Storm Ravaged (Storm Damages 2) (Storm Legacy) (11 page)

“No.” My voice trembles along with the rest of me. How could he be so concerned about me? He’s the one who’s hurt. I touch his arm. “You’re bleeding.”

“So I am.” His gaze takes on the color of a cold, wintry haze. “What do you care?”

My breath hitches. “How could you say such a thing? Of course, I care.”

I drag him into my townhouse, grab a towel from the powder room, and wrap it around his arm. And then I hunt down the first aid kit. With shaking hands, I patch him up.

“It’s barely a knick. In a day or two I’ll be good as new,” he says. Is he trying to comfort me? Must be.

“You’re white as a sheet, love. Why don’t you take a seat?”

My knees give way and I drop on the couch next to him. The edges of my vision waver. If I don’t do something, I’m going to pass out.

“Put your head between your legs.” He puts his good hand on the back of my head, pushes it down. “Take deep breaths.”

I do as he says. As though from a distance, I realize I’m in shock. After a minute or so, I sit up. As it turns out, too soon. When I come to, he’s sitting next to me, a worried look on his face. The first aid kit is closed and the bloody gauzes are gone. I’ve never fainted from the sight of blood. But then it’d never been his blood before either. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Liz. Are you all right now?”

“Yes. I think so. I’m still shaking like a bowl full of Jello-O, but at least the faintness is gone. “Should we call the police?”

“Did he take your ID, anything important?” How can he appear cool as a cucumber while I’m anything but?

“No, That stuff is in my briefcase. I only carry cash and makeup in my purse.” And then I recall what else was in my purse. “Oh!”

“What?”

“I put the baby’s sonogram pictures in there.” Tears spring to my eyes. The first pictures of our baby, and now they’re gone.

“You can get new ones next time you visit the doctor. The thief is probably miles away by now. And you only lost a handbag. Better not call the police.” His voice’s gone cold. Now that I’m on the mend, he’s retreated into that frigid shell of his. The place I can’t touch him.

“You were
hurt
.”

“If we bring in the cops, we’ll need to file a report. My name’s notorious. The media might pick it up, and someone from your job might hear it on the news. And God forbid anyone should find out about me and you.” He slips into his jacket, glances at his watch. “I better go. Samuel must have circled the block a couple of times by now.”

I can’t let him go. Not with this distance between us. What am I going to do? That thug awakened a fear in me, something I hadn’t felt before. If he managed to hurt Gabriel that easily, how could I stand up against somebody determined to hurt me? To hurt our baby? “No. Wait.” I touch his good arm.

Shoulders stiff, he waits for me to speak. His body language says it all. He’s disconnected with me.

I hate being the cause of this distance between us. I wrap my arms around my waist to get through what I must say. “I failed to see what you’re talking about, the danger I’m in. If that thief could hurt you so easily what would someone bent on injuring me do to our child?” I glance around the living room. “I have great memories of my home. Of the good times with Casey. This is the first place you made love to me.”

“Is it?” His wintry glance travels across the space to me.

“You may not remember, but I do.” I run my hand over the Redskins cushion. “I can take my things with me. Make a life somewhere else.”

“What are you saying, Liz?” His gaze warms with a burgeoning hope.

“I’ll move to the Cathedral Arms.”

Chapter 13

______________

Elizabeth

BEFORE HE FLEW BACK TO LONDON, Gabriel insisted I stay at the Four Seasons until Samuel transferred my things to the Cathedral Arms. I agreed, and was rewarded by that incandescent smile of his. So I packed a few things and hunkered at the hotel for the next few days. Room service, every TV channel known to mankind, and a Jacuzzi to die for. Not a hardship by any means. Still, I can’t help but wish my old life back.

By Thursday the move is accomplished and I go from law school to my new digs. The place’s so cavernous it echoes. My sofa and coffee table barely take up a fourth of the living room space, but my big screen TV is here, and I plan to wind down with a playback of my favorite show.

