Effie leaned forward, her eyes kind. “You tell yourself that being angry and bitter and feeling hunted is giving the bastard that hurt you too much power. You shake him off, concentrate on staying safe and getting better, and force Caine to realize that he can’t live without you. Instead of pushing him away—yes, he told me you barely let him near you—you get in his face, you spend all your recuperation with him, reminding him just exactly what he’s giving up if he lets you go. And just when you’ve got him where you want him, you go in for the kill and you push him to give you the answers that you deserve.”
I let Effie’s advice wash over me, sinking into my gut.
We sat in silence for about ten minutes as I processed what she’d said. She leisurely flipped through a tabloid magazine like she hadn’t delivered the kind of profundity I had desperately needed.
Finally I said, my words soft, “How did you get so wise, Effie?”
“I’ve survived seventy-seven years on this planet,” she answered wryly, “and by making the right choices I even managed to live for most of them.”
The sound of Effie’s and Caine’s voices carried up toward the bedroom and I braced myself. I strained to hear what they were saying with no luck. I did, however, hear the front door shut and I held my breath. For the past five days when Caine returned from work, the first thing he did was check in on me.
Usually I grumbled that I was bored but fine; then he’d offer to get me something, to which I’d give him an errand; he’d complete the errand, and then leave me to it.
After having turned Effie’s advice over and over in my head, I’d determinedly shoved the bitter anger that was desperate to take hold of me to one side, and clawed my way back to my fighting spirit.
My pulse raced at the sound of Caine’s footsteps coming up the stairs. The louder those footsteps grew, the harder my heart beat.
Suddenly he was in my doorway looking bone-weary. Like always, that aching pang made itself known in my chest at the sight of him. “Hey,” I said.
He gave me a tired smile. “Hey back. How was today?”
I shrugged. “Boring. How was your day?”
His face darkened. “Still nothing.”
“You’ll get him.”
Caine’s eyes flared with surprise that quickly transformed into gratitude. “Can I get you anything?”
I took a deep breath. Here goes. “How would you feel about vegging out with me? We could order takeout. Watch a movie.”
He hesitated.
“Oh, if you have work, I totally get it.” I smiled my way through the disappointment.
“No.” He shook his head. “It can wait. Vegging out with you sounds great. What do you feel like ordering in?”
I hid my pleased grin and shrugged. “You choose. Movie too.”
Not too long later Caine was stretched out on the bed beside me. He’d changed out of his suit and was now in sweats and a T-shirt. Chinese take-out boxes were strewn across the middle of the bed between us, and we were watching an old Jean-Claude Van Damme movie.
“Now, see?” I pointed to the screen with my chopsticks. “If you could do that you could quite possibly rule the world.”
Caine gave a huff of laughter. “What? I’m that close? I just need to learn how to do jump box splits and land on a counter in that position?”
“Yes!” I insisted. “Then total world domination will follow.”
“Then look out, world, I’m coming.”
I giggled. “You can’t do box splits.”
He threw me a mock-insulted look. “I can do anything I put my mind to, baby.”
Pretending not to be thrilled at the return of the endearment, I shook my head in amusement. “You know, your lack of confidence is really quite embarrassing. You should work on that.”
Caine just grinned and dug into some of my moo shu pork.
I slanted him a circumspect look.
Effie was right.
I could do this.
It was all about stealth.
I stealthed the hell out of Caine over the next week.
I was getting around a little better now. The doc had said I was supposed to get up and about—gentle exercise, he called it—and I was hanging out downstairs a lot more. Caine was growing progressively more frustrated as he and the police hit a brick wall on the leads for my attacker. I knew wanting to be there for me was taking its toll on his work too. The lack of late nights at the office and lack of business trips had to mean someone else was covering for him, and I knew he was enough of a control freak to hate that.
That meant that when he returned home every evening he wore his dark mood like a black shroud around him. He only ever began to relax once he was out of his suit and kicking back with me to watch movies. We did a lot of movie watching and talking. Yet we never talked about anything serious.
I didn’t know if the lack of gravity in our conversations was what was impeding my stealth attack on Caine, but as far as I could see, despite our closeness he still wasn’t any nearer to letting me in.
I thought perhaps I was being too stealthy, so one night while we were watching the Brad Pitt movie about Jesse James I decided to drop the stealth and go in for the kill.
Caine was sitting upright, his long legs stretched out before him on the coffee table. I lay at the other end of the sofa with my legs sprawled across his lap. I studied his profile while he watched the movie and, if I wasn’t wounded, going in for the kill would involve a far more physical approach.
Being verbally direct would just have to do.
“Can you deal with this?” I blurted out, meaning could he deal with just friendship between us.
Caine turned to me and I knew he heard something in my voice that alerted him to what I meant. His whole body grew taut. “Alexa.”
I smirked unhappily. “I’m always ‘Alexa’ when you’re not happy with me.”
“Not true.” His eyes glinted and my body flushed.
Oh yeah. Sometimes I was “Alexa” in bed.
