by Nikki Groom
How can I let him in? It’s too soon after everything that has happened. I know I’m in a vulnerable position and he could win me over so easily. But where would that leave me in a few months or even a year? Would I be left broken and betrayed like my life pattern indicates so far?
I push forward and enter my suite. The air feels thicker in here now, no longer light and freeing, but dark and heavy with a feeling of foreboding. I need air. I need space to figure things out and The Kingdom is obviously not the place.
It’s amazing how quickly things change. I hate running, I’m tired of it, but I don’t see another way. I won’t leave and not explain myself but right now I need to be far away from Denham King and his charms. I’ll stay in another hotel and come back tomorrow to collect my belongings and explain everything over coffee, in a public place, with a table between us.
I collect a few clothes, some cash from the safe and replace my underwear that is still lying on the floor of Denham’s office.
Once again, the elevator ride downstairs seems to take longer than I remember it doing before. My nerves jangle at the thought of running into Denham on my way out, so I exit the elevator and almost jog to the front desk to pick up the keys to my car. I don’t want to wait for the valet¸ I just want to get going. After much discussion with the concierge at the desk about how it really is no trouble for the valet to bring my car to me, I insist that I’m more than capable of finding it myself and follow the concierge’s directions to the underground car park.
The lot is cold and deserted, and all I can hear is the sound of my own footsteps echoing around the concrete walls. It’s well lit, but still feels eerie. Shadows bounce off every corner and I find myself nervously scanning to find my car. When I spot it across the other side of the lot, I quicken my pace.
I get halfway across the open space before I’m halted by loud, fast, footsteps and yelling. I rush forward to one of the concrete pillars and hide behind it. My nerves are shot to bits and I just want to get out of here.
I poke my head around the pillar and see a man come flying around the corner. He’s running as fast as he can, his head flicking from side to side as he scans the parking lot. I watch as he frantically presses a key fob, waiting for the car to blip and alert him of its location. It takes a few of seconds to process that I know this man. I don’t recognize the panic on his face, but it’s definitely him.
Aaron.
I rush forward when I see him stop at my car. “Aaron” I yell. He stops dead and snaps his head up. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nat.” His eyes soften, then he pushes a hand across his face, trying to compose himself. “Nat, fuck … I’m sorry. I just had to … the car has a tracker, and I wanted to see you, and ...” He’s out of breath and his eyes are still darting around the parking lot.
I hear more footsteps approaching and look around to find Denham, Spike the barman, and two hefty doormen headed our way.
“Shit! Nat, I’m sorry. I need the car … I’m sorry,” Aaron blurts before flinging open the door to the Porsche, but I push my arm in the doorway to prevent him from closing the door. I want answers.
“What are you even doing here?”
“Arianna!” Denham yells as he approaches at great speed.
Aaron pauses and appears confused as he looks to both of us, then pushes his keys in the ignition. “I'll explain, Nat. Call me, please, and I’ll explain.”
“Aaron just—”
“I can’t, I'm sorry.”
His eyes plead with me for understanding before he starts the car with a roar and drives away at speed. The force of the car pulling away causes me to lose my balance and I stumble backwards clutching at the air and trying to find my footing. I’m caught by big strong arms as Denham pulls me to him and holds me tight to his chest.
“What the fuck are you doing down here? I told you to stay put.”
“I—”
Our conversation is halted by the squeal of rubber and the most almighty crash. The deafening sound of metal hitting concrete bounces off the walls and Denham pulls me in to his body, wrapping his arms around my shoulders until he’s sure it’s safe to let go.
We all turn simultaneously to see my Porsche wrapped around a pillar at the other end of the lot. I stand and watch in slow motion as everything that has just happened starts to sink in. Spike and the gorillas are running toward the now smoking car and Denham is still holding me tightly while watching it all unfold.
“Oh god, oh my god, Aaron!” I shout as I try to free myself from his firm hold. “Let me go! Fucking let me go and help him!”
“No,” he grates.
“What do you mean no? Let me go!”
I struggle as his grip tightens to contain me. I give in and stop fighting just long enough for him to loosen his hold, then I break for it, running as fast as I can across the parking lot. I know Denham is hot on my heels, but I have to make sure Aaron is okay. What the hell is he doing here anyway? And why is he running from Denham?
I see Spike and Jack trying to pull Aaron out of the car. It looks like he’s stuck as they pull frantically at him but to no avail. He has blood running down his face and is unconscious, making it harder for them to get him out. I try, but I can’t get there fast enough. My legs slow as I near them, and Denham is right on me, grasping me around my shoulders and bringing me to an abrupt halt.
“D, man, it’s leaking. Get the fuck out of here!” Spike yells while pulling frantically at Aaron.
Denham starts to pull me backwards, but I dig my heels in.“Get the hell out, Spike! Jack, I’m fucking telling you to leave it!” Denham orders.
“No!” I plead “You have to help him, please.”
“Spike,” he warns.
I know I'm being stubborn and difficult, but I need to know that Aaron’s okay. He was my husband, is technically still my husband, and I don’t want him hurt … or worse. “Get him out. GET HI—”
I’m cut off mid-sentence.
