Unforgettable (Black Rose Doms Book 1)

by Rory Reynolds

  The view literally takes my breath away. Matthew leads me to a small table that’s set up like a gourmet restaurant. He pulls out a chair and helps me to sit. I’m slightly embarrassed because I notice that my chair is the only one that’s cushioned. I’m grateful, though, because sitting in one of these beautiful wrought iron masterpieces would have killed my bottom and back. He takes the seat next to me and pulls the lids off our plates.

  “I hope you like fish, it’s the special in the restaurant tonight. Grilled sea bass on a bed of rice pilaf with spring vegetables.”

  I chew my bottom lip, self-consciously. I’m mortified that Matthew has gone to such trouble, and I not only hate fish, but I am highly allergic. I debate for a minute on if I should tell him or just eat it and pray that we get me back to my room before I suffer from the consequences. I’m leaning toward just eating it because I don’t want to put him out any more than I already have. I owe him so much already—my life.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks, obviously picking up on my inner debate.

  Again, I can feel the blush creeping up my neck and cheeks, I decide on honesty. “Um, I’m actually allergic to fish,” I whisper then hurry on to say, “but these vegetables look fantastic.” I smile up at him, trying to not make this a big deal.

  “Nonsense, I will have something else brought up for you. Any other food allergies I should make the chef aware of?” He doesn’t show any signs of annoyance at the inconvenience.

  I chew my lip again and nod. “Most types of berries and seafood.”

  He swipes his finger across the screen on his phone for a few moments before laying it on the table and covering our plates. “Would you like a drink while we wait?” he asks.

  “Water would be lovely. Doc said no alcohol with my medicine.”

  He opens a sparkling water and pours some in both of our wine glasses. I can’t help but smile at him curiously, picking up again on my line of thinking he answers my unspoken question. “I don’t drink when I’m at the club.”

  After a few minutes of awkward silence, the elevator dings and a drop-dead gorgeous woman brings two covered dishes to our table. She sets them down, removes the covers, and takes away the old plates before quickly disappearing after a nod of thanks from Matthew. He gets better service in his home than I’ve ever gotten in a restaurant. Not that I’ve been in many.

  I look down at the new plate at the most delicious looking piece of steak and huge baked potato loaded with all the fixings. My mouth waters.

  “This looks fantastic,” I say as I pick up my knife and fork. The knife cuts through the steak like its butter. I put the morsel in my mouth, and I swear it melts on my tongue. It tastes even better than it looks. I can’t hold back the groan of satisfaction and quickly cut away another piece and pop it in my mouth. Several bites later, I look up and notice Matthew is sitting there watching me eat and hasn’t taken a single bite of his own food. I set my knife and fork down and lift my glass to my lips, trying to hide my embarrassment. I’ve never had a meal this good.

  Don’t get me wrong they brought me food to my room three times a day while I’ve been here, but I haven’t been able to keep much down since the medicine makes me sick. This is the first I’ve had an appetite since what happened with Damon. I peek over the rim of my glass at Matthew, he is still watching me, and my discomfort is rising by the second.

  With shaky hands, I set my glass back down, before I can pull my hand back, Matthew reaches out and takes my hand in his. “Don’t be embarrassed, love. It’s good to see you finally eating. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” His voice is rough with some emotion that I can’t quite place. He lets my hand go and slowly pulls his hand back to his side of the table, never taking his eyes off me as he lifts his knife and fork.

  I smile shyly and resume eating at a more dignified pace. Several times I catch myself groaning in satisfaction because the truth of it is this is the most scrumptious food I have ever tasted. It’s leaps and bounds from the ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches I am used to. If he only knew. But no one knows. Well, Damon knows because telling him my story was part of our deal. I wonder how much he told Matthew when he bought my contract. I still haven’t a clue what to think about that one

  The rest of the meal passes in comfortable silence. I eat until it feels like I might burst. With my stomach almost uncomfortably full, I can’t fight the drowsiness that plagues me. I yawn several times, apologizing each time. Matthew tells me to stop apologizing and offers to walk me back to my room.

