THE FROST ESTATE
DEARBORNE, MARYLAND
Denieve
____________________________
I gaped at the phone until the voice of reason returned. The call may have dropped, but I did get through. That's what mattered.
With a hard sigh, I crammed the phone into my pocket and found a throw pillow, a comforter, and a blanket in his bedroom. Next, I dug out two large cardboard slabs from the back of the lab. I set both slabs on either side of him and arranged the linens over the boxes. This way, the glass wouldn't cut him if he moved. I filled an empty metal bowl with cold water and snagged a fistful of brown paper towels from the dispenser. Making a place on the pallet, I settled down next to him and drowned the towels.
Dual flashes of lightning blazed across the sky, illuminating every corner of the room. Long enough for me to get a good look at him. With a reverence I didn't understand, I brushed his silken hair back and placed the cool towels over his hot forehead.
Braeden Frost was quite possibly mentally disturbed. At the very least, he was a tortured soul. I remembered how angry he'd made me the first day we met. The horrible things I'd thought...the bits about wishing I could rip his head off and wanting to tell him to go screw himself. I felt so petty and small.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know."
Given everything he'd endured, who wouldn't be cold, remote, and despondent? He'd lost his practice and his good name, not to mention his colleagues and patients. And his receptionist had been burned alive in an office fire- - -his office fire. Who wouldn't crack under those circumstances?
Thunder rumbled outside as I checked my watch for the hundredth time. Thirty minutes had passed since I'd phoned 911 and still no ambulance. By now, my heart was beating like a caged bird's and my nerves were fried. God help me, but I was getting more agitated by the second.
Meanwhile, Frost's fever spiked and he wouldn't stop trembling. But he was sweating. I didn't know if that was a good sign or not. I just worried. Constantly. Seeing him like this- - -helpless and possibly slipping into a coma- - -fueled my anxiety.
Only now did I allow myself to think about what I hadn't told the dispatcher. An impartial observer might suppose I'd tried to, um, I dunno...cover for him? Okay, maybe so, but I was a psychic, not a shrink. Frost's cut could've happened any number of ways. And while I'd sensed his despair tonight, I still needed more to go on.
Hell, he might have been into self-mutilation for all I knew. Not that skin carving wasn't sick, but it was a far cry from a full-blown suicide attempt. Either way, I'd rather let the professionals draw their own conclusions. That's if they ever got here.
All circuits were busy when I tried the phone again. Fifteen minutes later, a cranky male operator lectured me about patience, tornadoes, downed trees, and blackouts, like I was an idiot or something. Then he spitefully said, "Your boss will just have to wait in line," contempt burning in his voice.
So, fine. I waited twenty whole minutes before I called back. How's that for patience? But the next dispatcher just parroted the same annoying bullshit.
What to do? What to do? I couldn't call Luke, he was too sick, and when I dialed Tommy's number I got an out-of-service recording. In desperation, I tried Angela Pierce. Not that she could help. She was in Canada...or Aruba...or wherever she was vacationing. Bottom line, she wasn't here, but I still needed to talk to someone. Anyone.
Six rings later, a woman's cultured voice spilled into my ear. "Hi, you've reached Angela Pierce. I'm unable to take your call, but if you'll leave a name, number, and a brief message, I'll get back to you shortly."
BEEP.
I breathed in deeply and reminded myself not to sound like a panicked twit. "Ms. Pierce, it's-it's Danielle Reed. Dr. Frost had an accident. He passed out and I'm with him now in his lab waiting for EM- - -argh!"
The call dropped.
It took every ounce of willpower not to pitch my phone at the wall. Blood roared through my head. My heart pounded. My thoughts were all over the place. I glanced down at the unconscious man whose only hope lay in my incapable hands. Even with the threat of disaster, that beautiful face gave me pause.
His lashes were thicker than fans. Moonlight painted half a dozen colors in his inky hair, and all I kept thinking was how handsome he looked.
Handsome and doomed.
"The storm's getting worse," I told him, my nervous fingers stroking his cheek.
I stared fearfully up at the skylights as gallons of rain and golf ball-sized hail pummeled the thick glass. Wind shook the house as terror had its way with me.
"They say there's a tornado in the area. We really should get to a lower floor, but you weigh at least two hundred pounds. I'm barely a hundred and ten, and I haven't been to the gym since forever. How the heck am I going to drag you? Through a mansion? Down two endless flights of stairs?" I brushed a tear back with a trembling hand. "I don't even know if you have a head injury. Oh, God, I could end up killing you if you're moved the wrong way."
The beginnings of a panic attack inched closer. I'd been dealing with them since the car accident with Caryn ten years ago. Stress sometimes triggered them. The foreboding, the racing thoughts, crying spells that stopped and started without cause. The irrational behavior.
"Stop it!" I sniffed, refusing to give in to the frenzy and instead, concentrated on Frost. When the towel on his forehead grew warm, I plunged it into the cold water, and set the thing back over his brow. A sudden burst of thunder made my heart skip.
I smoothed his hair with a shaky hand. "It's okay. I'll take care of you. I'm not going anywhere. Whatever happens, happens." And I meant that, even as adrenaline burned through me. "Nothing to worry about," I said in a lame attempt to calm myself. "Everything's fine."
