Serial Passion: A Steamy Bodyguard Romance

by Kelli Walker

  The disinfectant of the hospital was so heavy in the air I could taste its metallic burn on the tip of my damn tongue.

  “How do your legs feel?” Rocco asked.

  “They’re sore. But, the rest of my body doesn’t seem to hurt as much. Unless that’s my mind playing tricks on me. Or the pain in my legs overriding the rest of the pain I’m in,” I said.

  “How badly do your legs hurt?”

  I heard the worry in his voice and it made me grin.

  “Hold your horses, big boy. On the pain scale, they’re only at about a three. It’s just a very annoying three. Nothing else,” I said.

  “You sure?” Rocco asked.

  I paused in the hallway and looked up to where I thought his eyes might be.

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  “You’re getting better at that.”

  “At what?”

  “At estimating where my eyes might be when you look up at me,” Rocco said.

  I felt a beam of pride before a twinge in my heart. Rocco continued on his journey and I followed beside him, moving as swiftly and as quickly as I could. I wasn’t sure how to feel about his comment. On the one hand, it was an incredible testament to what the human body could do. And I had always been fascinated by what it could do and what it could recuperate from. On the other hand, it meant I was getting used to not having my vision.

  I didn’t like that.

  “So, I know you like poems,” I said.

  Rocco chuckled, and it sent my stomach bursting with butterflies.

  “I do,” he said.

  “What else do you like?”

  There was a pause, and I could just see him wrinkling that forehead of his. Pulling that hooded brow back from his bright gray eyes in confusion at the question I had asked. Every time Rocco and I talked, I envisioned his facial expressions. The way his lips curled up into a grin whenever his voice became lower. The way his eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun whenever I felt the rays of it hit my left arm.

  It filled me with sadness to think that I might never see them again. Those eyes, or those lips, or that stern brow of his.

  “I enjoy my work,” Rocco said.

  “Speaking of, what the hell is your company’s name again?” I asked.

  Rocco laughed, filling the air around us as I turned a corner.

  “Still can’t remember?” he asked.

  “Everything is coming back in massive chunks, but for the life of me I can’t remember the name of the company you work for. I can remember the swirling color of your damn eyes, but I can’t remember who you work for,” I said.

  “Makes sense. After all, my eyes are pretty mesmerizing.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I said.

  “I don’t have to. You do that enough for me.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha. So, are you going to tell me where you work so I can fill in another memory gap? Or are you going to continue to laugh at the fact that I can’t remember?”

  “Wait a second. I did--that wasn’t why I--.”

  I giggled, tapping his arm with my hand as I leaned my cheek against his warm skin.

  “I’m just picking with you. I knew you weren’t laughing at that,” I said.

  “Good. And to answer your question, I work for TaylorMade, LLC.”

  “Oh yeah. The sweater company.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Sorry. Just a joke Reese and I--.”

  Rocco Taylor. TaylorMade.

  I stopped in the hallway and I felt Rocco lurch to a halt. My head slowly panned over to him as my mind began dropping pieces together. And I mean, every single piece. The color of his nametag through the window when I first saw him. The first name on his nametag, but not the last. The first dinner we ever had together. Those phone conversations he always paused whenever I was around.

  The news broadcast.

  And when her body washed ashore just off the coast, authorities split the coastline into sections and enlisted the help of McDermott’s cousin, Rocco Taylor. Owner and operator of the infamous personal security company, TaylorMade, LLC.

  “Charity, are you all right?” Rocco asked.

  I felt myself stumble and his arms were there to catch me. There in a flash as he wrapped his thick, strong muscles around me.

  “Charity. Can you hear me?” Rocco asked.

  Images and reels played out in my mind. Like someone had finally unlocked the vault. I remembered the pharmacy. All of my toiletries and soaps and conditioners. My mind played through the grocery store. Piling it high with food that he refused to let me pay.

  “You wouldn't let me pay,” I whispered.

  “Oh, no. Come on. Let’s get you back to your room,” Rocco said.

  I felt him scoop me up into his arms as my body hovered. Floated against his body as he charged through the floor of the hospital. My mind continued on its journey, putting pieces in place and unlocking the dark corridors I had yet to travel through. I saw Rocco with his head in his phone. Not coming up for air in the taxi ride. I saw the groceries in my hands. I remembered fussing with the front door.

  “I threw my hip into it?” I asked.

  “We’re almost back to your room. I’ve got you,” Rocco said.

