“The what?”
“Never mind. You’re right, I’m not his mother. He’s a grown man and can do what he wants.”
“Oh, so now you’re insinuating that I’m not the best person to be with him?” Sabra saw red.
“No, you’re putting words in my mouth. I won’t tell you to calm down because I hate when people tell me to do that. I don’t like being handled, and I suspect you feel the same.” Bronwyn took a moment to steady herself against the chair before adding, “How about we start over? I intend to impress on you the seriousness of Colson’s interest in you. Please, just consider that as you decide what you’re going to do.”
Sabra didn’t have the nerve to tell Bronwyn that she had it all wrong. Colson might think he liked her but was locked in that Savior-complex role she’d heard so many doctors have. She was sure of it.
Sabra’s stomach churned and roiled once more. She needed to go back to the toilet but didn’t want to rely on this overly protective woman for the help. How dare she come in here and try to mess with Sabra’s head like this.
The two of them remained silent. Sabra mentally chewed through the words and fought back the need to run to the toilet. What a way to get trapped between a rock and a hard place?
Her eyes closed with the effort to stay seated and deal with the situation before her. An echo of Tilar’s words came rushing to the front. As if on total recall, her friend’s advice about having the strength to deal with a powerful man came through.
The fact that it was his overprotective cousin-in-law demanding she promise not to hurt a grown man’s feelings could qualify for what Tilar meant, right?
Tired of being ignored, her bowels screeched in a loud churning grumble. That was it, Sabra needed a toilet—stat. Forgetting her hamstring pain for a second, nature took over. Her cramping stomach pressed her into committing to make it to the bathroom. On her feet, the slicing pain that erupted in her thigh area shook the breath out of her.
“Sabra, what are you doing? Hold on,” Bronwyn scrambled to her side.
“I have to use the toilet now!”
The two women hobbled back into the massive bathroom. They shuffled onward to the private toilet area. There Bronwyn helped Sabra plop down on the toilet in the nick of time.
Alone in the toilet again, Sabra allowed the new torrent of information from her conversation with Bronwyn to process. What did she mean? Two points of interest stuck firm. Who was the other person and what did Bronwyn mean with that other phrase she kept using? The words escaped recollection as Sabra dug deep to retrieve them.
Coming up short, she shifted her focus to the other conundrum. Who would be involved in Colson’s life? Sabra sat and thought as another round of churning roiled through her body.
Damned soup and bread.
She’d learn to listen and trust Colson’s advice about her health from here on. Her thoughts drifted down the lazy stream of the wonderfulness of Colson. Sabra paused to remember how useful and understanding he’d been. He had helped her pack and then made sure the job was completed.
Realization of her selfish and bratty behavior wailed a wallop of remorse. Instead of thanking him for his medical attention, welcoming her into his home, and managing the rest of her office move, Sabra had taken it all for granted. She’d been more interested in doing it her way than having it done. She made a solemn swear to apologize and thank him.
Another stomach cramp had her slumping over and breathing to lessen the impact. A flash of the little girl on that card from Tilar’s reading materialized in her mental vision. What was that card’s name?
Sabra remembered how it reminded her of the little pageant darlings she’d worked with over the years. As if answering her inquiry, she knew the card’s name was the Princess of Cups.
The stomach cramp subsided as Sabra marveled at the cuteness of the card. The word Ava floated on the wisps of unformed thought in the recesses of her consciousness. Sabra prepared to finish and return to the bed.
Thankful she was able to use the metal bar again to stand, Sabra, hopped over to the sink and washed her hands. She was about to open the door when the snippet from Bronwyn’s conversation to Colson bounded forward.
Bronwyn’s chastisement to Colson with her saying, “I’m not Ava,” replayed in Sabra’s mind. That name—Ava—who was it? Unable to pinpoint how but Sabra knew this wasn’t the first time she’d heard that name.
Then the pieces snapped into place. Colson had a daughter!
