By the time Emma finally stirred, it was after noon, and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls and gauze during a visit to the dentist after being attacked too enthusiastically with the little suction wand. Without opening her eyes, she swiped at the puddle of sticky wetness plastering her cheek to her arm.
Ugh, that explains it.
Sunlight was beating into the room with an intensity that was making the sheets cling to her body. As tired as she was, discomfort was tugging her into wakefulness. Silently, she prayed for a cool breeze so she could sink back into that blissful oblivion, but it didn't come. Normally, she'd have at least one leg sticking out of the blankets. But this morning, she was bundled up tight, and it was making her claustrophobic. She began to have an inkling what a steamed dumpling at Golden Dragon Dim Sum Restaurant felt like.
She lay there for a few more moments trying to wake up, like a scuba diver trying to resurface after a big dive. She had slept hard. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep on the couch, with Layla draped over her feet. Abruptly it occurred to her that this did not feel like the couch. Experimentally, she squinted her eyes open. Wiping the crustiness of sleep out of them, she groaned at the brightness. Slamming her eyelids shut again, her head dropped heavily back onto the pillow.
I am so not a morning person.
From behind her, came a sound. A very, very masculine sound. A sound that she was certain she should not be hearing. Her body went rigid and she tried to turn over, realizing a few things at that moment. Numbers one and two, she was in a bed and it wasn't hers. Numbers three and four, something very heavy was pinning her to the bed, and it did not feel anything like a furry golden retriever. It was much harder, much warmer, and much less furry. Slight panic set in at the last realization, and she tried to jerk her body free so she could turn around.
Instead of releasing her, the thing constricted around her tighter. Hot breath tickled her neck, and then a voice vibrated the shell of her ear. A very deep, very gruff, very sexy voice.
"Em, you really need to stop moving."
Realization number five. There was something—that she refused to give too much thought to—pressing into the small of her back. Something hot and firm and... dammit, stop it!
"Ryan? Ryan, what the heck?"
"Shhhh, be quiet, I'm tryin' to sleep," he said in that same sexy, sleepy masculine voice.
She elbowed him in the ribs, hard. The "oomph" that was expelled from him was satisfying, and gave her the opportunity to wriggle out of the death hold he had her in. Sitting up, she spun toward him. The sharp words she was about to fling at him, died on her lips. Her tongue flicked out to lick them, and she was reminded that it wouldn't do any good—her mouth was still bone dry.
He was... well, he was really freaking sexy. His eyes were still closed, despite her escape attempt. Realization number six: all she could see was his bare muscled torso and long, muscled bare legs, with just a narrow strip of the sheet covering his midsection. Is he naked? She started to scoot further away, and realized that the sheets were tangled around her, and were slowly pulling away from him. Quickly she stopped, because realization number seven was that she was pretty close to finding out the answer to her question. She stared at him for a moment longer, and then smacked his chest hard.
"Ryan, wake up! Are you naked?"
A lazy grin spread across his face, his eyes were still closed.
"Come find out."
She hit him again, harder this time, and he rolled to his side, grabbing her—bundle of blankets and all—ignoring her protests. Pulling her flush with his body, he nuzzled into her neck, and smiled against her skin when he felt her quiver.
"You know, you're awfully violent for such a little girl." She struggled, but he was holding her so tightly, wrapped up in the blankets that she couldn't find any purchase.
"Let—me—go!"
"Nope, settle down."
Finally, she stopped squirming, and he opened his eyes, meeting hers.
Whatever she might have wanted to say was stuck in her throat. The way he looked at her... it was like staring into a clear, deep, green lake that she could see all the way to the bottom of. A lake she was seriously considering taking up cliff-diving for. Considering. She still wanted to know what the hell she was doing in his bed. And she still didn't know if he was completely naked or not.
"What am I doing here, Ryan?"
"Sleeping." His eyes were closed again.
She blew out an exasperated sigh.
"Em, your breath stinks."
"Screw you! Let me go if it bothers you!"
"Nope. I like your stink," he smirked, cracking his eyes open again.
She growled at the mirth she saw dancing in them.
Rolling over, he pushed her back into the mattress, pinning her with the long, hard length of his entire body. The air pushed out of her lungs, as much from the heat and heaviness of his presence, as from the weight of his body pressing her down. He caged her in with the hard, sinewy muscles of his arms resting on either side of her head. She was stiff as a board, and her eyes were flashing.
"Relax, Em." He nuzzled into her neck again, his rough stubble scratching in a deliciously slow manner across the sensitive skin, drawing out an involuntary moan. Trailing his lips along her collarbone, he moved up and planted kiss on her chin, and then retreated, falling on his back and pulling her so that her head rested in the crook of his arm.