  The rectangle with the sparks behind it. Holy fuck, it had been my door. The sound of the explosion caused me to cry out, and I curled myself into Rocco’s body.

  “I need a doctor!” Rocco roared.

  A chorus of feet trampled down onto the ground. I felt the coming down the hallway. I felt it in my ribcage as the sound hit my ears. I could count every individual step as Rocco settled me back down into my hospital bed.

  “The door came off its hinges,” I whispered.

  “She’s remembering. She’s having flashbacks and her heart rate is erratic,” Rocco said.

  I felt hands on me, trying to get me to settle back into my bed. Someone tugged at my I.V. line and another eased my back against the bed. I felt a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck. My lip quivered uncontrollably as something cold iced over my hand. Both of my hands. Worked its way up my arms and shot straight into my shoulders.

  And all the while, my mind fired at me.

  I heard my screams as the explosion filled my ears. I smelled the fire and the smoke as I dropped the groceries. My arms came up as the door came crashing into me, knocking me off my feet. Propelling me backward. Yanking me straight off my stoop and crashing me into--.

  “Rocco,” I breathed.

  “I’m right here. Charity, can you hear me?” he asked.

  “You--you were--.”

  I felt him squeeze my hand as my body felt heavy and numb.

  “That should help her. She needs to remember, but she also needs to relax,” Dr. Goldstein said.

  My head fell back as the room began to spin. I couldn't see it, but I felt it spinning around me.

  “Thanks doc,” Rocco said.

  “You caught me,” I whimpered.

  Rocco brought my hand to his lips to kiss as he settled onto the bed next to me. My mind remembered all of it. My back crashing against him. His arm coming into view. Landing against the door as my arms gave out underneath the pressure. I felt my body slam back into him like it was happening again. Sweat appeared on my brow and I felt something warm come down against my skin.

  “Just me. Just a washcloth,” Rocco said.

  My jaw clenched as tears worked their way into my eyes. I felt Rocco tucking me into my bed before going back to drying off my sweat. I drew in deep breaths through my nose as the drugs dragged me under. Relaxed me to a point where I felt I needed to sleep.

  “The glass,” I whispered.

  “You remember what happened with it?” Rocco asked.

  My jaw shook with my sadness as my eyes ached with phantom pains. I remembered Rocco’s body slamming into the taxi. I remembered him cradling me close as my eyes looked up at him. The windows of the taxi had cracked, and it showered us with glass. Shards of it that jammed themselves
into my eyes while I looked up at Rocco’s face.

  His worried, angry, defeated face.

  Charity! No!

  My body jerked at his voice echoed through my mind.

  “You called out for me,” I said.

  Rocco bent forward, placing his lips against my forehead. I pressed into him, wanting to seek out his warmth. His comfort. I wanted to be closer to him. I wanted to be as close as he would let me be. The care this massive man had taken with me was astounding, and I didn’t want to do anything to make him leave. His kiss electrified me. It jolted my brain back into its rightful place. The fiery images that dealt pain to my body faded away, and in its place was Rocco’s face.

  I reached up to cup it as I settled my body back down onto the bed.

  “I remember seeing your face,” I said.

  Rocco cupped his hand over mine, turning his lips into my palm to kiss.

  “When you were holding me with your body mashed into that taxi,” I said, giggling.

  “I bought the company a new one. Felt kind of bad,” Rocco said.

  “Yeah. With your money from that company you owe.”

  I felt him pause before he ran his cheek back over the palm of my hand.

  “Can I ask you something?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Rocco whispered.

  “There was a news broadcast one day about the lives of the women Skylar Lane took. They talked briefly about how you helped with the investigation to try and find the bodies of those women once your cousin washed ashore,” I said.

  He pulled my hand away from his cheek before he threaded our fingers together.

  “I did,” he said plainly.

  “Did you take my case personally because it was related to him. I mean, I’m not familiar with how running a company works, but I figured you’d have a big, fancy office on the top floor and have too much paperwork to do any sort of personal guarding yourself,” I said.

  I felt his thumb stroke the skin of my hand as he gathered his thoughts.

  “I did. I didn’t want that man or his legacy taking another life with him. He died, he was gone, and there was no reason for anyone else to be hurt because of him in any way,” Rocco said.

  “I want you to know something,” I said.

  “What is it, Charity?”

  “I want you to know that you did good.”

  “You don’t have to--.”

  “Hush,” I said.