  The room is dark when we get back downstairs. I hate the idea of being alone again. Spending an hour with Matthew isn’t enough. He’s been busy with work the last few days, and I haven’t seen much of him. He’s come in and checked on me a couple times throughout the day but couldn’t stay long. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I miss him. How do you miss someone you barely know?

  All I know is that I’ve never felt safe with any man in my entire life until Matthew. He came to my rescue when I needed it most and has given me so much without asking for anything in return. And my time here is nearly up. Tomorrow, it’s back to reality.

  He flicks on the lamp, leaving the brighter overhead lights off. “So you’ll be going home tomorrow?” I’m not sure if it is a question or a statement of fact.

  “I suppose so.” I try to sound excited. Someone getting out of a hospital-like environment should be excited to finally go home, but I know my tone falls flat when a frown creases his brow.

  “You don’t sound happy about that,” he points out.

  Releasing a sigh, I explain part of my reasoning for not wanting to leave. “You’re right, I’m not looking forward to leaving.”

  “Why’s that?” he asks curiously.

  “Well, one reason is that I realized earlier today that I’m going to have to go to Damon’s house to get my things. I’m not really looking forward to that.”

  He sucks in a breath, and fury flashes through his eyes, followed by worry. “I didn’t realize your things were in his home, you lived there?”

  “Um, well, that was part of the agreement. I was Damon’s for six months,” I pause, trying to collect myself since I can feel the anxiety lapping at the pit of my stomach. “All day, every day. I didn’t bring much to his place, but he didn’t let me bring anything to the club except the heels and trench coat I was wearing. My bag with all of my identification,” I conveniently leave out that it’s my newly acquired identification that Damon acquired from somewhere for me, “as well as my clothes and some personal effects are all at his home. Unless he tossed it all.” Which I wouldn’t put past him, he’s a real bastard.

  Without a word, Matthew pulls his phone out of his pocket and has it to his ear before I can even ask what he is up to. “Daniels,” he says curtly. “Get in touch with Damon and arrange to collect Rose’s things from him.” There’s a pause as he listens to Kisten. “I agree. Quite convenient, he forgot to mention it.” Another pause as he listens. “She is due to leave tomorrow, so don’t let that fucker dick you around.” Another pause, but whatever is said, this time turns his scowl into a terrible smile. “Oh, yes, any means Kist. Any means.” I can’t hold in the shudder at the tone in his voice. This is not a man to mess with at all. In fact, this is a man that I would normally want to stay far, far away from, but for some reason, I want to stay right here with him.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I whisper. “You’ve done too much for me already. I’ll never be able to repay my debt to you.” I don’t even realize that a couple traitorous tears have slipped from my eyes until he wipes them away with his thumb. He gently cups my face between his two strong hands. He could do a world of damage to me with those hands, but he holds me like a fragile shell that could fracture and break with the slightest grip.

  “Listen to me, I didn’t do any of this because I expect repayment. I righted a wrong by helping you.” Matthew’s voice is filled with conviction. “It’s getting late, and you’re
still healing. Let’s get you settled, and don’t you worry about Damon. Daniels will get your stuff, and in the morning, this will all be a fading memory.” He pulls the light blanket down to the foot of the bed and guides me over to it. I awkwardly reach down to pull my dress off, but the tightness in my healing skin causes me to suck in a breath. I usually call the nurse for this part, it’s much easier to dress than to undress for some reason. Without my asking, he reaches down and tugs my dress off in one quick motion. I’m almost embarrassed, but he’s seen me naked more often than clothed in the days I’ve been here, so I can’t find it in me to be shy.

  He grabs my elbow and helps steady me as I climb onto the soft bed, then he pulls the light blanket over my body, letting it rest just below my shoulder blades. It’s been a long while since anyone has cared enough about me to tuck me into bed, my heart constricts at the thought that this is the last time I will have with my hero. I’ve seriously grown attached to him and still refer to him in my thoughts as my hero instead of by his name.

