Discovering You (32 page)

He knew she hadn't kissed many guys, but she was a natural. He loved the way her passion rose so quickly to match his, the way she parted her lips and welcomed his tongue, the way she tasted.

He wasn't sure how much further he would've taken it if Grady hadn't called for Natasha again.

“Now!” Grady yelled, thumping the wall near the top of the stairs and startling them enough that they broke apart.

They were both breathing heavily as they stared at each other.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” he finally admitted.

With an expression of pure relief, she gave him another quick squeeze. “I knew it! I'm coming back to marry you as soon as I graduate,” she said, then hurried upstairs.

* * *

Rod didn't think he'd ever been more exhausted in his life. He fell asleep almost as soon as he hit the mattress and didn't wake up for hours. When he did come around, he couldn't see anything except darkness, but he could feel India tucked up against him.

The steadiness of her breathing indicated that she was asleep. He told himself he shouldn't wake her. She'd been on an exhausting roller coaster of emotion the past few weeks—the past
year
. But he couldn't help remembering those few minutes in the parking lot of McDonald's, when she'd declared her feelings for him. He wanted to hear her say it again, say that she loved him. He wanted to thread his fingers through hers without feeling Charlie's ring.

He waited for what seemed like an eternity, hoping she'd wake up on her own. But when she didn't, he couldn't resist touching her. He slid his hand up over the swell of her hip as he kissed her neck, and she accommodated him by turning onto her back.

“I can't believe you're awake,” she murmured. “It's the middle of the night, and you've had even less sleep than I have.” Her voice was still husky, but she molded herself to him as if she wasn't unhappy about being disturbed.

He cupped her left breast through his T-shirt, which she'd pulled on after removing her makeup. “It's not easy to sleep with you lying beside me.”

“You haven't had enough sex?” she said with a laugh.

“I could never get enough of you. But I'm not looking for sex. Not right now.” He took his time kissing, touching her.

“Then what?” she whispered.

Maybe he did want to make love. Then he could tell her with his body what he wasn't quite ready to say. He'd never felt so protective or possessive of anyone, but he was also a little superstitious—afraid to express those emotions for fear of jinxing the closeness and intimacy that was developing between them. He'd never been quite so happy. The last time he'd felt this complete was before his mother died.

But he needed more time before he could trust what he was feeling—and what
she
was feeling. Once they got beyond the problems they were facing now, maybe he'd be able to let down his guard.

“It's weird. You make me want to give you everything I've got—and yet I can feel myself holding back,” he said.

“You're trying to play it safe, to prepare for all eventualities.”

“I'm not trying to prepare for all eventualities.”

“Yes, you are. But you can't fall in love and remain in control at the same time. They're opposites.”

“You're still wearing your wedding ring, India.”

She said nothing. She stared at him for several seconds. Then she removed the ring. After putting it on the nightstand, she ran her hand gently down his face. “Is this better? Is that what you were waiting for?”

He smiled. “It certainly helps.

“Then stop holding back.”

“I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. You don't have to make a commitment, but at least give yourself permission to let go, to embrace what you're feeling, let it carry you away if it's powerful enough to do that.”

It was plenty powerful. But letting go, giving himself permission to love her as much as he was afraid he could love her, was a terrifying thought. What if, in the end, he wasn't enough for her? “I'm just an auto body technician from a small town, India.”

Propping herself up on one elbow, she drew a heart on his bare chest. “I know who and what you are, Rod.”

Her hair tickled as it fell against his shoulders. He'd yanked off his shirt but hadn't bothered with his pants. He'd been too tired. “Is it enough for you?”

She studied him for several seconds. “Can't you tell?”

He linked his left hand with hers. “That's not an answer.”

“My feelings aren't based on your profession or where you live, Rod.”

He might've told her he loved her right then. The words were on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth to do exactly that—when he heard a loud thump and the sound of breaking glass.

29

A
t first India thought there'd been an accident. Some drunk had stumbled on the way to his room and smashed into their window. Or a thief was trying to break in. Not until she heard Sebastian curse did she realize what was
really
going on. Then her whole body went rigid. This was exactly what'd happened eleven months ago! Sebastian had come out of nowhere and invaded the sanctity and privacy of her bedroom.

Determined to put up a fight sooner this time, before Sebastian could get any more of an advantage, she managed to overcome the debilitating terror and regain control of her body. Even then it seemed as if she could move in only slow motion. She attempted to throw herself over Rod, to stop any bullet meant for him, but he wouldn't allow her to act as his shield. And he was strong enough to stop her. As Sebastian tripped and fell, Rod shoved her off the bed.

“Lock yourself in the bathroom and don't come out!” he yelled.

The adrenaline that had enabled her to overcome that first burst of fear worked against her now. Her hands shook as they skimmed the top of the nightstand, searching for her phone but knocking her wedding ring off instead. Help. She had to get help—not hide in the bathroom. But she wasn't sure where she'd left her cell.