If only I believed my own words.
"Poetry," I blurted. "You say you don't like it, but I don't believe you. Sorry. I mean, you obviously used to like it. Why else would your library be filled with all those wonderful books? My dad used to read me poems whenever I had nightmares. The words calmed me down. How about I recite something for you now? Would you mind?"
Obviously this was more for my benefit. The man had sailed off to la-la land and wouldn't have cared if I stuffed a banana up my nose, but I had to do something. Otherwise, I'd lose it. Sifting through the pandemonium in my brain took a few minutes, but I finally came up with some verses.
"There's a piece Daddy used to recite," I said. "It always managed to soothe me. Can't remember the author. Maybe Robert Frost...or..." I stared off to think. "No, that's wrong- - -not Frost. Whatever. Anyway, the first part goes something like, I whispered I am too young, and then I am old enough; wherefore..." My mind was so mired in fear, the remaining words slipped away. "Oh, God. I know this poem. It's right on the tip of my tongue." I shook my head in frustration. "Sorry. My brain isn't cooperating tonight."
Lightning slashed into the darkness. Seconds later, thunder rattled the house- - -and me.
"H-how about Marlowe?" I babbled. "No, wait. Shelley. I think the beginning starts with, I am the daughter of earth...." Crap. The words escaped me again. I concentrated hard until I yanked a couple more lines from my foggy memory. "I am the daughter of earth and...and water and the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores.... I change- - -I change, but I cannot die- -"
Thunder roared again so loud my mind went blank. Within seconds, a tree slammed to the ground, shaking the house's very foundation. Frost shuddered at the explosive sound and on pure reflex I threw my arms around him. His smoldering body heat baked into my robe.
My eyes trembled shut as I zeroed in on the steady beat of his heart, trying to derive some comfort from it, but even that didn't stay my frenzied thoughts.
What if the tornado came? What if his fever didn't break? What if the ambulance didn't get here in time? What if a tree fell on the house? What if the roof collapsed? What if Frost didn't wake up? What if he died before I had a chance to- - -
A chance to what?
Tears rushed down my cheeks. "Help. I need help," I said in a broken whisper. "I'm so sc-scared."
I froze.
My head. His gloved hand was cradling my head. A hand so large it covered the left side of my face. No psychic shockwave this time. Instead, a sense of warmth, tenderness, and discovery filled me. He went deeper still and caressed my scalp. I pushed back to study him through my tears and his hand fell away. He hadn't opened his eyes or spoken a word, but something seemed different.
Beads of perspiration made his cheeks glisten. I removed the paper towels, wiped his brow, and touched my lips to his forehead, like my mom used to do to gauge my temperature. He was cooling down.
A flash of lightning tore across the lab, illuminating his entire face. Oh, my God. Now he was awake and staring up at me. Maybe it was the shadows, but his irises appeared darker. Deeper. Instead of sapphire, his eyes were gunmetal blue, red-rimmed, and bright with fever. Even so he was conscious!
Relief made my voice crack. "Dr. Frost? How do you feel?" I gently brushed his hair off his forehead. "Are you in pain?"
A flood of auras spilled out of him in answer, so many, I couldn't ID them. It was as if the emotional fortress he'd erected had crumbled. But there was something else. The energy in the room suddenly shifted- - -more specifically, the energy between us. It became charged, like a magnetic field. Next thing I knew, he'd cradled the back of my head and drew me down, down, down- - -to him.
Why did I go with it? Why couldn't I speak...pull away...do something to resist him? But there I sat, spellbound with our noses inches apart while he gently ran his gloved knuckles across my cheek. I shuddered when his thumb brushed my lips. Then he sighed and his sweet breath kissed my face, stirred my hair.
That's when I lost what was left of my mind.
Within seconds, every nerve ending came alive. My skin grew hot and my pulse quickened. Sensual awareness raced from the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet. Liquid fire blazed a path down south, triggering what could only be described as a heat wave between my legs. I'd never felt anything like this. My nipples tightened and my breasts grew heavy. I didn't have to put my hand down there to know my panties were drenched.
What the hell was going on?
A warm bouquet of cinnamon and nutmeg- - -passion- - -filled the lab as Frost dragged his lips up and down my neck until he suckled my ear, licking and tugging. I was a goner after that. He slowly pulled back, his feverish gaze settling on my eyes, as if seeking permission. I guess my shameless panting was permission enough, because he lowered his head and drew my nipple into his mouth, right through my nightgown. This wasn't the icy stranger I'd met a month ago. This Braeden Frost seemed possessed by a raging fire that mirrored my own.
We exchanged no words or kisses, just breaths and a mutual desire for carnal fulfillment. Deep down I knew my brain had waved a white flag minutes ago, that somehow I wasn't in control. My flesh was. But I didn't care. I don't know why, but I had to feel him on me, in me.
Forget the tempest outside and the fact that I'd found him with a bloody wrist. That my dead best friend was in love with him didn't matter either, or that I didn't know whether he was clean. None of that made a bit of difference. And when he took my hand and pressed it around the thick erection tenting his trousers, I stopped caring about everything.
I just needed him.
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