Suddenly …
Deafeningly …
The car blows.
Shards of glass and debris fly through the air at lightning speed, but it all seems to happen like a slow rerun. I’m cloaked by Denham’s body as he pushes me to the hard, unforgiving ground and shields me from the blast. We hit the ground with a thud, scraping the left side of my body as we land.
Then quiet.
Nothing but the sound of crackling flames in the background. I’m hoping and praying that any minute I might just wake up from this nightmare. Ridiculous situations only happen like this in dreams. But, it’s not a dream.
The weight pushing me down is very real.
The crackle I can hear is my car burning.
Oh god. Oh god.
Is Aaron still in that car? Did they get him out? I scramble and fight against the weight holding me down, but it’s no use.
I yell.
I scream Aaron’s name at the top of my voice until I can’t even hear myself.
“Help him … Get him out of there ...” I plead.
“Shh,” Denham whispers. “It’s okay, he’s out. It’s okay.”
This is either a very bad dream or I'm having an out of body experience. My body doesn't feel like it belongs to me. My legs are heavy, my head clouded and the sounds around me are merging with each other, causing a muffled drone in the background.
The sound of ambulance sirens still plays in my head …
The vision of Aaron’s unconscious body being taken away as they worked to keep him stable …
I never wanted this for him. For us.
I know my legs are functioning, but I don’t know how. It’s an involuntary movement and the direction in which I’m walking is guided by the hand pressed to me. His large warm palm rests in the curve of my back as his fingers wrap around my waist, a source of warmth which radiates around the immediate area. Everywhere else feels cold, numb.
Detachment.
My way of dealing with trauma.
I
’m good at it, I’ve had a lot of practice. I know what comes after this: tears, regret, then a strange sense of nothing as my mind blocks out the bad and moves forward.
I’m vaguely aware of the surroundings becoming silent as we exit the elevator on my floor. I instinctively step left toward my door, but he takes my arm and leads me right, unlocking the door and leading me into the opposite apartment. He stops briefly when we enter to turn on the lights, then shrugs off his jacket and takes my hand gently in his.
Suddenly, a new set of questions flood my thoughts. Why are we here and not in my room? If this is his, who was yelling in here yesterday? What does he want from me? Sex? More?
I can’t think clearly, and I know I’m unable to make any rational decisions right now.
“Denham, I need—”
He presses a finger to my lips, silencing me, then shakes his head gently from side to side. “Shhh, the medics will see that he’s all right, and we’ll call the hospital in the morning if that’s what you want. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.” He’s reassuringly calm. His demeanor is protective and I know I can trust him. I know he won’t expect any more than I’m willing to give.
I don’t know how I can be so sure of that, I just am.
He leads me through the lounge and I already know where we are going. The layout is the same as mine, so it feels familiar. When we enter his bedroom, he comes to stand in front of me and kisses my cheek. His lips are soft, warm and gentle.
He starts unbuttoning my blouse, but his eyes are soft without a hint of the intense passion I saw there earlier when we were in his office. He’s caring for me, and I let him.
He removes my blouse, placing it on the nearby chaise lounge, then runs his fingers around the waistband of my skirt, stopping when his arms are circled around my waist and he finds the zipper. His hands linger there for just a second and I feel his warm breath on my neck. I know he’s waiting for my resistance, but when it isn’t met, he continues to undress me.
When I’m standing in front of him in only my underwear, he crouches and runs his hand down my calf, slipping off my heels one at a time. I should feel exposed, maybe even self-conscious, but I don’t. He doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t stare. He’s not taking advantage of the situation in the slightest. On any other occasion, I’m sure this would be erotic and sexual, but right now I feel comforted and beautiful.
He folds back the covers on his big bed, then guides me to it, helping me in before covering me over. We have so much to talk about, but we both know that now isn’t the time, so we say nothing. I know that once I start to talk, I won’t be able to stop. I want to tell him everything. He deserves to know the truth after being so honorable and I know I have to start facing things head on rather than ignoring them if I want to move on with my life.
I watch in the moonlight as he removes all of his clothes, completely comfortable in my presence. It feels as if we’ve known each other for a lifetime. He pulls on a pair of boxers which I find to be a thoughtful gesture, before he climbs into bed behind me and pulls the light cotton sheet up over our bodies. His front is pressed to my back, our bodies joined from top to bottom, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, ankle to ankle. I’m cloaked in his strong protective body and I don’t feel vulnerable or threatened in any way. Despite the events of last week, I feel safe and content, and strangely enough, I’m okay with it. I’m not sure how long we lie here, not speaking, not moving, just listening to the sound of each other’s breaths as he combs his fingers gently through my hair.
My strained thoughts disappear and I can feel my heart rate level out. I give in to the heaviness of my eyes and drift off to sleep.
It’s still dark when I open my eyes, but unlike the last few days, I immediately know where I am. Denham’s presence is calming, his smell is intoxicating and I know I probably shouldn’t be feeling happy after everything that’s happened, but I do. I’m strangely happy that it’s led me here. In the few small hours that I’ve spent with him, he has shown me that I shouldn’t spend my life second guessing my own shadow. He’s actually made me begin to think that there’s more to life if I can just open my eyes and see past the fear. I’ve seen more happiness in the last few days than I have in the last year.