Damn it! Where was it? Maybe it'd fallen on the floor...

She dropped to her knees so she could search the carpet and found it. “911,” she mumbled in desperation, as if saying the numbers would somehow dial them. “911.”

A hand grabbed her by the arm and pushed her halfway across the room. It was Rod. He was trying to get her into the bathroom. She had no idea what
he
was going to do, but he didn't seem to be following her. She had no doubt that they'd both end up dead if she couldn't get help. They were completely vulnerable. And Rod had the use of only one hand. They hadn't prepared for an attack because they'd never dreamed Sebastian would be able to trace them to the motel.

This room had felt like the one safe place on the planet.

The memories of Charlie's death tumbled through her mind—disjointed, terrifying. She couldn't go through this again...

India was shutting the bathroom door when she heard a noise that told her Sebastian hadn't come alone. A quick check confirmed it. A second man was climbing through the broken window. Eddie. She knew it was Sebastian's brother even though she could barely see him in the dark.

“Shoot him!” Eddie shouted. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

There was no time to call the police. Rod would be dead in a second.

“You bastard!” she screamed and threw the blow-dryer.

It wasn't much of a weapon. After glancing off Sebastian's shoulder, it crashed to the floor and broke into pieces. But having an object come at him out of nowhere startled him. Turning, he fired.

India's ears rang from the blast. But she felt no pain, and he couldn't get off another shot before Rod hit him in the side of the head with his right hand, cast and all.

The gun dropped with a solid thud as Sebastian toppled over.

“Get in the bathroom!” Rod shouted again. But if she didn't do something, Sebastian would recover the gun; already he was trying to shake off Rod's blow. And there was no way Rod could stop him. He was fighting with Eddie.

As Rod and Eddie knocked the lamp off the nightstand and slammed into the wall, India launched herself at Sebastian. She'd heard the gun hit the floor but couldn't see it in the dark. She hoped he couldn't see it, either, hoped to kick it away from him.

She was afraid he'd knock her out before she could make much of a difference, however. An image of Cassia rose before her mind's eye, and she felt a deep sense of loss. The Sommerses might get to raise her, after all. But that thought only made her anger burn hotter. She would
not
allow Sebastian to win—even if she died trying to stop him. She refused to face the same agonizing what-if questions she'd faced since Charlie's death.

“No, damn you, not again!” she yelled as she slugged, scratched and kicked for all she was worth.

Sebastian shoved her out of the way so violently she fell and hit her head on the nightstand. The blow stunned her, made it difficult to think. But she could hear voices, and she was fairly certain they weren't in her head. There were people standing outside the broken window, marveling at the commotion.

Why weren't they doing anything?

“What's going on?... I don't know... They've been broken into... Get the manager... There's fighting! Call the police!”

“Help!” India cried. Then, thanks to a glimmer of moonlight, she spotted the gun. She thought she could crawl to it, but Sebastian had spotted it, too, and he was closer. She doubted she'd be able to hold on to it, anyway, even if she could reach it. He'd simply wrest it away and shoot her. Then he'd shoot Rod, before any of their confused onlookers could figure out what to do.

So she did the only thing she could think of. As he turned his back on her, she came up from behind and looped the cord of the blow-dryer around his neck. Then she clenched her teeth and pulled, using every ounce of strength she possessed.

He bucked and fought for breath, gouging at her hands and trying to reach behind him to grab her. But she hung on like a woman possessed. For Charlie. For Cassia. For Rod.

Fortunately, he couldn't get a good grip on her. He switched to trying to pull the cord away from his neck instead, which might've worked had he done that first. But she was too far ahead of him in the struggle, had already tightened it.

Even then she had to fight to hang on and nearly lost her grip when he managed to grab a fistful of her hair. He yanked so hard she thought he'd pulled it out. But Charlie seemed to be in her heart and her head, egging her on, helping her push through the pain.

She'd never known that a few seconds could last so long. Just when she thought she'd subdued Sebastian, her strength began to wane. She couldn't hold on, after all. He was going to get away...

And then there were several people in the room. Rod, his mouth and abdomen bleeding, pried her hands off that cord. Two uniformed police officers restrained Sebastian; someone else removed the gun.

It was over.

“You okay?” Rod murmured and gathered her to him.

* * *

Rod needed half a dozen stitches on the left side of his abdomen. Eddie had had a knife, and he'd managed to get in a good swipe before Rod could disarm him. That cut was Rod's only injury, though, aside from the busted lip he'd sustained when he rushed Eddie and their heads had collided in the dark. When he'd landed that blow to Sebastian's head, he'd broken his cast, which had to be replaced, but he hadn't caused any further injury to his hand.