"I'm wearing boxers." He smirked when she started to push back. "You were gonna be sore if I left you on that old couch, so I brought you up here."
"And in your bed?" She raised an eyebrow.
"I just wanted to be near you. It was a tough night, and you make me feel better," he replied honestly. "I promise, nothing happened." He let his eyes roam over her body and leered at her, "Not that it wasn't hard as hell to keep my hands to myself." He wasn't joking. Somehow the woman made an old, worn tank top and a little pair of shorts look like the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. He couldn't have been more turned on if she was buck-ass naked.
"Oh, shut up." She hit him again, but there was no fire in it this time.
They lay like that for several moments, relaxing into one another. As the tension seeped out of her body, Emma recognized, not for the first time, that it felt so good to be close to him like this. When she wasn't busy fighting him, he had a calming effect on her, and the atmosphere between them was comfortable. Unconsciously, her hand started tracing random little patterns over his chest. It was so warm and hard, and she found she liked the tickling sensation of running her fingertips through the dark, rough patch of hair in the center.
"Em..." Ryan's hand closed over hers to still her movement, "you have to stop that, now. Otherwise I'm not going to be able to keep my hands to myself much longer."
Immediately she froze and tried to snatch her hand back, but he held it firmly.
"I'm not going to pounce on you, ya know," he chuckled.
She quivered.
That sound... that particular chuckle, was all hers. Low and sexy and rumbling. It sent shivers racing straight down to her toes and zipping back up to the ends of her hair, and out to other, naughtier places.
"I don't know, Cameron," she retorted, "you did kidnap me to your bed while I was unconscious."
"Yeah," he bent his head down to her ear, "but I was a perfect gentleman. A mostly perfect gentleman," he amended when he saw her raised eyebrow, and gave her his most devastatingly, charming, panty-melting smile.
She flopped back, exasperatedly, but with a smile playing at her lips. Abruptly, her smile faded, turning serious.
"Ry, is your mom... is she going to be okay?"
"The doctors are optimistic, at least as far as injuries-the cancer is another thing. But, I don't know. She was so out of it when she woke up last night. I mean, she was sure it was dad, but I don't see how that is even possible. It makes no sense." Worry lines furrowed his brow. "Will you come with me to see her?"
"Yeah, of course, Ry. You know how much she means to me," Emma replied earnestly.
"Mmhmm..." he acknowledged, "but what do I mean to you, Em?"
Dry mouth. Really intensely dry mouth-like she'd just bitten into a crabapple—prevented her from answering. Her throat worked, trying to come up with enough saliva to swallow down the lump in her esophagus.
"Never mind, little girl," he murmured, softly kissing her right below her left ear, before untangling himself and sitting up. "You better think about it though, because you're going to need to answer that question sooner or later." He shot her another smile, one that scared her—sent shivers of trepidation right through her—a very purposeful smile. The kind of smile that might curve a lion's lips right before it pounces on some poor, unsuspecting antelope. Then he headed for the door, leaving her feeling hot and cold all over, while he headed into the shower.
~*~*~
Julie arrived at the hospital around one, agitated and slightly disheveled. Evan had called her early that morning accusing her of attacking Greta. As if I'd bother. Well, he didn't actually accuse her—although he came pretty close to it. That wasn't the reason for her visit, though. As much as she knew she should stay away, and leave it alone, she had to see her. Had to know what she knew. Had to know if what Evan said she saw last night was really true.
She stood in front of a bank of elevators, impatiently pushing the "UP" button, and cursing under her breath. She was nervous and over-caffeinated, but that didn't prevent her from taking another long sip of her diet coke. After all these years... how in the hell was this coming back to bite her now? Anxiety churned her insides, slowly turning them to jelly.
It would be bad enough if her role in things was found out, but if he was back... A deep shudder shook her body. It can't be possible... the old witch must be mistaken. She tried valiantly to convince herself, but she couldn't. When nothing turned up, for 25 years, no less, she was relieved. Thought she got away scot free. Now she wasn't so sure.
"Finally!" she bit out, when the elevator doors opened. She shoved past the people slowly disembarking, and started repeating her action from a moment before. Only now, she was stabbing the number six button with such vehemence she would have broken a nail if they weren't so securely glued on. The eyes of the other passengers shot her disturbed glances, but she didn't care. They probably thought she was crazy; they weren't wrong. She had every reason to be crazy right now.
She was so distracted and impatient that she almost got off on the wrong floor, twice. At last, on the 6th floor, she almost sprinted off the elevator. She didn't bother stopping at the nurse's station. Earlier that morning she had called to find out Greta's room number, under the pretense of being her sister, wanting to have flowers delivered. Her eyes darted from sign to sign to make sure she was going in the right direction, until finally, she stood outside the door to room 686. Taking a deep, calming breath, she slowly edged the door open. It hadn't occurred to her, until that moment that Greta might have other visitors. Namely her children, and it wouldn't be good if they saw her there.
