Three hours have passed since the dry hump against a wall with the sexiest man alive. Three whole hours to find every excuse possible to prove that Chase Davis is a bad idea, probably fatal to my career.

Yes, he’s unbelievably gorgeous, with kisses that make me weak in the knees. He can bring me from zero to sixty with an intense gaze across a crowded room. How many men have the capability of doing that to a woman?

Attraction aside, I won’t ruin my chances for success with the foundation. Years ago, Safe Haven scraped me off the floor, brought me back from the dead, and gave me life. After Justin, I cannot afford to let my life get off track.

Justin. Deep, utter revulsion at the thought of that name makes me queasy. Taking a few deep breaths, I count to ten. Slowly, the swill of disgusting thoughts of Justin leaves, readying me to let down a man whose body was crafted by angels. Chase is definitely a catch. Doesn’t matter. This girl is throwing this particular fish back into the sea of distracting, beautiful men.

Chase could have any woman he wants. With that face and wallet, he could point and click the perfect woman and she’d appear. I’m nobody special. Besides, from what I found online, he’s had several perfect pieces of arm candy in the past year alone. Lengthy model-thin beauties, perfect trophy material for a man like Chase. My Google kung fu is dead on. Besides, I’m not even his type. He likes perfectly tan statuesque blondes, not pale curvy redheads.

With my decision made, I walk briskly toward the glass double doors leading outside the hotel. The wind whips my hair, and I clutch my blazer tightly to ward off the chill. Like a shiny black ghost, a sleek pitch-black stretch limousine parks in front of me. Wow. Hadn’t expected that. I’ve never ridden in a limo before. The little girl in me wants to squeal with delight.

“Miss Callahan, Mr. Davis is expecting you.” Jack holds the car door open.

I slide along the smooth leather seat. It’s cool against the skin of my palm. The interior is lush. Cherry wood panels span one side, hosting an array of glass tumblers and amber-colored liquids in crystal decanters. Jack drops his huge form into the driver’s seat. “Feel free to have a drink.”

“No, thank you.” I lean back into the supple leather, resting my eyes as he turns out onto the busy street.

Downtown Chicago is alight with the sounds of the city. People mill along the concrete streets, taking advantage of the hodgepodge of stores mixed in with restaurants. We pass an elevated train, sitting high above the ground a couple stories up. I’ve heard of the L, but never seen it in person. The skyscrapers spanning the city jut up into the sky in varying shapes and sizes, reminding me of stacked Legos. San Francisco seems relatively sleepy compared to this eclectic mix of modern and old-school. Most of the people who live in San Francisco are commuters who work in a city they can’t afford to live in. By six, it is a ghost town, everyone having gone back to his Bay Area or Valley residence. Here, the city is alive and thrumming, matching my rapid pulse as we near our destination.

“Where are we going?” I ask my quiet companion.

“Mr. Davis has requested your presence at the Sky Lounge, one of his bars. We will be there in less than five minutes.”

His driver, someone Chase claims to be a friend, is not the friendliest guy. I guess that’s part of his job. He’s supposed to be as scary as hell so that no one messes with his charge.

Am I supposed to sit quietly and let him drive Miss Daisy? Or is he supposed to keep me company? My natural inclination is to talk, and I’d like to find out more about his boss. Hell, my boss.

“How long have you worked for Mr. Davis?”

“Five years, but I’ve known him his entire life.” He frowns.

I don’t think he meant to share that last bit. “Oh, really?” I’m confident now that I’ll get a sneak peek into the enigmatic man.

“We’re here.” He expertly evades my question without much effort. I force myself not to pout.

Jack gets out of the car and comes to open my door. To my surprise, he dips a hand towards the entrance. “Right this way, Miss Callahan.”

He leads me to a bank of elevators and presses the button. A grim line sets his mouth, insinuating that he’s not interested in chitchat. I roll my eyes and take a breath.

“You know, I can take it from here. If you just tell me what floor, I can find my way.”

“Mr. Davis requested I bring you directly to him,” Jack says.

“Oh, okay.” Control freak.

On the way to floor sixty, my palms sweat and I wipe them against my skirt. Maybe I should have changed into something else? No. This is not a date. Changing into something more feminine and pretty would give the impression I want more. Letting him hump you against a wall, his tongue down your throat, gave that impression already. I sigh, letting those thoughts leave me before they twist and turn into something more.