“Speaking of …”
He looked back at the screen. “Don’t ruin this. Outside these walls, life is fucked right now. This here … it’s the only thing I have. Don’t ruin it.”
I hesitated, wanting to give him what he wanted since he was caring for me. But I couldn’t. “This here … it isn’t real.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped, glaring at me. He seemed genuinely affronted by my assessment of our friendship. “It’s the only real—” He cursed and cut off his words before returning his gaze to the television.
“If it was real, there wouldn’t be secrets between us.”
Caine’s answer was to gently remove my legs from his lap and walk across the vast room. He disappeared upstairs and all the while my stomach churned with anxiousness.
When he returned thirty minutes later he was dressed in a shirt and slacks, his hair freshly washed and brushed.
“I’m going out,” he threw over his shoulder before grabbing his car keys.
The door slammed shut behind him.
I closed my eyes and the movement put pressure on the tears that were filling them. They scored tracks down my cheeks and I burrowed my face into the couch so I could muffle my sobs.
A minute or so later I jerked at the gentle touch on my shoulder and peered out from under my hair to find Effie there. She was perched on the sofa, gazing at me compassionately. “Caine asked me to come sit with you while he went out.”
I shifted around with care so I could rest my head on her lap and I just cried harder, hating that the bastard had the power to hurt me so badly.
CHAPTER 29
“Well, it all looks good. No sign of infection,” Liz said.
I stared at my outpatient care nurse, a little dazed. I’d been feeling that way since I left the apartment for the first time escorted by Caine, Arnie, and Sly. “I took the Keflex as prescribed,” I murmured.
“Good. Now that the staples are out, try not to forget about the injury. You’ve still g
ot a minimum two weeks of healing to do.”
“I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this anytime soon.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I don’t suppose you will. Have they found the guy yet?”
“Nope.” I stood up and Liz steadied me. “I’m ready to just get on with my life, you know, but with this hanging around my neck …”
She squeezed my arm. “I hope they get him soon, hon.”
I smiled gratefully and she walked me out into the waiting room, where Caine stood talking quietly into his phone while Arnie and Sly stood by the doors. Their real names were Griff and Don, but they answered with good humor to the nicknames I’d given them.
Caine saw us and quickly ended his conversation. He slipped his phone into his pocket and strode over to us. He homed in on Liz. “Everything’s okay?”
“Staples are out. No infection. Lexie’s on the road to recovery.”
“Great.” I gave him a pointed look. “Now I can go home.”
He frowned. “If by ‘home’ you mean my home, then yes, you can go home.”
“Caine—”
“No argument.” He slipped his arm around my waist, thanked Liz, and started to walk me out.
I glanced over my shoulder to give Liz a grateful smile. The whole time I tried to ignore Caine’s body pressed up against mine. I could manage walking by myself just fine, but I didn’t want to cause a scene in the hospital by telling him to back off.
After he’d disappeared last night, Effie helped me upstairs and into bed. No words were needed. I think even this time she was pissed at Caine and understood I’d reached the end of my fight on this one. When I heard him return from his drive a while later, I half hoped he’d come to my room. To say what? I didn’t know. Something. Anything. However, he didn’t, and that was when I decided it was time for me to finally let him go. I lay in bed that night thinking of all the things I needed to sort out in my life that didn’t revolve around Caine.
Solving my career crisis seemed like the place to start. Antoine’s sister, Renée, had been in contact and had given me these two weeks to mull over her offer before she offered it to someone else. Antoine had e-mailed me a few times over the last fourteen days, each e-mail pontificating on the delights and benefits of living in Paris. I had to admit for the last week I’d made it all up my mind that if I could get Caine to confide in me, then I’d stay in Boston. That would have meant looking around the city for a new job anyway, because there was no way I was continuing on as his PA if we were going to be in a serious relationship.
Now, however, I found myself considering Renée’s offer.
Before I even thought about Paris, though, I had to deal with my father. There were too many unresolved issues there. I could not get it out of my head that I would even contemplate that he would hurt me. Yet the thought that the person behind my attack might be him had flittered through my mind, however briefly. Of course upon reflection I was a little horrified with myself for even thinking it. In fact, it more than horrified me—it startled me into realizing that I was never going to get a fresh start anywhere until I found some kind of closure with my father. I had to talk to him, and hoped to God when I did he could make me understand his actions better. If he could, then I might be able to forgive my mother for choosing him over me. After all, the hurt my mother’s choices had inflicted on me were at the core of my issues. How could I let go and move on in Paris if I didn’t come to terms with that hurt, that rejection? I wouldn’t. I’d just take it with me.
“You’re quiet. Are you in pain?” Caine asked as we settled into the car.
“It’s a little tender but I’m okay. I really wish you’d let me go back to my own apartment, though.”
He sighed. “Not until your attacker is found.”