  “Sleep sweet, love.” He leans over and presses a kiss to my forehead. Before he can pull away, and before my brain even registers what I’m doing, my hand latches onto his arm. He looks down at me in question. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing, but my heart is breaking at the thought that he’s leaving me.

  That this is the last time I’ll have with him. The thought is unbearable.

  “Please, Matthew, will you stay tonight? Will you lay here with me? I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

  He pulls away from me, and my heart breaks with the knowledge that he’s going to walk away. I’m surprised when, instead, he toes off his shoes, then slips out of his shirt and pants folding them neatly on what I think of as his chair. I suck in a breath as I take him in. Without a bit of self-consciousness, he stands in front of me in nothing but a tight pair of black boxer briefs.

  He’s gorgeous. Perfectly defined muscles and a trim waist. He’s drool-worthy, and I’m almost disappointed that I don’t get to look my fill. The disappointment only lasts for a moment, because then he’s crawling onto the bed beside me. I’m not sure what I expected but being pulled onto his chest and practically draped over his body, isn’t it.

  I’m stiff for a minute, but then he weaves his fingers into my hair, and starts massaging my head and I sink into him. My ear is directly over his rapidly thudding heart, my arm thrown over his tight stomach. I wiggle around, trying to find the most comfortable position for my still injured backside. By the time I’m settled in, my leg ends up tangled between his. Careful of my still healing wounds, he runs his fingers lightly down the length of my body. It’s like he memorized where every single whelp is on my body and knows just where to touch me in order to avoid each and every painful mark.

  Lost in his arms, I quickly fall asleep. For the first time in longer than I can remember, my sleep isn’t plagued with nightmares.

  4

  Rose

  There’s a quick knock on the door seconds before the overhead light is turned on, causing instant confusion to my sleep riddled brain. Not to mention temporary blindness from the harsh lighting. The abrupt wakeup has my heart pounding in my chest and the anxiety bubbling up from the dark pit inside me where it lives. Nothing good ever comes from this kind of intrusion, and my brain is starting to click into survival mode again. Before I can get swept away by the storm raging inside me, Matthew pulls me closer to his body in a protective move. “I’ve got you, sweet girl, it’s just Kisten,” his sleep rough voice is a calming balm on my nerves. “That’s it, love, just breath.”

  I snuggle closer into Matthew’s arms, utterly oblivious to the fact that I am rubbing my naked body all over his mostly naked body in front of his employee. The only thought I have is that for whatever reason, Matthew cuts through the darkness, unlike anything else ever has before.

  “Thanks,” I whisper shyly.

  He presses his lips to the top of my head in reply. The sweetness of the move is totally foreign to me, but at the same time familiar. I try to place the feeling of familiarity, but it’s fleeting a thought. Like trying to hold onto a dream after you’ve woken up.

  I learned long ago dreams are a dangerous thing. It’s best to not dream at all because, more often than not, sweet dreams are chased away by nightmares. In my experience, you don’t even have to be asleep for the nightmares to find you. I’ve been stuck in my head trying to place these weird feelings Matthew brings out in me and haven’t been paying a bit of attention to the conversation, but hearing my name brings me back to the here and now.

  “Rose, I’ve got your things,” Kisten says. “Apparently, Damon had the housekeeper clean out your room, and she was instructed to throw everything away. Luckily, she kept a few things, but I’m afraid all of your clothing is gone.”

  “Oh,” I don’t really know what else to say. My stuff is gone. Not that there was much to begin with, but it was all I had. I look over at the small shoebox that’s sitting on the chair, that’s all that is left of my life.

  Matthew lets out a few choice words, but ever the fixer, he instantly directs Kisten to have his assistant gather some things that I can wear since I’m supposed to be going home today. Kisten leaves the room, and Matthew gets out of bed, dressing quickly. He helps me to stand and gently wraps a silk robe over my shoulders so that I am no longer exposed. Someone from the restaurant brings breakfast, at the same time Kisten comes back carrying an obnoxious pink bag and a small pile of clothing.

