My Billionaire Stranger (2 page)

Chapter 3

At home I wash my face, tie my long, thick ebony hair in a knot and grab a bottle of water before curling up in my bed for a little while before I go to sleep. I hold off on taking my sleeping pills for now and pull my iPad from the drawer in my bedside table. The blank screen begs me to Google Marcus’s place of business and after a moment of hesitation I smash my finger against the glass and start a search.

Dominus; it’s an elegant exclusive members only, restaurant with a nightclub. A few clicks later, I learn that Dominus is not just one single restaurant. There are locations all over the world, from here in Seattle to San Diego, Chicago, Italy, France, Miami, New York, Brazil and even Australia! Holy crap, this man is successful, I knew he had to be somebody special to land in Seattle Trinity hospital but I didn’t expect him to be a billionaire. The pictures…. wow, I can’t believe the degree of extravagance, no expense was spared when decorating, and the nightclubs are dark and mysterious, even a little creepy. Ok, now I’m even more intrigued, but a little voice in the back of my head is telling me I should stop right here. Searching any deeper is only going to bring trouble, but do I listen? 

No. Shut up little voice! 

Thirty minutes later I’ve learned that he is 36 years old, lives here in Seattle and grew up in Italy where he was born. Strangely that’s it I’ve hit a brick wall. There’s no more personal information to be found. There are pictures of him at Dominus in various locations around the world spanning over at least fifteen years. In every photograph he is dressed in a regal suit but most distinguishing are his eyes.  So that’s what they look like when they are open…. green, no not just green, such a bright green that they’re almost glowing, like a cat. It seems strange an Italian man would have such striking green eyes with his dark complexion; I would have guessed he had brown eyes. He stands alone in every photograph, no women or date; never smiling. His expression is intense with a hint of a scowl. It’s curious that he owns such extravagant establishments but he is always alone in his photographs. You’d think women would be flocking to a wealthy gorgeous man like Marcus. I scroll down and come across a collection of photographs taken in Dominus locations all over the world; famous people, I mean
really
famous people are posing in every one. Finally I lay the iPad aside and take my sleeping pills. I could ask his sister about it tomorrow, but then again she said they weren’t close so she probably doesn’t know any more than I do. As I snuggle down in the duvet I close my eyes and in the darkness I imagine Marcus’s piercing green eyes focusing on me with his hands caressing my skin.

Waking up during the day is unsettling; the room is dark and I don’t know what time it is. When I roll over and look at the clock I see it’s still early and I’m feeling creative. I decide to trade sleep for a few hours at the Seattle Glass Blowing studio. The studio is a place of healing for me. It’s somewhere I can throw myself into making something beautiful and escape reality, if only for a short time. I roll out of bed and grab my iPad clicking on one of my favorite playlists and head to the shower. When I stop in front of the bathroom mirror I see a chronically tired version of myself staring at me with crazy tangled jet-black hair. What have I been doing in my sleep? 

The dark circles under my eyes and the ashy tone that has replaced my caramel colored skin are telling of my work schedule. I could use a vacation somewhere warm, where I can soak up some sun on a sandy beach. I turn on the water, strip down and step into the hot shower that instantly steams up the bathroom. Washing my hair I tap my foot to the beat of the music and dance around. I rarely do anything without music, except at work and even then when it’s slow I sneak in my ear buds while charting or observing a sleeping patient.  Marcus sleeping, and there he is  invading my thoughts again. Am I ever going to get this guy off my mind?

After my shower I see a slight improvement; I have some color in my cheeks from the hot water and my hair is untangled. When I’m dry and my challenging hair has been flat ironed and braided I dress in old jeans and a tank top layering a navy blue UW sweatshirt over top. It’s smart to layer, the fall weather has brought cooler temperatures, but it’s roasting hot in the studio. Pulling on my boots I scan the room for my purse. Where is my damn purse? I don’t know how I manage to lose that thing all the time; it probably weighs 50 lb. Ahh there it is on the floor by the front door. Scooping it up I heave it onto my shoulder and pull the hood up on my sweatshirt before I step outside. The wind is chilly today, summer is my favorite time of year, I’m going to miss it. I have one indulgence in my life and it’s sitting in the street in front of me, my red Volvo S60. I make good money and I have all my student loans paid off and I live well beneath my means. I own an apartment above several small shops, a bakery and a boutique. One of the reasons I bought it was because of the heavenly smells that drift up through the ventilation system. I’m a homebody for the most part, my social life consists of occasionally going out with a very select group of friends. Trusting people and staying safe are monumental issues for me and I suppose the car is related to that as well. I panic at the thought of breaking down and being stranded alone on the side of the road, exposed and vulnerable.