I’ll sit with the man, have a drink, and explain that this is the last time we’re going to see each other outside of work. That shouldn’t be too hard. Before today’s board meeting, I never so much as cast a glance at him, and I’ve worked for the foundation for over two years. Decision made, I remind myself that this is the way it has to be. A relationship with him would be career suicide. I’ve worked too hard to lose everything now.

We reach our destination, and I swipe a hand through my hair to make sure no loose strands are out of place from the wind earlier. I didn’t change clothes, but I did pull my hair down and curl it into soft waves around my face. My appearance reflects back at me in the mirrored elevator doors. The bright red pop of color across my full lips adds drama to the look. My pale skin, red hair, and the emerald of my eyes and blouse make the ruby lipstick a perfect contrast. I feel brazen, bold. It gives me the courage to let down the world’s most eligible bachelor. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and remind myself that we are from two very different worlds that, if pressed together, would collide and implode. If he really knew me and the details of my past, he wouldn’t want me anyway. There’s also the giant elephant-sized issue of him being my boss.

Jack walks me through a crowd of people talking and laughing at intimate tables. The centerpiece consists of three wineglasses at varying heights filled with a blue liquid. There’s a delicate flower-shaped tea light floating on the surface of each. Such a simple but unique concept. It would be smashing at a donor fundraising dinner. I could even use food coloring to change the color of the water. I store the idea in the back of my mind for future reference and look around the lounge. It occupies the entire floor of the building. Glass walls enclose the space from floor to ceiling, providing a 360-degree view of the Chicago skyline. The view of the city from this height is breathtaking and dizzying. I sway, and Jack plants a firm hand on my elbow.

“It’s a rotating floor. It’s designed to allow the patrons to see the entire 360 view.”

“Beautiful.” I pay closer attention and feel the slight movement. He keeps his hold of my arm as he leads me to the bar, dead center of the room. Blue lights glow behind frosted glass. The bar’s surface is black and shiny like a grand piano. The entire place is very chic. I can see why Mr. Megabucks would own something so opulent. Another reminder why I, who live in a shabby apartment with a roommate, could not possibly fit into his world.

Chase’s presence is like a current that tingles down my spine, tickling the hair at the nape of my neck before I even see him. Jack leads me around a divider. Chase swivels on a barstool as if he can feel me, too. No preparation, not even the serious pep talk I gave myself before coming tonight, could prevent me from eye-fucking this beautiful man. He has removed his tie and blazer. The crisp white dress shirt he’s wearing pulls against his broad chest and is rolled up at the sleeves. A couple buttons are undone at the collar. His hair looks like he’s combed his fingers through it a million times, giving him that just-rolled-out-of-bed rugged appeal. His come-hither look and crooked smile are almost my undoing. I stand stock still as he appraises me. I feel his eyes glide over me as if they were his hands.

“Miss Callahan as requested, sir.” Jack pushes me toward Chase.

Chase’s eyes soften. He stands and pulls out the chair next to him. “Thank you, Jack. That will be all. I’ll ring you when we’re ready to leave.” Jack exits. No goodbye, no see you later.

I sit down in the chair he offers. “Interesting company you keep.” I gesture toward Jack as he walks away.

Chase laughs. “He’s rough around the edges, but he gets the job done. I trust him to protect me. We’ve had some close calls, but he rises to the challenge.”

I swallow the golf ball that gets stuck in my throat as he mentions the “close calls.” I want to ask him about his experiences, but choose to hold my tongue. Learning too much about him when I’m going to give him the “it’s not you, it’s me” talk wouldn’t help my situation.

“Thank you for meeting me, Gillian. I was looking forward to seeing you.”

His smile puts me at ease, even though I’m about to tell him we can’t take this thing between us any further.

“Would you like a drink?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Chase waves at the bartender, who bustles over at breakneck speed. “Yes, Mr. Davis. Sir, what can I get for you?”

“A bottle of the Caymus Special Selection 2010 Cabernet Sauvignon.”

He doesn’t ask what I’d like, but it doesn’t bother me. He’s comfortable taking the lead, and it gives me a few moments to figure out what to say.

“Figured you’d appreciate a wine from our backyard.” He smiles and turns his chair toward me as he did the night we met. Was that only just last night? Jeez. Time definitely slows in his presence.

“I’m sure anything you pick will be great.”