  “Several of the girls pitched in some things.”

  I am bowled over by the kindness these people have shown me—a complete stranger. “Thank you.”

  Two hours later, I am dressed in my hand-me-down clothes, toting my few belongings in my obnoxiously pink purse, as I wander aimlessly down the sidewalk. Matthew insisted that I let Kisten drive me home. Well, since I have no home to go to anymore, I had him drop me off in front of a large apartment complex. I walked right up to the doors like I belonged. When he drove off, I exited the building, and I’ve been walking around ever since. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.

  I do know I need to go to the bank and make a withdrawal. No matter the risk that touching an account with my real name poses. I need money. One of the first things I did when I ran away was to open up a bank account. Well, after I got help from one of the women’s shelters getting a copy of my birth certificate and social security card. I wasn’t able to get a driver’s license because I can’t drive, but for the first time in my life, I had a picture ID.

  I haven’t touched my account since I moved. Moved, such a nice way to say after I ran for my life when someone showed up at the shelter I was staying at with my picture asking if anyone had seen their missing sister. Of course, it being a women’s shelter, they didn’t give the person any information, but my new home wasn’t safe any longer. When I ran from Kansas City, I left everything behind except for what I could stuff into my backpack. I didn’t waste time closing out my meager bank account, I had two-hundred dollars and thirteen cents in cash when I stole into the night. Half of that went toward a bus ticket to New York City, and the rest quickly disappeared into food costs and necessities.

  Being homeless in New York City is a lot different than homeless in Kansas City. I was quickly able to get placed in a long-term shelter that helps victims of domestic abuse get back on their feet again in Kansas City. In New York, not so much. There are a lot of shelters, but the waitlists for long-term housing are long.

  For the last two months, I’ve been bouncing from one temporary shelter to the next. Too scared to apply for a job that would run a background check, I’ve been working odd cleaning jobs getting paid cash under the table. Not enough to survive in NYC, but enough to eat and buy a decent pair of shoes. I look down at the lime green flip-flops on my feet and feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

  Signing that contract with Damon was supposed to change my life for the better. It was the first step to my new life. Now I’m worse of
f than I was before I signed. I push back the negative thoughts. They won’t do me a damn bit of good. All I can do is move forward. Even though it makes me nervous, I’ll go to the bank and get the little bit of cash I have, surely, they stopped looking for me after the didn’t find me in Kansas City. After that, I’ll decide which shelter to stay at tonight.

  Tomorrow I will track down Lizbet and see if she can find me work. I’m two blocks from the bank when the skies open up, and it starts pouring rain. I have to swallow back a hysterical bout of laughter, knowing if I let it go, it’ll dissolve into sobbing. I wish, not for the first time that I was still at the club. Being there for the last week is the closest I’ve felt to having a home in a long time. I push those thoughts aside. It won’t do me a bit of good to dwell. I need to focus on making a plan for my future.

  5

  Rose

  I’m sitting in a café nursing my third cup of coffee. I hate coffee, but I don’t want to spend any more than the sixty-eight cents that bought me this bottomless cup. Really, I’m only here because it’s pouring cats and dogs outside, and with nowhere else to go it seemed like a good idea. The smell of greasy café food makes my stomach growl in hunger, but I can’t waste money on food when I’ve so recently eaten. I only have thirty-seven dollars and thirty-three cents to my name and that’s only if I’m a complete jerk and don’t leave a tip for the frazzled waitress that clearly wants me out of her booth. My still healing body is sore from walking all day. Sitting in this uncomfortable booth isn’t helping matters any, I take the bottle of painkillers out of my bag and down a couple with the bitter coffee.

  I make a quick trip to the restroom, when I return my table has been taken over by a group of teens. Resigned that it’s time to move on, I pay the cashier and leave. The rain has let up a bit, but I’m still soaked through in just a couple of blocks. I’ve decided that my best option for a shelter is Saint Luke’s. It’s close and opens up in the next hour. Plus, they will let me shop through the lost-and-found for shoes and clothes.