Dax is working on yet another vase when I swing open the door to the studio, I swear he’s made a million of them. My old friend turns toward me when he hears the door; beads of sweat cover his baldhead and slide down his neck, disappearing into his shirt. Dax is one of the only men in my world that I trust; I’ve known him for 10 years. He was kind to me when I started coming here searching for a therapeutic hobby after my attack. He sensed that something was off with me and kept his distance for almost a year. When he finally gained my trust he taught me all he knew about glass blowing.

“Hey Imani, long time no see!” he calls out enthusiastically. 

“Hey Dax, nice vase,” I tease.

“Yea practice makes perfect right?” he answers, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“Well you should be faultless by now, do you give your wife flowers every day to keep them all in use?”

“Naaah, she puts ‘em all away; I think she’s sick of me making them too.”

“Maybe you should branch out, make a candy dish or something,” I reply playfully.

“Ehh I’ll stick to what I know.”

“Ok, suit yourself.” I shed my sweatshirt and grab a steel rod. Gathering molten glass from the first oven my vision becomes clear in my mind; a multicolored light fixture that could hang from the ceiling, spiking out in all directions. Working the glass onto the steel rod is like turning caramel onto an apple, my mind wanders to where it always does lately… Marcus. I wonder what he’s like, what does he do for fun, what’s he into, what does he like to eat, or what his favorite color is. Of course I want him to wake up, but a tiny, selfish part of me enjoys the sleeping Marcus. I can admire him without a panic attack or feeling self-conscious; he’s just that gorgeous and intimidating. I carry my glass to the marker and begin shaping, repeating the process with red, lavender and blues, yellow and greens that flow and merge the glass into a beautiful, artistic light fixture.

The photographs of Dominus inspired me, I can imagine it hanging in any one of his restaurants or clubs. Dax shoots me a shocked look.

“Holy hell Imani, that thing’s a monster! It’s gorgeous though; I’ve never seen you make anything like that before!”

“Yea, I had some inspiration hit me this week.” Yea, inspiration named Marcus Castillo.

Man I’m sweating my ass off, I’ve spent so much time working on this piece that I’m soaked before I’m satisfied. I place the light into the anneal to cool overnight. Overnight… shit, I need to get out of here so I can get home and shower before work. As I’m cleaning up my supplies, Dax gives me a little wave.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Yep gotta work tonight.”

“Okay, see ya next time Imani, come by more often, I miss seeing you around here.”

“Will do, and you have fun with your millionth vase,” I tease.

“Yea but it’s perfect right?” He holds up his nearly finished product. “Yea Dax it really is.”

It’s a perfect, tall and slender purple vase, I really do like it.

“Hey do you have plans for that?”  I ask.

“Nope, just gonna add it to the collection I guess.”

“Can I have it? I have a patient that’s going to be with us for a while and he could use something beautiful in his room when he comes around. He’s in a coma.”

“Yea sure, you got a little thing for this guy, shame on you for taking advantage of a guy in a coma!” he snickers and my mouth drops open; how could he know that, is it that obvious?

“Of course not!” I blush a dark shade of pink feeling the heat spread up my neck to my face.

“I’m just messin with ya Imani, sure you can have it, just take it out of the anneal tomorrow when you pick up your piece.”

“Thanks.” I hurry out the door to avoid any further teasing, and because I’m going to be late for work.

Chapter 4

Dressed in my scrubs AKA my pajamas I braid my long damp hair to keep it out of my face at work, apply a touch of mascara and dash out the door. At the hospital I request to have Marcus as a patient tonight and I’m also assigned a woman with a gunshot wound to the head; she isn’t expected to live.

In the wrong place at the wrong time a stray bullet at a stoplight hit this innocent woman. Multiple family members wander aimlessly around in the lobby, some in shock some crying at the news of their loved ones impending death. Her husband is at her bedside devastated, lost, holding her hand and openly sobbing. It makes me think about losing a loved one, a partner, a husband and a soul mate. I shudder even though I have never known that kind of love I imagine it must be crushing. I check on Marcus first, he’s still unconscious but tonight his sister isn’t alone at his bedside. A handsome blonde man dressed in a sharp dark pinstriped suit speaks quietly with Elena.