“So, Gillian, tell me about yourself.” He turns his body toward mine.

His focus on me is absolute. For a moment, having this much of Chase’s attention is disconcerting with a twinge of exhilaration. What would it be like to be the center of such an intense man’s world? I’ll never know.

The bartender sets two bulbous glasses in front of us and busies himself opening our wine.

“What do you want to know?” If he keeps looking at me like I’m the most interesting thing in the world, I’ll be happy to pull out my diary and read it to him.

“Everything.” His eyes light as he reaches to twirl a few fingers through one of my locks. “You have gorgeous hair. I love redheads.”

“Really? I thought you preferred blondes.” The comment slips between my lips before I can take it back.

He frowns. “What would give you that impression?” One brown eyebrow rises to a point.

Might as well go for broke. “I looked you up before I came.”

“Ah, I see. So you saw pictures of me at events with blondes, and you surmised that I have a type?” He gestures using air quotes when he says type. I nod.

“Those women were not mine. They meant nothing to me.” He grabs the wine the bartender poured for him to taste.

Watching him hold the delicate stem reminds me of his hands trailing down my neck with the barest of touches. A shiver runs through me. Cupping the glass, he circles it, swirling the wine. He inhales before he puts the glass to his mouth and sips. The burgundy liquid kisses his full lips. He makes an “mmm” sound, and the tone goes straight to my core. I cross my legs, and his hand covers my knee. He drags a thumb across the silky nylon surface and starts mimicking figure eights or the infinity symbol. It’s maddening, but I don’t move it. I like his hands on me too much to stop him.

“The wine is fine. Thank you, James.”

“When you ordered the wine, you said from our backyard. Are you from California too?”

He nods. “I have homes in all the major cities, but I leave my heart in San Francisco.” His eyes twinkle.

I laugh. Cheeky fella. He’d be so easy to fall for. The bartender half fills our glasses and meanders away. I get up the nerve to ask the question I really want to know. “So what do you mean when you say those women weren’t yours?”

He continues to rub circles across my knee, rising higher at each turn. It’s a slow, quiet seduction of my senses, but it’s working well. Each pass stokes my desire, ramping it up until I’m a tight ball of need.

He ignores my question at first. “God, Gillian, I can’t stop thinking about what’s under here.” Now his entire hand is gripping my thigh and creeping up until the tip of his fingers reach the garter clasp. He growls quietly and focus his attention on my leg. “I, uh, I hire them to go to those events with me.”

I can’t hide my shock. “Why? You could have anyone?”

“Thank you, but I have very little time to woo women. Except you. You are something else.” He shakes his head. “Something else entirely.” He squeezes my thigh.

I imagine him squeezing me somewhere else, preferably with his cock buried inside me. No, no, no! This is not supposed to be happening. I’m supposed to be cutting him loose. I lick my overly dry lips. His eyes go dark, and I glance away. Looking into those hungry eyes will be my undoing.

“So you weren’t with those women?” He’s feeding me a line. No woman in her right mind would go out with him and not try to bed him. He’d be a major win for anyone. Just not me.

“I fucked them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Holy moly, he’s crass and dangerously effective at making me hotter.

“But I was never in a relationship with them.”

I narrow my eyes, completely disbelieving the line of bullshit spewing from his mouth.

“Gillian, I never lie. Dishonesty is the worst kind of weakness.” The smile that has me captive turns into a frown, and his tone sounds irritated.

He slides his hand to the outside of my thigh. I look at his hand clutching me possessively and see how very right it is there, how right his touch feels. Warm and safe. Feeling safe with a man is foreign to me. Panic wiggles into my subconscious and twists at my gut. I can’t look at his hand on my body anymore. I grasp for the wine, needing the distraction.

Deep breath, Gigi. You’re fine. You like his touch. You want his touch. It feels good.

“You had sex with those women after paying them to attend a function with you?” Disdain creeps into my tone. “You know what that’s called?”

He nods and grins. “Does that shock you?” he asks with a seductive lilt. He toys with the strap of my garter, slipping two fingers under and sliding them up and down, pushing my skirt to an indecent height.

His touch is like molten lava, but I can’t push him away. I crave the intense heat, need to feel the burn. When his hands are on me, I feel alive.

“Y-Yes, it does,” I stutter as his hands wickedly seduce me. “Why?” I whisper.

“Why not? Sometimes I need an escort to a function.”