“And if we don’t find him?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
“I’m warning you it’ll be a wooden rope bridge riddled with dry rot with a big sign that says ‘Cross at your own risk.’ ”
Caine didn’t say anything. I looked at him. He was staring out of his passenger window, wearing the ghost of an amused smile.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “You’re going to miss my smart ass.” But I knew his answer—or more likely nonanswer—would sting worse than the staples I’d just had removed.
We traveled back to Caine’s apartment in silence. Arnie and Sly walked us up to his apartment and left once I was safely ensconced inside. I was sick of the security. The lack of any leads on my attacker made me suspect I’d been stabbed by some random psycho on the street. The security and lock-down in the apartment felt like overkill.
“I have to get back to work, but Effie will be over soon,” Caine said.
“Effie doesn’t need to be here anymore.” I kicked off my shoes, holding a hand up to stop Caine coming toward me to help. “I can get around on my own now. I’m sure she has better things to do than help you keep me prisoner.”
“It’s just for a little while longer, Lexie.”
“How would you feel?” I scowled, leaning against the wall for support. “Wouldn’t this be killing you?”
Instead of answering—not that he needed to, because I knew it would be killing him—Caine reminded me to call if I needed him and then he was gone.
I didn’t call him, because I was determined to never need the handsome son of a bitch ever again.
Perhaps in my frustration I moved around the apartment that night more than I should have. Now that I was resolute in my decision to go see my father before accepting Renée’s offer, I wanted to do it as soon as I could. The choice was made and I wanted to start living by it, for many reasons, including the fact that it distracted me from thinking about leaving Caine behind for good. Anytime I let myself dwell on the idea of not getting to see him every day, dread and utter desolation crept over me.
Anything was better than that feeling.
To not feel it I’d spent the rest of the day and early evening planning. I’d e-mailed Renée instead of calling—the six-hour time difference meant it was late in Paris. I had my fingers crossed I’d hear something back from her in the morning. From there I’d gone online and started apartment-hunting. Feeling out of my depth, I’d e-mailed Antoine for help and received an enthusiastic response saying he’d start making inquiries for me in the morning.
I’d then done a lot of pacing before heading up to bed early to avoid Caine.
The pacing and the jitteriness were the culprits behind why I’d woken up in the middle of the night in pain. Groaning at my own stupidity, I got up and headed slowly and quietly downstairs, where I’d left my Percocet. I reached the kitchen counter, where I was sure I’d put the pills. No luck.
To my annoyance I spent the next five minutes opening cupboards and drawers, aggravating the pain in my stomach. No luck. I glowered in exasperation around the low-lit room, trying to think where the hell I had put the pills. My eyes alighted on the side table near the dining area. I never used it because it matched the dining table exactly and looked more like a piece of art than a usable piece of furniture, but I wondered if perhaps Effie had put my pills away when she dropped by after Caine left. As soon as she’d appeared I’d told her in frustration that I appreciated her taking so much time for me, but I didn’t need a babysitter any longer. Apparently she agreed, because after she made me coffee and pottered around a little she left.
I huffed. I loved Effie to pieces, but every time she came over there was always something I couldn’t find because she’d put it away. I couldn’t work out how someone with a home as cluttered as hers could be so obsessed with decluttering Caine’s.
I pulled open the side-table drawer and pushed around some miscellaneous junk. Nope. No Percocet.
I practically growled.
I was just about to shut the drawer when something shiny caught the light. The realization that it was a bunch of photographs made me stop. Caine didn’t have any photos out on display. I’d never
even seen any hidden away.
Until now.
Curious, I pulled out the small pile of photographs and held them up under the light. The defeat and disappointment I’d been feeling over Caine suddenly hit brand-new levels of complexity.
Every photo was of me. There were six of them and I remembered they were taken on his phone. Two were ones I had taken. Selfies of us lying in bed. One was of me lying with my head against his, grinning up into the camera while he stared into the lens in smoldering bemusement. The other was of me holding the camera up high while I kissed him.
The other four were photographs Caine had taken of me. In one I was sprawled on his bed on my stomach, the sheet draped across my lower half. It was a modest but sensual photograph because although I was hiding all my good bits I was staring into the camera with a look on my face I’d never seen before. It was filled with desire. For Caine.
I blinked back the tears that suddenly stung my eyes.
The other two pictures were of me at Quincy Market the week before I was attacked. And the last was of me standing in the doorway between Caine’s bedroom and master en suite. I wore only his T-shirt. The shoulders were much too big, so it hung down, revealing lots of skin. Caine had made a crack about how he’d never known a guy’s shirt could be so sexy. In response I’d turned around and struck a pose, pouting ridiculously, my hair wild around my face.
Crying hard now, I shoved the photographs back in the drawer where he had hidden them.
I kicked the sideboard and immediately felt a sharp burn of pain tear through my abdomen. The tears came faster and I stumbled away into the hallway, suddenly desperate to get my hands on the pills so I had something to do, something else to concentrate on.
I found them immediately on the telephone table, and so I was back at square one with nothing else to contemplate but those goddamn photos.
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