Sabra supported herself against the sink basin as she let that thought marble around in her mind. Recollections of his interest in her office and the pageant items took on a deeper meaning. Having a daughter would make sense and explain some of how attentive was to her needs.
Another run through of the idea, and the verdict that came out on the other end was that Sabra was fine with him having a child. She did love kids after all. It hadn’t been her pageant babies who made her leave. Nope, that honor went to some of their hateful-ass mothers.
She’d never fault children for adult stupidity.
If Bronwyn had any concern about her being around Colson’s daughter, Sabra would make sure to rest the woman’s worries. She sucked in another breath and summoned the strength to hop out of the bathroom. Sabra readied herself to address the Ava situation.
In the outer bathroom, she eyed neat piles of clothes. They were complete with underwear and shoes that Bronwyn must have laid out for her. The other woman was friendly and considerate. She’d do better to behave with respect. Bronwyn’s love for her family shone in everything she did. That extended to warning Sabra not to break Colson’s heart.
She managed to make it over to the row of clothes. Sabra decided on a particularly cute set when she heard Bronwyn’s voice from behind.
“Sabra—you’re so hard headed. Weren’t you supposed to yell when you were ready for me to come and help?”
Sabra turned too fast causing her hamstring to wail and start to enact its revenge. Pain, powerful enough to make her yip, wrapped Sabra’s leg in a vice grip.
“Quick, give me some aspirins,” she pleaded with Bronwyn.
“You need Colson. Aspirins won’t handle what you’ve got.”
“Are you a doctor too?”
“Sabra, listen to me because I don’t have much time before I need to get Cole back in here.” Bronwyn waited for Sabra to give her some sort of acknowledgment of understanding. Then she continued. “I think you might be in shock.”
Bronwyn spoke with confidence. This made Sabra push aside her misgivings about their conversation until now.
Daring to go down a potential rabbit hole with this woman, Sabra took the bait. “Why would I be in shock? What aren’t you telling me, Bronwyn?”
“Hmm,” she continued to stare at Sabra, “I’m not sure you’re ready to handle what I have to say.”
“Bronwyn, talk.”
“Okay, fine then,” Bronwyn said, rubbing the lower part of her back. “Have you noticed how your injury is better when Cole is near and acts as if it hates you when he’s gone? Like now?”
Sabra decided to humor the woman. “Yes, I guess so.”
“That’s because you and Cole are starting to bond. That and he has an exceptionally effective gift of healing.”
“He better, he’s a doctor.”
“No, I mean his healing gift goes way beyond that. My Mac has the gift too but not to the extent that Colson does. With your mating thrall activated, his effect on you has increased.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at. Please, speak in plain terms?”
“I mean that you have a completely torn hamstring. Yet you're able to get around with minimum pain after only a few days. Do you know how severe your injury is? Why is it that when Colson is around, and I’m assuming he touches your pain sight, that you can go without pain meds? Have you stopped to consider how that might be seen as a miracle by any other medical professional?”
Sabra took a beat to process Bron’s rationale.
The whole healing thing was weird. It was that unusual phrase the woman had used again that stuck in her mind like a craw. Sabra turned the phrase over in her mind a few times coming up with nothing.
“Okay, I see your point,” she said building up the courage to ask her real question. “But what I want to know is what is a mating thrall?”
No sooner had the words left her mouth then a tsunami of torment crashed into her washing away all reason. Her ability to connect with a sense of time evaporated as Sabra fought to stop the torture of her thigh’s assault. Her fingers clawed at the irritated flesh of her thigh as Sabra tried to do what Colson had done to halt the pain.
When it seemed as though the sensory inputs would wipe out her consciousness, strong familiar hands pushed hers away. They enveloped her thigh in a firm grip.
Through the blinding pain, Colson’s voice sounded in her head. “Everyone out! Bria, I’m here, let me help you. Concentrate on me. I’ve got you, my love.”
14
Bria
Floral essences tickled her nose to invite Bria back to consciousness.