“I’m not asking why you took them. I’m asking why you paid them for sex!” The words spill softly from my lips to ensure none of the other patrons can hear.

Chase grins and takes a swallow of his wine. He leans close to my ear. “I didn’t, nor would I ever, pay for sex. I paid for the escort. The sex was completely their choice, optional on their part.” He drags his lips along my ear, inhales deeply, and groans before sitting back upright.

Oh, thank God! I almost believed he was paying prostitutes, which seems just as ridiculous as his need to hire an escort. Any woman would want to date him. He could literally walk up to a woman sitting alone in the bar, and she’d fall all over herself to entertain him. What do you care? You’re bailing on him anyway. I adjust my shoulders, readying myself to cut and run.

He brings his hand to smooth down the length of my back. The simple caress is relaxing, and I’m still no closer to telling him I can’t see him. My mind races to come up with a way to manage both my job and him. Is it possible?

“Your turn. Where did you grow up?” He trails his hand along my spine in flourishing sweeps, almost as if he’s coating my lust like an artist with a paintbrush.

“I grew up in Northern California. Sacramento and the surrounding cities, mostly. Went to Sacramento State, got my degree in Business Administration with a focus in Marketing a little over two years ago. Moved to the Bay Area just out of college and was hired on by the foundation right away. Been in fundraising ever since.”

“Wow, that was the abridged version. Do you have the spiel memorized?” He laughs.

“I don’t like talking about myself. Where did you grow up?”

His smile fades. “I lived most of my life with my uncle and four cousins in Beverly Hills. I lived in Boston during my days at Harvard.”

I’m certain my eyebrows are reaching for the sky. He’s an Ivy League boy. What the hell is he doing here with me?

“Before I finished at Harvard, I amassed my own small fortune investing in broken bankrupt firms that cost me next to nothing. My uncle helped, bankrolling my first acquisition. Then I built each company up from the ashes and made them profitable again. After doing that a dozen times, I built my own company and slowly my empire.” He’s proud of his achievements but doesn’t come off too smug.

“A phoenix rising from the ashes.”

His surprised eyes meet mine. He’s clearly delighted and wickedly handsome when he’s happy.

“Exactly.” He nods and smiles.

“Why did you create the Safe Haven Foundation?” It makes no sense why he would create a foundation when it’s obvious he’s in the business of making money, not giving it away.

“I saw a need. I had the capital, and it was important to me.” He shrugs and looks away for the first time this evening.

He swirls his wine and then refills his glass and mine with the remaining crimson liquid. I can tell he doesn’t want to go into additional detail.

“Tell me about your family, your parents?”

I go cold. The hairs on my forearms rise. “My mother passed away from cancer a few years back. I don’t really know much about my father. He was never around. Once in a while he’d send Mom money to help out, but I’ve only seen him a handful of times. Last I heard, he was working construction for a company that travels from site to site around the nation. I’m an only child. My parents didn’t have siblings, so I don’t have extended family either.”

He looks at me to gauge my emotions. “I’m sorry.” His hand covers mine, and he brings it to his lips and kisses it.

It’s an old-fashioned gesture for a man so young. It almost makes me forget why I’m here. A deep ache settles into my gut. I pull my hand away and prepare to stop this pseudo date right here. I have to tell him we can’t continue to see each other.

Behind me, a sultry voice calls Chase’s name. “Mr. Davis! Fancy seeing you here.” The woman has a thick Puerto Rican accent. She circles around me, insinuating herself between Chase and me. She slides one small hand up Chase’s forearm to his shoulder. Miss Puerto Rico is long, lean, and all mocha-colored, satiny-looking skin. She’s wearing a slinky swath of a dress that barely covers her ass. It’s fuchsia with little glittering beads all over it. Two diamond strings run around her neck, holding the tiny garment up. With little effort, she brings her body to Chase’s and boldly hangs both arms over his shoulders, grasping his neck. “Where have you been all my life?”

Chase looks shocked to see her, but doesn’t immediately pull away. Even if this is a casual date or drinks, the woman is rude. Fawning all over a man I’m sitting intimately close to is disgusting and pisses me off!

“Tatiana? I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I thought you were in Peru.”

He puts his hands around her waist, maybe to move her, maybe to bring her closer. I don’t know, and right now, I don’t care. I watch with sick fascination as the woman practically rubs her body along the juncture between his thighs. He grips her hips, and I want to vomit. Getting the hell out of here is the only thing I can think of. Moving from the opposite side of my chair, I try not to jostle the tanned bimbo rubbing his lap.