I don’t have to time for a meal between work and school, so I usually wait until I get home to eat. But with the cupboards bare until I have a chance to grocery shop, I order take out, which apparently must be vetted by Samuel. Does he think I’m going to be poisoned by Mr. Wong’s? Sheesh.

After dinner, I bid him goodnight and take the tiny elevator to the bedroom suite. He’s searched the place, secured all doors. For the remains of the night, he’ll stand guard in the living room. Well, at least I’m not alone.

Next morning on the way to work, I take stock of the tremendous changes in my life. I’m still employed at Smith Cannon and attend law school. That much is the same. But everything else? Yeah, night and day. Per Gabriel’s orders, Samuel hired additional staff. I don’t go anywhere without someone driving me—to and from work, to and from school—in the silver S-Class Mercedes Benz Gabriel bought for me. Even a lunch out has to be run by Samuel.

I resent all of it which does not augur well for the future. If after a few days, I’m chafing at the bit, how am I going to handle the months until the baby’s birth? Guess I’ll have to. I rub my baby bump. The important thing is he’s safe.

After arriving at work, I head to my office, eager for my usual Friday morning routine, bagel, cream cheese and a dish of hot gossip, courtesy of CeCe.

“What’s going on?” she asks as soon as I step through the door.

Damn. Guess today’s gossip is about me. Still, just to make sure, I feel her out while I hang up my coat on the door hook. “What do you mean?”

“You’re being dropped off and picked up by a limo driver. You don’t go out to lunch anymore.”

Should have known she’d notice, the way my luck’s been running. “Things . . . have changed.”

“You’re telling me.” She slides over a cinnamon raisin bagel, cream cheese, and a glass of orange juice. “So spill, girlfriend.”

I close the door before taking a seat and giving her a heavily edited version of the facts. “Gabriel doesn’t want me living in Alexandria because he doesn’t feel it’s safe. So he bought an apartment in the Cathedral Arms. And he’s such a security nut, he assigned a team to me. Really, nothing out of the ordinary.” For him.

“Uh-huh.” She bites into her own breakfast treat, an English muffin dripping with butter and lathered with strawberry jam. Her eternal diet goes out the window for this one meal. “And . . .”

“He had all my things moved from the townhouse.”

“So you’re living together?”

“Not really. Well, kind of. I guess.” That clears things right up, doesn’t it?

She arches a brow. Honestly, her brows say more than she does sometimes. “So which is it? Is he or is he not living with you?”

“He’ll stay in London during the week and fly in for the weekend.”

She grabs a napkin and wipes some jam off her lip. “Looks like things are getting serious.”

“Yeah.” About as serious as they can get. He keeps pressuring me to marry and his crazy mother probably put a hit on me, but other than that? Things are peachy keen, thank you very much. “Please don’t mention any of this. We’re trying to keep it under wraps.”

She reaches out, squeezes my hand. “Oh, honey, I won’t. Besides I’m having too much fun watching everyone try to figure out the identity of your baby daddy.” There’s a twinkle in her eyes I’ve learned not to trust. “The office started a pool.” She chuckles.

“A pool?” I choke out.

“Brian Sullivan’s in the running, but he’s not ahead. Joe Lipskitz is.”

I gag. “Joe Lipskitz? He’s got to be fifty if a day.” And has a paunch.

“I know, right? He’s such a horndog. But he’s a partner and ultra rich.”

“Like I’d even look at him. And when exactly did he and I hook up?”

“Memorial Day weekend. Apparently you took a little vacay with him. His secretary, snitch that she is, leaked the fact he was in Acapulco that weekend with a certain someone. I could wring her scrawny neck. Doesn’t she know secretaries are supposed to keep their boss’s affairs secret?”

“But I was here that whole weekend doing prep work for the SouthWind deal!”

“You don’t think the truth is stopping them, do you?”

I rub my lip. There is one silver lining to the gossip. “So basically nobody has a clue about Gabriel.”