“Oh Imani, I’m so glad you’re finally here, this is Elijah,” she introduces me to this striking blonde man with crystal blue eyes.

“Nice to meet you Elijah, it’s always good to have friends visit, maybe it will spark something and he will wake up.”

“Oh, we aren’t friends,” he says nervously, glancing quickly at Marcus and back to me. “I work for Mr. Castillo.”

“Elijah is Marcus’s right-hand man and he manages one of his restaurants located here in Seattle, he is invaluable to him. I’m sure he considers you his friend Elijah.” She too glances at Marcus.

What’s going on here is this guy is afraid Marcus might hear him claiming to be his friend, what could be wrong with that?

“Well a familiar voice can be helpful too.” I offer attempting to cut some of the tension in the room. Elijah gives me a lopsided smile and shifts his gaze to the floor. With his hands in his pockets he shuffles his feet around nervously. His reaction is concerning, what kind of man strikes this kind of fear in his most valued employee? After I check Marcus over I leave the two of them to finish talking. I need to see my other patient and for once I’m anxious to leave Marcus’s room. Elijah doesn’t stay long, after looking over some paperwork with Elena they step into the hall and join me where I’m charting.

“Imani I’m leaving now, I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Ok, I work tomorrow night again, I imagine I’ll see you.”

“Oh you will, I’ve requested that you always be Marcus’s nurse if you’re working.” “Oh…” I’m surprised and I don’t know what else to say.

“I know it’s silly and you probably won’t believe me.” She looks into Marcus’s room and back to me. She holds my eyes in a serious gaze that pleads
believe me
.  “I feel like he’s more comfortable when you’re here.” She pauses for my reaction but I’m confused as to what exactly she is trying to say so I stay quiet and wait for her to continue.

.

“His color is better and I swear his heart rate goes up when you are with him.”

Oh my God, I must be seriously transparent; first Dax and now Elena think I have a thing for Marcus, which I do but holy crap, it must be very noticeable. I need to work on that… blushing I turn to Elena.

“Well thank you, I do enjoy taking care of him.” More than she could ever know.

With a quick sigh she adjusts her purse on her arm. “Ok then, see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” I say quietly as she strides to the elevator. Glad to have him alone again I’m immediately drawn to his side, that magnetism is hard at work keeping us together. Does his heart rate really go up when I’m around? I probably should have noticed since I’m the one taking his vitals every two hours but I don’t remember any obvious fluctuations. Note to self, go back and look at Marcus’s heart rate in the computer and see if Elena is right; at the moment he’s running at about 70 beats per minute, which is perfectly normal. I sigh, wouldn’t it be flattering if a man of his magnitude even in a coma recognized my presence?

Yea because his eyes are closed
.
Reality check Imani, get back to work!

As I have been compelled all week, I lean close to Marcus’s face and whisper softly, “It’s Imani again; your sister thinks you like me, funny huh?”

I look up at the monitors; no change in heart rate, so much for that experiment. Time to get this guy adjusted in bed, I move him carefully with the turn sheet but not too far as his leg is still in traction. He’s heavy, solid muscle fills the bed top to bottom. He could really use a bath; the nursing assistants on the night shift usually do this to ease up the day shift’s load of work, our assistant isn’t here tonight though. I can’t help but smile, I’ll be happy to take on this particular task. I’m trying my best to think clinically about giving Marcus a bath but it’s impossible. His bruising is turning yellow and the knot on his head is significantly smaller; his face is even more angular now that most of the swelling has gone down and I realize he looks even more like Elena then I thought before.  That’s what I’ll concentrate on, how much he looks like his sister, that has to decrease the sex appeal doesn’t it…? Yea right… I gather up what I need for his bath and run some warm water in a washbasin and make sure his blinds and door are closed. I start by gently washing his face; he has more than a five o’clock shadow going on today. I’ll save shaving for tomorrow night, something to look forward to, unless he wakes up of course. I caress the dark hair that hangs on his forehead with the back of my fingers, brushing a thick curl from his face I resist the strong urge to run my fingers through all of that thick soft brown hair. I feel like it’s Christmas day and I’m unwrapping a gift as I fold down his sheet and work to remove his hospital gown. While washing his chest I revel in feeling every abdominal muscle through the thin washcloth. ‘Keep it together Imani, he’s just a patient, he’s just a patient’, I chant in my head. Oh who am I kidding; he is so much more than a patient to me. I’m having feelings for him and I’ve never actually met him. ‘All right Imani now breath take a deep breath in, blow it out.’ I pat him dry quickly, ashamed for taking so much time and staring inappropriately at his chest. In the back of my mind I’m thinking I need to check on my other patient, make this snappy…. I continue down his arms to his hands, and I wonder how it must feel to be held by these arms, touched by these fingers.