I’ve had enough when she slides her hand down his chest several times in a very lover-esque manner. Quickly, I turn my chair to the side and slip off. I pull my purse onto my shoulder and take a few steps away from the scene unfolding in front of me.

“I have to go, Chase.”

He snaps his head up.

“I was just going to tell you that this thing between us—” I flip my hand at him as his eyes shoot from the girl hanging all over him to me. Ms. Puerto Rico grins and winks at me. “It won’t work out. You’re my boss. End of story.”

Chase’s eyes bug out, and his jaw drops open on a gasp.

The leggy brunette sidles in closer and kisses his neck. That’s it. I’ve had enough. I turn and beat feet out of the bar.

“Gillian, wait!” he calls.

I chance a glance back and find the brunette is kissing him. Ridiculous. Invite me out on a date and then kiss and rub all over another woman? Good riddance. I don’t need him or his distracting beautiful body trying to sway me into being another one of his bimbos. I dart from the bar and to the elevators as quick as my heels will take me. Chase yells my name as the elevator doors close.

In what world does a sex kitten climb her way up a man who is clearly on a date with another woman? A world I’m not meant for. One that involves incredibly good-looking, rich men who own swanky bars, limousines, and have linebackers as drivers. Before the bimbo broke the trance, I was actually having a really nice time. Even started to believe he was genuinely interested in getting to know me. So stupid! It’s for the best. So why do I feel like my heart was ripped out and served to me on a platter? That’s insanity or maybe lust talking. The door of the elevator opens, and I step out and collide with Jack.

“Get the hell out of my way,” I grate through my teeth and rush toward the building’s doors.

“Miss Callahan. Mr. Davis has asked me to detain you.” He grabs my arm.

I yank it out of his grasp so fast he steps back. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I run out the door and down the street. My strides are long, and my skirt bunches up with each step. After several minutes of running, my lungs are on fire, heart jack hammering in my chest. A piercing ache throbs just under my ribs. Coming to a screeching halt, I suck down precious air and try to calm down. Large heaping breaths rack me as I try to gain back control. Stupid man. I should go back there and thank the slut for saving me from heartache down the road. The phone in my blazer’s pocket buzzes angrily. It’s Chase. I hit the “talk” button and bring it to my ear, not waiting for him to speak.

“You don’t have to apologize or answer for anything. Enjoy your real date!” The shrill tone surprises even me as I hang up on him.

Immediately the phone rings again and I ignore it. It keeps ringing and ringing until I smash the power button and turn the damn thing off.

In my desire to bolt, I wasn’t paying attention, just following the need to get away. To escape. The darkened section of the city I find myself in isn’t exactly appealing. Why the hell do I always get myself in these situations? Did I do something to someone in a past life to have such crummy karma? Glancing around the dark street, I realize I’m lost. Running blindly in varying directions so that I wouldn’t be followed seemed like a great plan at the time. Now, not so much.

Ahead, a streetlamp illuminates a small area and looks like the best place to stop and call a cab. Pressing zero on the phone, I get the operator. The woman is helpful, and I look up at the street sign to tell her where I’m stranded. She connects me to a cab company that assures me they will pick me up in fifteen minutes.

This night went from good, to bad, to worse in what seems like a nanosecond. The thought of having to sit in the same room with Chase tomorrow at the meeting, knowing what he and Tatiana are going to do all night, makes me want to hurl. I place my phone in my pocket and lean against the chain link fence behind me to riffle through my purse. Maybe I can find a loose hair tie and get the sweaty hair off my neck. Crazy ending to what started out to be an amazing day.

Crunching leaves and the sound of footsteps behind me make the little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Without warning, a large hand comes around my neck and pulls me against the fence. The metal digs into my back as my feet flail and kick out. Reflexively, I use both hands to yank at the hand restricting my breath, but it won’t budge.

“You fucking scream, bitch, and I’ll kill you,” says a man’s voice next to my ear.

The stench of sweat mixed with cigarettes is revolting. I stiffen and tremble. Instantly, I’m taken back to a memory of when Justin held me down. I remember the glazed faraway look in his eyes right before he struck. Panic rips through my chest, and fear takes over my defenses.