“Not a one.” She flashes her pearly teeth.

“That’s good.”

“So how big’s the place?” The rest of our breakfast we spend talking about the apartment. It’s way too big and empty, but the view is breathtaking. Gabriel made an appointment for a designer to come by this weekend to discuss new furnishings. God knows the place needs it. A table and chairs for the dining room, and furniture for the four bedrooms on the second floor at the very least.

After work, I slip into the car to find Gabriel waiting for me.

“When did you—?”

That’s as far as I get when he pulls me into him. His hand threads through my hair devastating my carefully pinned up do before he sinks into my mouth. He tastes of champagne and smells like sin itself.

Chapter 14

______________

Gabriel

THIS LAST WEEK WITHOUT LIZ HAS BEEN HELL. The unrelenting need for her occupied my every thought. Through business meetings, in the shower, at night when I couldn’t fall asleep. I have this constant craving for the smell of her, the taste of her, the sweet benediction of her body next to mine. I no longer wonder about what had caused me to get into the Jag half drunk and crash into a tree. I’d been mad with grief about losing her. My mind might not recall everything she’s been to me, but my body remembers.

When we come up for air, I whisper against her mouth. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” She rests her head against my shoulder. And for the first time in four days I take a deep breath.

“Where to, Mr. Storm?” Samuel’s voice. Not wanting a witness for my hunger for her, I’d put up the divider before Liz slipped into the car.

“Home,” I say. The Cathedral Arms may be a new purchase, but it’s the place I think of as home. And it’s because she’s there. If I couldn’t have her in my life, it would devastate me.

Somehow I manage to restrain my passion until we’re inside the lift which leads to our place. There, I push her against its wall, and raising her leg, grind my erection against the space between her legs. Our breaths commingle in a heated burst, as she curls her hands around the nape of my neck, bites down on my lip, heals it with a kiss.

Wish I could stop the elevator and take her right now. But my leg’s not up to the task. Mercifully, the ride is short. As soon as we step off the car, we’re tearing at each other’s clothes. We barely make it to the couch before we fall on each other—tasting, biting, suckling—not caring about which body part we enjoy first.

I cup her luscious breasts, suckle the tips, tease them while she writhes beneath me.

“Fuck me, Gabriel.”

God knows I want to more than my next breath, but I want to enjoy all of her. “Patience, love.”

Her hand sneaks down below, grabs me and positions me against her opening. “Now.”

I wriggle away from her. “Not yet.” I bend down to take her lips, explore every inch of her mouth. She tastes of heaven and coffee and the exotic flavor of her.

She clamps down on my ass and wiggles against me, moistening my erection with her damp heat. The scent of her need almost breaks my resolve to go slow. “You’re wet.”

“Yes.”

I rub my cock against her mons and she gasps. “Please, Gabriel. Please.”

How can I deny her when it’s exactly what I want? I was a fool to think I could go slow.

I unhinge my hips and thrust, giving her what she needs, what we both want.

“Yes. Oh, God. Yes.” She shouts with unfettered joy.

Our bodies, slick with sweat, grind, surge, climb together. until we’re both struck by lightning and succumb to the madness.

She screams. I collapse on top of her. For a moment until I catch my breath. When we’re both breathing somewhat steadily. I rise from the couch. Give her a hand up. My leg, unused to all the vigorous activity, throbs like a whoreson. I stagger to the spot where I dropped my cane, pick it up.

“Oh. God” she says.

“What’s wrong?” I turn back.

She’s staring out the window, her gaze wide. “What if somebody saw us?”

Laughing, I stutter step my way back to her. Cradle her head against my shoulder. “
Now
you’re worried?”

“I wasn’t thinking before.”

Neiher was I, but I wouldn’t have cared if we’d had a whole parade marching by. “The Cathedral of the Nativity is the only building with a direct view. Somehow I don’t think there’s someone with binoculars in its bell tower ogling us.”