Curiosity bloomed. Sabra’s senses picked up on the comforting, prevailing presence of another body nearby. The need to know who this was did more to encourage her eyes to open than the pleasant scents she’d been missing.
Sabra willed the fuzziness of sleep to recede and forced her eyelids to respond to her command. It took a few blinks to focus and adjust to her semi-familiar surroundings.
Still in the hospital-like bed from before, Sabra began to notice vases full of a lush assortment of fresh flowers. The biggest vessel sat on the night table next to her bed.
“You’re awake.” A familiar deep, rich voice filled the space, once again welcoming her back from the void.
Sabra looked over to see Colson’s long form sprawled over an oversized cushioned lounger next to her bed. She vaguely remembered the piece had resided in a corner across the room.
In the soft lighting of their surroundings, his features seemed slightly strained. Sabra eyed his striking cheekbones with interest. Where they more pronounced than usual? Not only that, was he wearing casual clothing?
Sabra kept silent as she took in the sight of the less formal version of Colson. What looked to be a cotton-blend long-sleeve clung to his broad chest. That chest tapered into a narrow waist that managed to reveal the imprint of a set of well-defined abs through the top. Easily passing as one of those too cool to exist in real life models, Colson sat up. Sabra traced the movement of his strong hand as he pushed back a wayward lock of hair from his brow.
The effect of his casual appearance cast Colson in a new light. He was a sexy-as-fuck candidate for her next boyfriend. Sabra couldn’t find the willpower to tear her eyes away from his hair. His usually coifed mane was a thick mass of sable raves tousled in a sexy array of freedom. He looked much younger as the youthful way his hair framed his face shed new light on his persona.
Slightly red-rimmed eyes gave away another fact Sabra hadn’t seen before. Even though he looked like he’d been recently awakened as well, Colson wore the look of fatigue.
The assessment rendered a verdict. Sabra had overstayed her time to the point of the man’s exhaustion.
“How long was I out this go around?” Her sense of time evaded capture. Bria once again tried to recollect the events that placed her at this current point in her stay here.
“You’ve been out for a while.” Not taking his eyes off of her, Colson added, “I gave you another sedative to help you rest and continue to heal. Your pain was too intense after you overdid it with walking on your injury.”
Unable to refute his assessment of what she’d done, Sabra focused on moving forward. She wanted to heal as soon as possible. “So, what time is it?”
Without glancing at a clock, watch, or phone, Colson said, “Seven fifty-three in the morning. Today is Monday.”
“I see,” was all Sabra dared to say as she struggled against tight soreness to sit up.
“Whoa, there, let me help you.” Colson was on his feet and next to her bedside in a flash, but not fast enough.
The biting sting of another IV stuck in the back of her hand rung a cry out of Sabra’s unused, and decidedly dry throat.
“What the hell? I see the torture needle is back,” she managed to thrust her hand Colson’s way. “Is this necessary?”
“Yes, it was,” he said, pouring a drink of water from a pitcher on the table next to the flowers and passing it to her. “Drink up.” He waited as she downed the glass and gave it back to him. “Good, do you want another one?” he asked referring to the water. When she shook her head no, he continued. “I didn’t want you to continue having pained muscle spasms. Your body needed a break and time to heal without agitation.” He considered the needle and added, “Plus, I needed to make sure you got the necessary fluids and nutrients while you rested.”
“You can take it out now. I want to go to the toilet.”
Colson seemed to consider her request. “Let me change out your IV for a portable medicine patch. It won’t be as potent. That way I can continue to back you down from the muscle relaxant—pain relief cocktail you’re on.”
The sting died down enough for her senses to respond to other stimuli. Colson’s decadent aroma pushed its way to the forefront of her awareness. Sabra focused harder on her train of thought. Why did he have to smell so good?
Her words jumbled together in a clumsy attempt at reason. “Whatever I’m on must not be all that powerful. I don’t feel like I’m on any pain meds.” Her goal was to sound intelligent and convincing. She failed.