The attacker’s voice rips through all thoughts. “You listen to me, you little cunt. Hand me your purse now, and I won’t kill you.”

The cold, hard steel of a gun presses against my skull as his other hand squeezes the tender skin at my neck, cutting off all air. I gag and choke at the viselike grip around my throat. Oh God, please no!

“Okay, okay. Whatever you want.” I’m barely able to get out through his snakelike constriction on my neck preventing much sound.

His hand grips my neck like a steel claw, nails digging in and piercing the flesh. I feel blood pool and drip down my neck in little streams like the legs of red wine dancing along a swirled glass. Pain sears through my neck and chest, black-and-white stars pop in my peripheral vision like flashes of a camera. I’m going to die. I remember the feeling all too well when Justin left me on the cold hard floor of our apartment a few years ago to bleed out.

“You can have whatever you want!” A choked, raspy sob spills from my lungs. I hold up my purse.

The man squeezes the tender flesh of my neck so tight I can’t breathe. “Good bitch!” he says from over my shoulder. He snatches the purse from my hand.

He lets my neck go long enough for a blood-curdling scream to roar through the empty street just as he strikes my face with the hard metal of his gun. The world goes black.

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Someone turn off the alarm. The beeping continues like Chinese water torture against the frayed edges of my consciousness. My eyelashes are heavy and my eyes hard to open. It’s as if the lashes are weighed down by tiny manacles holding onto each strand. The sickening smell of bleach and antiseptic fills the air. A hammer knocks against my forehead. Bam. Bam. Bam.

The pressure above my eye feels like someone hit me with a baseball bat. With shaking fingers, I feel my face. A large bandage covers the tender spot above my eye. My cheekbone is twice its normal size.

The memory of what happened slams me into the here and now. Oh God. Bile rises in my throat, leaving a sour taste. I was robbed. At gunpoint. I had been waiting for the taxi. I open my eyes, and the haze and cloudiness of the memory slowly fades. When I get my eyes open and blink rapidly, I’m able to look around. The white room is dimly lit from behind my bed. As I make my visual trek around the room, my gaze settles onto the very pissed-off face of one Chase Davis. Anger pumps off his large form in waves, and I start to shake. I’ve seen anger like that in the eyes of another man. I don’t care to ever experience it again. He stands and pulls the blanket over me more tightly, tucking the sides around me. I have to hold my breath, trying desperately not to flinch. Panic rises like a high tide at sundown.

“How did I get here?” I croak, voice thickened by drugs.

He grabs the pink plastic water cup sitting on the side table and brings the straw to my lips. I sip. Pure heaven. He sets down the cup and takes a seat next to the bed, arms crossed defensively.

“You were mugged. The taxi driver found you and called 9-1-1.” Chase’s eyes narrow, and he holds his chin tight, teeth clenched. The man is really upset.

The evening’s events come back to me. Tears well, and I grip the blanket tightly.

“You could have been killed, Gillian.” His voice is horrified, perhaps even emotional. “You were accosted, roughed up, and left in a very tough neighborhood. I am so angry with you.”

Tears slide down my cheeks, and he wipes them away with both of his thumbs. His touch is so light against my skin I can barely feel it.

“Why are you here?”

He winces at my question.

“The nurses searched your clothing. My business card was in the pocket of your blazer with your cell phone. My call was the last you received.” He gets up and paces the small space like a caged animal. “You have no idea what it was like being told that you had been attacked.” He takes a harrowed breath and roughly shoves his fingers though his hair. “Then, I come to the hospital and see you like…like this! You could have died!”

He holds my gaze with a questioning look. I have no answer.

“I’m sorry you had to leave Tatiana for me,” I grumble and look away. I wish he’d just leave.

He grips my chin and lightly tugs it back so he can look me in the eyes. “Tatiana means nothing to me. You on the other hand…” He sighs heavily and slumps back into the chair next to me. He’s too far away to reach.

“Tell me…” I urge, desperate to find out what he was going to say.

The nurse walks in, destroying the moment. “Welcome to the world of the living, Mrs. Davis.”

I’m certain the look on my face is one of complete confusion. Chase leans forward and clasps my hand. It’s warm and comforting. I latch on to his lifeline as it if will disappear at any moment.

“When can I take my wife home?”

Maybe that blow to the head was worse than I thought?