Moving the sheet slightly further down past his waist I groan and roll my eyes to the ceiling. Oh my God, he has
the V
and it’s pointing straight at the part of his body I’m most apprehensive about. He is absolutely exquisite, a perfect human male specimen. I finish washing and drying him above the waist and move the sheet up to work a clean hospital gown back onto him. I cover him; my heart is racing and I can hear my pulse swooshing in my ears,
‘Get a grip woman! More deep breathing…’
I move to finish by bathing the leg that isn’t in a cast. Another example of perfect anatomy, defined and long, lean muscles cover him from head to perfect toe. I’m a foot woman and he has smooth lovely feet, I’m weird about feet, it’s just a thing. I’m sure there’s a name for my foot fetish; they have a name for everything these days. I can tell he must have regular pedicures, no dry skin or calluses for this guy. I’m meticulous washing his leg and foot and between his toes, I wouldn’t want him to wake up and think I’d been neglecting this feet!

The toes of his other foot are peeking out the end of his cast; there is too much swelling to get to those for now. When I cover him with the scratchy hospital blanket I feel guilty for not cleaning around his catheter and all the other parts below his waist but someone else is going to have to do that, as much as I hate the thought, I just can’t right now. I care about this man and I’ve been touched without consent before, all I can think about is what if he feels assaulted? I did kiss him after all and I have no idea how aware he is. It’s part of being a nurse, and I’ve done it a thousand times, but usually the patient is aware of what I’m doing and they know it’s necessary. It’s not life threatening right? Yes that’s good, keep rationalizing with your self-Imani; it’s not neglect… not really. ‘Oh yes it is’ the logical side of my brain says. I wish that side of my brain would shut the hell up. I should have had another nurse help me turn him to wash his back but my selfishness won out; I’m not sharing him with anyone, I’ll get to it tomorrow…. I gaze down at my work and I’m satisfied. He looks like the metrosexual that I suspect he is when he’s awake and smells clean of soap, a huge improvement over the lake water stink that he was covered with. I could stand here all night watching him but I need to see my other patient. Logical brain chimes in with an unwelcome comment ‘She is dying you know Imani, others need your attention here too.’ I turn the lights down in the room a bit and open the blinds that lead to the hall so I will be able to see him from out there. Mind lost I lean down and speak to him in a quiet voice, “You’re all clean Marcus, you can wake up any time, I’m waiting for you.”

When I go back to work, and I mean really working and not gawking, I alternate my time equally between Marcus and my shooting victim all night; she isn’t doing well, it won’t be long now, I’m glad her family is here with her. We don’t usually allow so many people in an ICU room but in this case, what’s the difference? When you work in this department for a few years it’s not unusual to become a little callous, and in cases like this we are basically providing hospice care, it’s over for her, there’s no hope. When the day crew arrives and I have to turn over my obsession to another nurse… another
woman
I hate the idea so much that I find myself wishing for a double shift. I want to stay near him, which reminds me of Elena’s comment about the effect I have on Marcus’s heart rate. I click through the electronically recorded vital signs and compare notes from my shift with those of other nurses during other shifts. Oh my God she’s right his pulse elevates whenever I’m in his room, it’s directly correlated to my presence. His heart rate goes from 70 b.p.m to 100 b.p.m whenever I’m with him. She was right, he knows I’m there, no, no, no…. it’s not just me, I’m sure this happens whenever a nurse is in his room.

Double-checking back through his chart and no, it’s only me. His heart rate was exactly the same all day long yesterday, the night shift results are all over the place though, and I was his nurse! Ok, so maybe it’s because I’m the only one that talks to him intimately; yes, that has to be it. Tomorrow night I’ll test it out; I’ll just come in and chat with Elena without talking in his ear, and I’m sure when I match the times up this will all have been a coincidence.

It has to be, he’s unconscious Imani, it’s all a silly coincidence. God I hope not…