Midnight (McKenna Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

I
eavesdrop on Colin’s conversation, listening to his overview of the day, the
meetings and tours, who he will meet with, their resumes and reviewing his
speeches. He's highly intelligent, understanding the multitude of complexities
in the very different businesses and the people he’ll interact with.

I
study the back of his head, hair and neck. He’s strong; when he turns I can see
muscles push and pull. His physical strength is apparent in his whole physique.
He’s wearing a tailored charcoal suit today with a crisp white shirt, and a
silk tie woven with a multitude of different blues and a hint of red. I
remember teasing him about having fun on the campaign trail. With the schedule
he has today and the many upcoming days, sadly I’m not sure he’ll have any time
for extracurricular activities. That thought leaves me uncharacteristically
melancholy, remembering the brief time I shared with him last night left me
with a burning desire to have more of those moments. I have to consciously
train my thoughts back to the day ahead, get my head out of the clouds and back
to business.

When
we pull up in front of the plant, Colin opens his door, sliding out easily. He
surprises me by pulling the seat up, holding his hand out to me for assistance
from the elevated vehicle. The electricity stuns again when our fingers touch,
hands locking together. Our eyes meet fractionally and a hint of a smile turns
the corners of his mouth. It’s my only indication I have any effect on him. I
wonder about that for a second, not understanding why I’m the one he has this
unusual connection with when he could pick any woman in the world: celebrities,
women of prestige and influence . . .

All
too soon his hand is torn from mine as he offers it to the gentleman from the
plant sent to greet us. After brief introductions, we’re swept into the factory
for a detailed tour of the products produced, the materials used, and
ecological changes made to systems, and then Colin speaks to a multitude of the
workers. 

As
we walk through, a large expanse of concrete stretches before us, the commotion
of the factory is off to the side. An employee steps over to Colin, eager to
shake his hand and discuss a common topic. They begin to talk; the man’s voice
cracks as he tells Colin he lost his wife in an accident not too long ago. I
snap a picture of the two of them to capture Colin’s compassionate and
heartwarming response. He walks the man away from the rest of the crowd,
talking to him in private for five minutes before clasping him on his back
warmly and returning to his touring party. I can tell whatever they spoke about
connected with Colin; his eyes are moist and he’s lost some of the levity from
earlier.

The
factory is loud, machinery groaning as it moves, voices humming from the many
employees in various stages of work production. It’s a huge warehouse with
conveyor belts, moving parts and people all working in sync. We stop in front
of a large robotic arm, similar to a small crane as it picks up large parts,
lifting them up to two men who bolt it in place. Colin is twenty feet away from
me, listening intently to an explanation of the process from our guide. He
glances up, our eyes connecting for a short moment. His face remains impassive
but his eyes portray another story all together. They’re hot, blazing with an
intensity I can’t quite place, something I’ve not seen from him before. A flush
steals slowly down my chest simply from his look. Leaning in to listen intently
to the guide, a small smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

Standing
on the outskirts of the group—my usual place in a crowd—I watch the robotic arm
pick up a large steel plate; all eyes are on it as the two men reach out to
guide it in place. After that, everything happens in slow motion. First the
worker’s faces rise in panic as the robot’s arm swings away from them, when it
should have moved toward them. The arm that had been steady earlier is now
wobbling as if the steel plate is too heavy a burden for it to carry. I realize
too late the plate is swinging in my direction, recognizing in an out-of-body
experience sort of way that everyone is running away from me, yet I’m the only
one incapable of escaping from it. The robot’s arm teeters, bending in the
wrong direction screeching loudly as if crying out in warning.

The
steel plate hits the concrete floor, sparks flying like fireworks as it falls
and the robot’s arm breaks away. I feel the impact; however, it comes from the
wrong direction. On some level I know it’s Colin that pushes me out of the way,
the jolt is from his body colliding with mine to save me from the plummeting
metal arm. The velocity he uses to get to me in time and the force he uses to
push us both out of the way sends us flying, landing hard on the floor. My head
snaps back, a loud thud reverberating through me.