Overall, the incident could've been a lot worse. At least, other than a sore head and a few minor bumps and bruises, India hadn't been hurt. The bullet Sebastian fired had gone into the wall. She was shaken after the ordeal—anyone would be—but Rod was impressed with how quickly she'd rebounded. While the ER doctor finished with him, he could hear her talking on the phone outside his room, as calm as ever. And when she came back in, she was smiling.

“What is it?” He knew she'd just spoken to the policeman who'd arrested Sebastian and Eddie. She'd also notified the detective who'd been working Charlie's case.

“Sebastian and his brother are going to jail for a long time. They've got a whole list of offenses—assault with a deadly weapon, battery, breaking and entering, possession. I can't even remember them all. But I think they had disturbing the peace in there, too.”

Rod let his head fall back. The surfeit of adrenaline had drained him. “A long time. That's what I was hoping to hear.”

She nodded to the doctor, who had his prescription pad out. “Is he going to be okay, Doc?”

“He's going to be fine.”

“Good,” she said and rubbed her hands on a shaky exhalation.

“Is that it?” Rod prompted. “Is that all the police had to say?”

She came to his bedside and took his hand. “Not quite. They have the gun. They can't confirm it's the weapon that killed Charlie. That'll require a ballistics test. But I'm hopeful—and so are they. It's the right caliber, so...there's that.”

He caught the scent of her perfume as she leaned over to peck his lips. “I'm glad you weren't hurt any worse,” she said.

“We have a lot to be grateful for.” He took her hand. “You must be relieved to know that Cassia will be safe when she comes home.”

“Absolutely.” She smoothed his hair off his forehead. “And it's all because of you.”

She'd come to the Bay Area first, before he'd decided to join her at the motel. He didn't feel he should get all the credit, but the doctor spoke before he could respond. “That's it, Mr. Amos. You're all set.” He handed Rod the prescription he'd been writing. “This is for an antibiotic. Take the whole bottle, as directed. Who knows what kind of germs were on that blade.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“You bet. You can get your things and go.” The doctor gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze before heading out.

Rod was so exhausted, he'd fallen asleep at various points during his treatment. He wasn't sure he had the energy to walk out under his own power, especially since he was high on painkiller. India had to help him put on his shirt, and she let him lean on her as he got up.

“Is there any chance you know how to make meat loaf?” he asked as they walked out.

She gave him a funny look.
“Meat loaf?”

The nurse said goodbye to them and they waved before stepping into the bright afternoon sunshine. “Or chicken-fried steak?”

“You want me to make you a meal?
Today?
”

“Not today. I'm just wondering if you can cook.”

She held him tighter when he stumbled. “Is that a prerequisite to being with you?”

He winked. “Let's say it'd be a nice bonus.”

“You liked my cookies.”

“You got anything else to show me?”

“Fortunately, I do—since that sounds important to you.”

He associated homemaking skills with a different part of his life, back when he'd had his mother. He missed her, missed the type of home they'd had and the care they'd received, but he'd missed that for a long time.

India directed him to the passenger side of his truck. “I'm sure I can manage dinner here and there. You've earned a few home-cooked meals.” She shot him a wry glance. “But just so you know, ironing is out of the question.”

He grinned at her. “
I'll
do the ironing.”

“I'd like to see that.”

“You got me. I probably won't be doing any ironing,” he said with a laugh.

She waited for him to climb in, then closed the door and circled around to the driver's side. Before she could put on her seat belt and start the engine, however, Dylan called.

“What room are you in?” he asked as soon as Rod answered.

“What
room
?”

“At the hospital.”

“I was just released.”

“So we came for nothing?”

“You're here?”

“Of course. We dropped everything as soon as it came on the news.”

Rod twisted around to see if he could catch a glimpse of Dylan's Jeep, but the parking lot was too big. “Who's we?”

“Me, Cheyenne, Aaron and Presley. Grady and Mack are in Grady's SUV. We got a sitter for the kids because we didn't know how long we'd be gone.”

“No Dad or Anya?”

“We conveniently forgot to tell them you'd been hurt. Are you okay?”

He lifted his shirt to take a look at the bandage covering his stitches. “Yeah. Nothing a few stitches won't fix. But since you're here, can someone follow us to Whiskey Creek in India's car? I'm too drugged up to drive.”

“We can drive both vehicles, if you need us to. Let the two of you relax.”

Rod nudged the woman who'd come into his life so unexpectedly. “Would you rather have someone else take the wheel?”

“No. I'm happy like this,” she replied, and he understood that she was content to be alone with him for a while, to process what they'd been through and reassure herself that it was really over. She wasn't ready to put on a social face for people she'd barely met.

“She's got it,” he told Dylan. “Just hold on so we can give you her keys.”

After they handed off the keys to her Prius, and his family had left, Rod reached over to caress India's cheek. “Let's head home, huh?”