“Once the doctor looks her over, checks the stitches, and gives you the okay. Then you can take her home.” She smiles at Chase, but he’s staring at me. “You gave this man quite a scare, young lady.” The nurse gestures to Chase.

He shrugs and looks away.

“You should have seen the way he burst into the ER, roaring, demanding access to you immediately. Like he was a real-life Superman.” She clucks her tongue.

The image makes me snicker a little. He is a real-life Superman. Chase squeezes my hand and the nurse leaves.

“Your wife?” I ask.

“They asked if I was next of kin. I told them we were married.”

“I thought you never lied. That dishonesty was weakness?” I stare deeply into his eyes.

He looks away. “It is. I had a moment.” He won’t look me in the eye.

The doctor comes in and explains that I have a concussion, a bruised cheekbone, five crescent-shaped cuts in my neck, and a few stitches above my right eye where the gunman hit me with the butt of the weapon.

Chase grips my hand so tightly I almost cry out as the doctor revisits each wound. I clasp Chase’s hands in both of mine and pet the top one. He traces an infinity symbol over my wrist with his thumb while the doctor explains that a concussion is a traumatic brain injury that alters the way your brain functions. The effects are usually temporary, but can include problems with headache, concentration, memory, judgment, balance, and coordination. I will need to be awakened every two hours, asked to remember three items, and then to repeat them at the next waking. He also informs us that the police want to take a statement.

“Not tonight,” Chase interrupts. “I’m taking her home. She’s had a traumatic evening.” He pulls me against his side and I snuggle in.

The nurse brings me some scrubs and hospital slippers, and I slip into the little bathroom, changing out of my hospital gown. When I return, she hands Chase the bag with my soiled bloody clothes in it. Might as well toss the entire lot in the trash. I’ll never wear that outfit again.

“Gillian, I have my people on this. That fucker won’t get away with hurting you.”

He embraces me, his strong arms enveloping me. Warm and safe. In his arms, I lean my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It should calm and soothe, but it does the exact opposite. The tidal wave of emotions, as I remember the night’s activities, rips through me. Tears form and spill unchecked onto his shirt. Deep gut-wrenching sobs roar from my scratchy throat as the realization of what happened truly invades me. Chase’s arms hold me tight, gifting me his protection and solace as I weep.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Chase pets my hair. “I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

I nod into his chest, not capable of speech.

We leave the hospital, and he ushers me into his limo. I don’t see the scenery on the way back. The pain medication they filled me with starts to take effect, and I lean heavily into Chase’s solid form. I must have dozed off because we’re at the hotel and Chase is lifting me from the limo. I lull against his chest as he carries me through the hotel. I can only imagine what we look like. Hopefully, people don’t notice much at this time of night. Really though, I’m too far gone to care.

“Mr. Davis, sir, do you need a wheelchair?” a man asks in the background.

“No. I’m not letting her go.”

His comment makes me feel warm and snuggly. I hear the ding of the elevator, and soon we’re rising. Moments later, I’m on a big, soft bed. Chase pulls off my scrub pants and tucks my legs under the silky soft, cool linen sheets. He goes to the dresser and pulls out a white V-neck T-shirt. I watch in a daze, unable to do much other than stare. He drags the scrub top over my head, careful of my swollen face.

I wait in my black lacy bra for him to put the shirt on me.

“Jesus Christ, Gillian. What did that fucker do to you?” His tone is strained.

His fingertips are featherlight on my neck. Moving my hair to the side, he turns me toward the lamp light. He’s seeing the marks left by my attacker’s nails embossed into the tender skin of my neck. Chase surprises me by bringing his face close and trailing soft kisses along the entire surface. The gesture is incredibly sweet. He’s such a dichotomy. One minute he’s challenging and demanding, the next, gentle and tender.

“Never again will you be hurt, Gillian. I’ll make certain of it,” he promises between the soothing pecks of his lips against my flesh.

I shiver from the feel of his mouth on me, more than from the trauma I experienced. A traitorous tear escapes and drips onto his face.

He grabs the soft white T-shirt and lightly pulls it over my body. It smells of fabric softener and laundry soap. I lean back and rest my head against the pillow.

“Rest, baby, just rest. I’ll wake you every two hours as the doctor ordered.” He kisses the part of my forehead not ensconced in a bandage.

I’m fading fast. Without opening my eyes, I whisper, “Thank you. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“My pleasure. Taking care of you is my pleasure.”