The
room blurs in and out of focus. My head screams at the contact site from the
concrete, and my blood pulses strongly. The last thing I remember is the
pattern of Colin’s tie pressing closely to my face as he holds me tight, and
his exclamation, “Charlie!”

Then
there is black.

~

I struggle for
breath, my chest weighed down and heavy.
Oh, the falling steel plate, Colin
slamming into me, my head—ow, my head
. As I slowly recover my bearings I
realize it’s Colin’s body holding mine down on the cold concrete; he’s still
atop me from our collision. His strong, muscled chest presses into mine, arms
holding me against him. For a languid moment I enjoy his heat, his solid frame
comforting my aching body.

He’s
calling my name softly. “Charlie, can you hear me?”

His
hand tenderly runs down the side of my face, the pads of his fingers careful in
their examination. My eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly. Colin is close, his
lips inches from mine as he searches for confirmation I’m not injured. My hand
reflexively moves to his cheek, stroking it, feeling the slight stubble of his
beard, his buttery-soft skin just below. His lips part and he draws in a quick,
deep breath. He closes his eyes when I slide my fingers gently once more
against his temple and down his cheek to his mouth, my finger running over his
full bottom lip. Without thought as to where we are I lift my head closer to
his slowly, drawn to him. When his eyes open they are darkened with heat,
staring indelibly at my mouth.

“Are
you alright?” he asks while lifting his head away from mine, but continuing to
hold me tight.

“Yes,”
I whisper. Embarrassed by my thoughtless behavior, I push against his chest as
indication I want to stand. He gazes at me for another moment without moving or
speaking but doesn’t let me up.

I
notice the commotion behind him then. Sirens are howling in the factory, red
lights flashing. Oh Lord,
I
must be the emergency. I groan. Immediately
Colin stiffens. He roams his hands over my arms, down my back, seeking signs of
injury.

“I’m
not hurt,” I say feebly.  “Please let me up. I’m fine.” I push against him
hoping he’ll listen to me. His chest is like a rock, unmoving even as I use
mighty force.

“The
EMT are on their way. You need to lie still until they get here with the
stretcher,” he demands.

“Oh,
no,” I say, my voice rising. “I’m not going anywhere by ambulance.” This new
threat has me moving, really pushing against him this time, but I manage barely
a budge. The slightest movement of my head has his beautiful face swimming in
front of me.

Colin
looks at me sternly. “Don’t move,” he warns as the EMT arrives.

~

Just when I think
the day couldn’t get worse, it does—the emergency room physician insists on a
head CT to rule out brain trauma. Conveniently, I was brought to the same
medical center Colin was scheduled to speak and have lunch. He demanded on
accompanying me to the hospital, but I insisted he meet his scheduled
engagements. We found a compromise in that he could meet his commitments while
I saw the doctor.

Colin
peeks around the curtain shielding me from the commotion of the emergency room.
My cheeks flame, not because he’s here, but because I’m dressed only in a
less-than-flattering hospital gown. Our eyes connect. Worry is etched in his
brow, so I wave him in, assuring him that I’m fine.

“A
little headache is the only souvenir I’ll leave New Jersey with,” I tease. His
mood doesn’t lift; he sits in the chair next to the gurney I lie on, staring at
my hand lying limply by my side.

“How
was your meeting with the Hospital president?”

He
doesn’t respond for minutes, rubbing the thin white sheet covering my legs
between his fingers. Finally, he whispers, “Fine.”

“Hey,”
I say with good nature, touching my fingers to the top of his. The light
connection holds so much weight, the current between us vibrant. His eyes find
mine as I continue. “This was the best press you could ever get. You’re a hero.
Honestly, I have no idea how you were able to get to me so fast.”

Colin
glares at me. “I could give a shit about press right now, Charlie,” he growls.
“You could have been killed,” his long fingers now toying with mine.

“But
I wasn’t. I’m okay, because of you.”