Peeking around the corner cautiously, she saw the room was empty, save for the emaciated red-head in the bed near the window. Glancing down the hall, she stepped in, and pushed the door closed behind her. Greta seemed to be asleep, so instead of waking her, she had a quick look around. On the rolling food tray near the bed, her worst fears were recognized.
It was a police sketch, and though he looked older, more desiccated than he had a quarter of a century before, it was him. The large plastic cup she was holding slipped out of her hand, crashing to the floor, and sent Diet Coke splashing everywhere. It puddled at her feet, spreading across the white hospital tiles. Except to her, it wasn't soda or tile. It was red, red blood—blood that looked almost black under the night sky—with snow melting beneath it. She felt herself suddenly thrust back through time.
A 'CRACK!' sounded on the frigid air, and he fell where he stood. She watched dispassionately as the dark, thick red of his blood saturated the previously unblemished snow.
Smiling slightly, she remembered hunting with her father as a girl. Back then, the sight and scent of animal blood had sickened her. The first time he bled a deer out, she had vomited. Now, she gazed down, noting the beauty of the crimson liquid slowly seeping outward, melting the snow, glittering in the moonlight in a mesmerizing pattern. The sign of her success, and the promise of her freedom.
A sudden chill went down her spine from a gust of wind laced with icy crystals, and freed her of her reverie. Closing the briefcase, she climbed behind the wheel, backing down the narrow drive, pulling farther and farther away from the man bleeding to death in the otherwise pristine snowscape.
Returning to the present, the nausea that she had escaped all those years ago, slammed into her like a freight train.
"How?" she whispered.
"Julie! What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Greta's sharp voice snapped her out of her shock. Her eyes shifted side to side, as if she was afraid he'd jump out at her from a dark corner. "Julie, I asked you a question: What the hell are you doing here?" She was pushing the call button for the nurse repeatedly, and Julie knew she should just leave, but her feet wouldn't move.
"D-Danny... he's alive?" her voice finally croaked out.
"Yes, he's alive. Although, why he bothered coming back after all this time, God only knows..." Greta's voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'He's alive?' Should he be otherwise, Julie?"
Julie's pale blue eyes flew up to Greta's sharp green ones. "I m-mean, I just thought he was dead after all this time."
"Hmph." Greta gave a disbelieving snort. "I couldn't be so lucky, and don't try to play innocent with me, Julie Martello. I know what you did."
If Julie was pale before, she was transparent now. The last of the blood drained from her face, and she wrapped her long talons around the bed rail in a death-grip.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Greta. You're still a crazy bitch."
"Mm... maybe. But I did see Danny last night, and judging by your reaction, that is not a good thing for you." She had a smug look on her face that made Julie want to claw it off, but she swiftly realized she needed to handle this very carefully.
"No," somehow she made her voice sound steadier, "I do not know what you mean, Greta. Danny coming back isn't a problem for me."
Greta's smile became even more smug.
"Did you know, that Frankie came to see me before he was killed, Julie?"
Julie's head shot up.
"Hmm... I didn't think so." She smiled a little wider, but her keen, green eyes were dangerous. "Well, he did, and he told me a very interesting story. As soon as I'm dead—which won't be long now—everyone else is going to know that story, too."
"You don't know anything... you can't." Julie was shaking with rage and fear, whipping her head back and forth emphatically, more for her own benefit than Greta's.
"You're wrong, Julie. If you have any brains at all in that empty head of yours, you will get far away before the inevitable happens. And just in case you get any of your clever ideas, know this—the evidence I have is going to come to light, there is nothing that you can do to prevent it. In other words, you stay the hell away from those kids, and skedaddle." She sank back into the pillows, with a self-satisfied smile on her face, and closed her eyes. "Get out, Julie."
A knock sounded on the door, and a short, portly nurse with short, mousy brown hair, and a cheery smile peeked her head through.
"Are you okay in here, Mrs. Cameron?"
"Oh yes, dear. My friend has spilled something. Can you get someone to clean it up? And I already told you to call me Greta."
"Of course, Greta." The nurse smiled and disappeared again.
As she left, Ryan, Emma, and Evan entered the room, preceded by a gigantic bouquet of purple irises.
"Mom? What the hell are you doing here?"
Julie swallowed hard.
*A/N:
Thank you all so much for your support :)
This chapter is dedicated to abeautifulmelody_ for her faithful readership and encouraging comments—Thanks so much, doll!
As always, please read, comment, vote, and share :)
Happy Reading,
Jessa xx