“You’re right. I’ve been lowering your dose to the minimum needed to offer comfort without completely dousing your body’s ability to feel.” Adjusting her bed linen to reveal her thigh, he added, “You’ll begin to feel muted pain. We have to start your rehabilitation today. That and I don’t want to create a craving in your system for the meds.”
“You mean you don’t want me getting hooked on the painkillers.”
“Yes, that is another way of saying that.”
“Don’t worry. I’m more than ready to do whatever it takes to get on the mend.” Seeing an opening to let him off the hook of providing round the clock care she seized the opportunity. “It’s time I get back to my life and start unraveling the last three days.”
“Right, about that.” He stopped pressing and massaging her thigh to capture her complete attention. “I would like to help you. I just have to take care of some other matters, and then I’ll be at your beck and call.”
Unable to know how, but Sabra could almost trace the invisible thread between them. She knew he omitted something.
“What aren’t you telling me?” She watched his every move as the handsome man worked to remove her IV.
He finished removing the needle and moved to the foot of her bed. There he discarded the waste in one of those medical disposal units. Sabra said nothing as she watched him open the walled-off closet to retrieve more supplies.
With a small box, another brace, and other supplies in hand, Colson moved again. Sabra watched as he glided with that mesmerizing fluid grace of his to rejoin her side.
“I’m saying that today we start your rehab. Aren’t you ready to leave this room?”
“Duh—yeah. Didn’t I say that I’ve got to be back home and on my life hustle?”
“Oh, that’s what you meant?” he asked as if trying to piece together her previous words with a new concept. “Give me a moment to apply your patch, and I’ll get you to the bathroom.”
Leaning away from her injured thigh on the side of the bed, Sabra held still as Colson did his thing. He removed the thigh brace that had reappeared while she had been knocked out. Colson then placed what looked like a see-through mesh patch on her upper thigh at the pain site.
He took his time massaging the skin. Colson avoided the small area where the patch was. He explained that he was stimulating blood flow to her thigh. He needed to do this before a
ttempting any other movements. Moving her might trigger or aggravate the injury. Oblivious to what might happen, Sabra bit back a soft moan of delight. His hands felt fantastic. Familiar tingles of energy flowed through her leg to make it feel right as rain.
Before she could stop, Sabra’s hands rushed to check the status of her undergarment situation. As suspected, her bra was gone, but panties intact. At least that was progress.
“I see you did away with my bra again.”
“No wires. You know that. It had underwire. I told you, no wire while you sleep.”
“Ain’t that about a bitch? Didn’t we talk about privacy?”
“Yes, and we agreed that I was to do what was medically reasonable too,” he quipped.
“But, my bra? It was so pretty,” she whined. Sabra crossed her arms over her freely swaying breasts in a pout. “Why won’t you let me live with some dignity?” she asked with a little laugh.
“You have plenty of dignity.” The laughter tinting his voice did nothing to help the situation. “You’re also very blessed, too.”
Did he just refer to her breasts as blessings?
Determined not to devolve into a bumbling idiot unable to hold her own in a situation that may or may not be casual flirting by a fine as fuck man she’d love to—you know—do it with, Sabra held her breasts firm under her arms.
The silky fabric of Bron’s rose-gold Moo-Moo did little to hide anything as her plump mounds strained against the fabric like overstuffed pillows.
She caught Colson’s eyes fixated on the effect with a hint of pleasure if the way his eyes darkened were an indicator.
“Do you know where it is?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the shore of her comfort zone.
“Where what is?” he asked, obviously continuing to stare at her chest.
“My bra.”
“It’s in the bathroom on top of that pile of supplies and clothing Bronwyn left.” Colson finally looked up to pierce her eyes with a provocative stare down. “Besides, I don’t understand what’s the problem with sleeping without a bra.”
Dragon’s Curvy Patient Page 17