The
atmosphere changes, Colin’s eyes transition to serious and bewildered. “I don’t
know what you’re doing to me, Charlie,” he breathes out lowly. Before I can
form a reply, he rises from the chair, leaning his weight on the side of the
gurney. His face is so close our breath mixes. Closing his eyes, his lips find
mine; slowly at first, softly exploring, ensuring I welcome the contact.
Opening my mouth to deepen the kiss, my tongue is tentative in its approach to
his. He becomes more insistent, pushing against me. My hands move to his hair;
it’s silky as it rolls through my deft fingers. Spurred on by the insistence of
his mouth I grab a handful, pulling him closer.

For
a moment we devour each other, our lips molding together in perfect symmetry,
my tongue a slave to his as it learns the contours of my mouth, my lips. He
moans low in his throat, a sexy, lustful sound that makes my insides churn and
crave more.

I
know the hospital is not the place, nor is this the time to explore the sexual
attraction apparently neither of us has the strength to ignore. Slowly we break
away, my hands trailing from his hair leisurely down his strong jaw, which he
clenches as my fingers caress his cheeks. Pressing his forehead against
mine, I hold him close while our breathing slows, my thumb feathering over the
full line of his bottom lip.

The
physician arrives and Colin quickly stands, moving to the corner of the small
room. If the doctor suspects what we were doing behind the closed curtain he's
too polite to let on.

Addressing
both of us, he says, “Ms. Carter, your CAT scan is clear. You have a small
concussion, and the headache will continue for a day or so.” He directs the
next comment at Colin, somehow suspecting he’ll care for me. “Watch for
dizziness, blurred vision and worsening headache. If that happens, get her back
to an emergency room. I’ll send the nurse in with discharge instructions.”

Colin
nods seriously, his face laden with concern. Geez, it’s not like I’m dying over
here. It’s a headache. I’m not even sure why he cares so much, we met just
weeks ago. Sure, we’ve had two steaming-hot, heart-pounding, couldn’t-be-better
kisses, but it’s not a marriage proposal, for God’s sake.  

Shaking
the doctor’s hand, Colin thanks him and the doctor moves past the curtain,
leaving us alone once more.

Turning
to the shelf in the corner, Colin grabs my clothes and returns to the side of
the gurney. “Here, let me help you,” he says softly.

“No,
really that’s okay. I can dress myself,” I say quickly. He looks at me, eyes
shrewd and discerning, when suddenly I remember his dinner with the governor.
“You have to leave! You’ll be late for your dinner meeting!”

“I’ll
reschedule, Charlie, don’t worry about the meeting. Let’s get you back to the
hotel where you can rest.”

“No
way. You’re not missing a meeting with the governor because I bumped my head.
That’s just plain stupid.” I push him off the side of the gurney. “Go!” I point
to the door.

The
corner of his mouth lifts a fraction. “Are you kicking me out, Charlie?”

“Yes,
most definitely, go have dinner. I’ll take a cab to the hotel,” I say with more
strength than I feel.

“I’ll
leave Evan with you; he’s been camping out in the waiting room.”

I
don’t know what to say. It’s nice, so nice to feel cared for. Colin moves
forward once more. Leaning down, he presses his lips to my forehead. Lingering
for just a moment, he breathes in deeply into my hair now fanned out brazenly
around my head. Standing abruptly, he turns and walks from the room.

~

An
hour later I’m snugly tucked into a bed in Colin’s private suite. Hospital
discharge instructions indicated I should be woken every few hours to ensure
coherent thought. Apparently a concussion can change how the brain works and
the doctor wants to make sure mine keeps working just fine. Evan promised to
check on me to ensure I wasn’t speaking gibberish. My room wouldn't offer any
privacy, which left the suite as an option. I can lie-down in the bed, he can
work in the living room, and his conscience can rest easy that I won't fall
into a coma. I argued for a moment that he didn't need to go to the trouble of
waking me, but he wouldn’t have anything to do with it and physically pushed me
into the room. My fight worn out, I acquiesced, slipped off my clothes and
climbed into bed, falling directly into a deep sleep.

~

Even with closed
lids the brightness batters my eyes, my brain pounding thick pulses against my
skull as if it’s too big for the space. I moan and the sound reverberates,
broadening the pain; I’m sure my head will explode any second. Silently, I wish
for the coma Evan feared last night to take me, as it must be preferable to my
current state.