I stiffen, part insulted, and part wary of this proximity, as I can feel the heat that his body exudes, sinking into mine, and it’s addictive. “Let—”

  “I won’t do anything,” he promises, his hot breath tickling my ear.

  “This is very inapp—”

  “My cheek hurts.”

  “You’re such a liar,” I retort, trying to suppress my amusement. “You said you were fine.”

  His silent laughter curls in my belly in a heady warmth and it’s three in the morning and I’m full and content and he’s warm and delicious, and I want to give in to his suggestive whisper. After all, what’s the harm in just laying here, pressed against him, where I feel so safe and secure?

  The light of the lamp dims and it’s a flicker in the back of my mind, and I find myself slipping and slipping, lulled by this sense of security that I haven’t felt in so long.

  When my consciousness stirs, it’s dark and I feel warm and snug. Dazed, and half awake, my fingers curl into the soft sweater beneath my fingers, my cheek resting on something hard and yet so comfortable. I yawn and bury into it.

  As I feel my eyes slide shut, it hits me that it’s moving.

  A male chest rising up and down, one strong arm around my waist, hot breath on my temple.

  I go still.

  My voice wavers. “D-Damien?”

  Damien’s voice is rough with sleep. “Go back to sleep, mon chéri.”

  His arm tightens around my waist and I feel both bewildered and shaken. “I—I need to get up. I have to go to work.”

  He makes a noise of complaint and I find it adorable before I growl at myself. This should not have happened to begin with. One moment of weakness could cause a lot of problems.

  “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  His words are a scratchy growl against my temple and my womb quivers in delight and I press my lips together to hold in the soft moan. For a heartbeat, I let myself wonder what would have happened if this arrogant man was mine. If I would have let him roll me over onto the sofa, trapping me against the back and his sexy body as he sank into me, making me cry out his name in bliss, over and over again.

  A chuckle vibrates along my body as Damien murmurs, “What exactly is going on in that head of yours, mon petit monstre?”

  It’s then that I realize to my embarrassment, that my nipples have tightened into sharp points and through my flimsy shirt, they are pressed against his chest.

  I freeze in horror but before I can say anything, his hand traces the curve of my spine, going lower and lower, until he is cupping my ass. My mouth is dry as we lay in this position in the dark. I’m not protesting even as my brain orders me to move away, to put some distance between us.

  He squeezes and my lips part in a silent moan, my pussy tightening with need.

  “You only have to ask, mon chéri,” Damien whispers in my ear, his husky thick voice making me feel the wetness gathering at the entrance of my pussy. “One word from you and I’ll have you bent over the arm of this sofa, stuffed with my cock.”

  A whimper escapes me as he strokes my ass, his fingers drift dangerously close to my pussy.

  I’m not wearing any underwear.

  “You’re oddly silent.” His tone has that mocking edge to it and it shouldn’t turn me on but it does. “I asked you a question, Alexandra.”

  I open my mouth to tell him no, but nothing comes out.

  His hand lifts and for a second, I’m about to protest, before it comes down on my ass in a sharp smack. The wanton cry is torn from me and I feel his laugh rumble through his chest, curiously delighted. “Well, well, well. My little darling has a masochistic side, does she?”

  He squeezes my ass again, and my mind is hazy with pleasure.

  “Unfortunately, since you won’t give me a proper answer, I can’t go forward.” He sounds regretful.

  A kiss on my temple and he murmurs, “Go get ready. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  I scramble out from the sofa, my face red, my thoughts dazed.

  But before I can rush into my bedroom, the house phone rings, breaking the silence, and I blink.

  A low laugh from behind me before the lamp turns on. “That’s your phone, mon chéri.”

  My cheeks are flushed as I reach for it.

  “H-hello?” My voice is a little husky.

  “Nurse Alex?”

  I frown. “Kate? What’s wrong?”

  Kate’s one of the new nurses. She’s usually on the graveyard shift. I trained her when she joined but we rarely meet so getting this call is a surprise.

  “There are some men here, in fancy suits, saying they want to talk to a patient by the name of Braden Fox. They felt a little strange so I told them to wait while I made sure he wasn’t with his doctor. Mr. Fox told me to call you and tell you. He said you’re his nurse. I know this isn’t protocol but these men are giving me really bad vibes, Nurse Alex. I don’t know what to do.”

  I purse my lips. “Give me one second, Kate.”

  I press the receiver against my shirt and relay the words to Damien. His eyes glitter in the light from the lamp, that green gaze looking like it has specks of gold in them.

  “Tell her to tell them to wait until you get there, make some excuse.”

  I lift the phone. “Kate, tell them he’s with his doctor or something. I’m on my way.”

  Closing the phone, I glance at Damien, my tone stern. “What’s going on? What do those men want with Braden?”

  Damien studies me for a heartbeat, before saying softly, his eyes dark with something. “I’m not going to put you in danger, Alex. I promised you I wouldn’t.”

  I stare at him.

  “Go get dressed,” he says, finally. “Carson will drive you to the hospital.”

  There is something in his eyes, a sheen of regret that makes it difficult for me to ask anything.

  I move to the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, so that he can hear me. “How long will Carson take to get here?”

  “He’s already downstairs.”

  I freeze in the midst of tugging on my jeans. “Downstairs. Why is he—?”

  He doesn’t answer and I hear some clanging in the kitchen. By the time, I rush out, he’s holding out a small paper bag.

  “Carson’s waiting outside.” He doesn’t let me get a word in edgewise. “All you have to do is meet those men, ask them what they want before taking them to see Braden. Stall them for five minutes exactly.”

  I open my mouth to ask something but he’s shoving the bag in my hand. “Here.”

  “W-What?”

  “Breakfast,” he says and then leans down to kiss my cheek sweetly. “Think of me, mon chéri.”

  I touch my cheek, dazedly, and blink in his direction. I don’t know why that sounds like a farewell but my heart is tightening in my chest and I hesitate at the doorway, reluctant to leave.

  “I’ll see you when I get home?”

  I don’t know why I say that or why I phrase it like a question, but something inside of me is sinking in panic as if I’m about to lose something.

  Damien’s eyes darken, and he just leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “Go, mon chéri.”

  I bite my lower lip and leave, closing the door behind me.

  My footsteps echo in the silent hallway of the hospital as I move through it quickly. As I reach the nurses station, I see two blonde men standing there, an intimidating aura about them. They’re wearing suits that scream money, their postures arrogant.