As much as I don’t want to move, I’m starting to feel physically uncomfortable. I look at the clock and notice it’s 3.28am. I really need to pee, so I try to sit up but Denham’s body tightens at my movement and he pulls me closer to him.
“Don’t even think about it ...” he mumbles, his voice husky from sleep and making him sound even sexier than usual.
“Think about what?” Does he really not want me to pee?
“Running …”
“Running? Denham, I need to pee.” I laugh at him and he chuckles back.
“You’re not going to try and disappear?”
“No, your bed is far too comfortable.” I turn onto my back and his arm slides around my waist and pulls me closer so I’m facing him.
“You promise you’ll come back?”
“I promise.” I kiss him on the cheek and wriggle out of his hold.
“You know I’m faster than you? If you come out of that bathroom and make for the door, I’ll be forced to take you down.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and the threat makes me tempted to run. The thought of Denham tackling me to the ground is quite exciting.
Once I’ve done what’s needed in the bathroom, I look in the mirror. My hair looks like a bird’s nest, my mascara is streaked down my face and my foundation has worn off, revealing the still very purple bruise that covers my cheek. I know it’s pitch black in the bedroom, but one look at me in the morning and he’ll be bundling me out of the door instead of tackling me to the ground. The little voice hovering over my shoulder tells me that I couldn’t be further from the truth. Denham King does not scare easily. If he did, I’m damn sure I wouldn’t be here now.
I find a comb and tidy my hair the best I can, then find some cotton balls and remove the streaked makeup from under my eyes before splashing my face with cool water and using the soft hand towel that smells of Denham.
I remember the previous day and hearing a couple arguing. I scan the bathroom for any sign that Denham has a girlfriend, maybe even a wife. The thought causes a nasty taste in my mouth. He doesn’t wear a ring on that hand, but he does wear one on the other hand—a gold band encrusted with diamonds. It catches my eye every time his hand moves.
I dismiss the thought of him being married. Everything about him is genuine, it feels different, and he’s different. There are no female products in the bathroom. It’s all male, and besides, he wouldn’t have me sleep in his apartment if there were anyone else. I use his toothbrush to brush my teeth and pick up his aftershave to smell. It’s him, a perfect mix of fresh and sexy.
When I climb back into bed, I bypass the side that would be labeled ‘mine’. It’s cold and uninviting. Instead, I curl into Denham, tucking my head under his chin and burying my face into his chest. He nuzzles into my hair and groans. “Better?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good,” he mumbles, stroking my hair.
“We need to talk ...” I say regretfully, I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to ruin the bubble that I have happily placed us in.
“Yes, we do, but not now. Now you need sleep. When we’re rested, showered, fed and fully awake, then we’ll talk.”
“You’re bossy,” I state.
“I know.”
“Are you al—”
I barely get the words out before his lips are on mine. His lips become more insistent as he pushes deeper and harder until we’re both breathless. He rolls me onto my back so that we’re chest to chest, his lips never leaving mine. His arms are either side of my head and I’m caged in with his body, but he’s careful not to allow his full weight to rest on me. I trail my fingers gently up his back, feeling every ripple. He pulls his lips from mine and lets out a sigh.
“Arianna, we can’t d
o this tonight.”
“We can’t?” I question.
“I let it go too far in my office, and I’m not going to let it go too far now.”
His words hurt me, an actual physical hurt that I can feel in my heart. It also twists my pride. Stupid girl, he just feels sorry for me. Why would he want me? I’m broken, damaged and probably beyond saving. I push at his chest as I try to roll out from underneath him. His words contradict all his actions … well, maybe they don’t. Perhaps my mind is playing games with me and I’ve allowed myself to see what I’ve wanted to see. Maybe I’m so damn messed up that I can’t see things for what they really are.
“You don’t want me. Ugh, I’m stupid, so stupid.” My voice cracks at the words.
Denham grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, making me gasp. “Just stop and listen to me for a minute before your mind and mouth run away with you.”
I’m panting hard from struggling to push my way out from underneath him. The small amount of light coming in from the window allows me to see his eyes fixed on mine. He’s not hurting me, he’s not even frightening me, as his grip is soft.
“You think I don’t want you? Oh, darlin’ I want you. I intend to cover every inch of you with every inch of me, but I want you to give yourself to me. I want your body and your mind. I won’t be your rebound. I won’t be a snap decision.”
“I … I don’t know what to say ...” No one has ever been so open and the honesty in his voice cuts through my panic and runs straight to my heart.
He releases my wrists, but my hands stay there of my own free will. “Don’t say anything, Ari.” He brushes his lips across mine and kisses the tip of my nose, then lies on his side and pulls me back into him so we are as close as we possibly can be. “Go to sleep.”
I’m so tired; physically and emotionally exhausted. The warmth and protectiveness coming from Denham’s body is making me relax and I feel my eyes growing heavy.
“Goodnight, Mr King.”
I smile at the sound of his gentle laugh. “Goodnight, Trouble.”