  I felt him squeeze my hand tightly before he drew in a deep breath.

  “I know you think that you failed me somehow. That you failed me because I’m in this hospital. But, you failed no one. As a doctor, sometimes it’s not about piecing a person back together perfectly as if nothing ever happened to them. Sometimes, it’s about choosing to yield to death. In my life of work, perfection is expected only when life or death is concerned. No one should die in my care. That’s not a thing that should take place. Not everyone in my care will walk out the same way they walked in, but they will walk out. And that’s the point,” I said.

  “Charity, I’m so--.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize, Rocco.”

  I turned my face to where I figured his would be and drew in a deep breath.

  “I walked away from this because of you. Without you, I would have been dead. That is the difference here. That is what you did for me. You saved my life when, in any other circumstance, I would have been dead on that sidewalk. You did that for me. You did your job, Rocco. And you did it very, very well.”

  His lips crashed against mine, taking me by surprise. I scooted over in bed, feeling the drugs sink me heavier and heavier into the mattress. I felt Rocco slide in next to me. His lips kissed every part of my face he could manage. My cheeks. My nose. My forehead. My jawline. He peppered my skin with them as I nestled closely into his arms. He captured my lips again in a long, slow, sensuous kiss. One that fluttered my heart and rushed within my veins a heat that couldn't be tempered.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay, Charity,” he whispered.

  Then he wrapped me up, pulled me close, and held me as I drifted off to sleep.

  Rocco

  “Well, the time has finally come, Charity.”

  I heard Dr. Goldstein’s voice as his feet sounded loudly into Charity’s room.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “You’re being discharged today,” he said.

  “Today? That’s great,” I said.

  “But, my sight isn’t back yet?” Charity asked.

  “All of your tests have checked out beautifully. The bruising is fading. You have no internal damage. The plates and the screws are holding in your ribs and your memory is fully recovered. I know you’re getting antsy in the hospital, so I feel good releasing you so long as someone is around to help you with things,” the doctor said.

  “I can do that,” I said.

  “So, you’re releasing me, but you really shouldn't be,” Charity said.

  Her doctor looked up at me, like he was asking for permission. I didn’t know why. He was her doctor. But, I nodded my head anyway. Giving the man some sort of nonchalant go-ahead for whatever it was that was about to wreck Charity’s world.

  “The only thing keeping you here is your eyesight. And if you stayed for a few more days, it would be more of the same. More pointless tests that tell us what we already know. More unraveling of your bandages and checking your sight. That part you can do at home. So long as someone is there to help you get around and help you undress and redress your eyes, I don’t see any reason for you to stay here. We removed the few stitches you needed yesterday, and those wounds don’t even need to be dressed. You’re good to go if you want to leave, Charity” Dr. Goldstein said.

  “Could you do my eyes here?” she asked.

  I felt my heart stop in my chest.

  “Well, technically the next check for your eyes isn’t for another four days,” Dr. Goldstein said.

  “I just want to know if there’s been any improvement. Will checking them now hurt my progress at all?” she asked.

  He looked up at me again and I was getting frustrated with him. Why the hell did he keep looking at me?

  “We could technically check them now. But, I wouldn't expect a miracle,” the doctor said.

  “Any improvement is better than none,” Charity said.

  With a nod of his head, the doctor set his things down. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and began undoing Charity’s dressings. He unraveled the bandage around her head and peeled back the gauze from her eyes. He cleaned the slits of them down, peeling away yellow and white gunk that had caked around her eyelashes. I watched him, committing every move to memory. If I was going to do this for Charity, I needed to make sure I didn’t hurt her or harm her ability to recuperate in any way.

  “Okay, Charity. Open your eyes for me,” the doctor said.

  I watched her eyelids slowly fall open and there they were. Those yellow-speckled brown eyes that made my heart stop. I pushed off the wall, slowly migrating to her as the doctor shined the lights in her eyes. I saw his eyebrows rise up. I walked around to his side of the bed and gazed into Charity’s eyes.

  “Something’s moving,” she said.

  “What’s moving?” the doctor asked.

  “Just… a big figure. Or something. Rocco, did you walk in front of me?” Charity asked.

  “I did, yes,” I said.

  “I saw his movement. But, I don’t see much else,” she said.

  “Tell me what else, Charity. Your description is important,” the doctor said.

  She shrugged. “A dim light. I assume it’s your flashlight because it keeps coming and going from my vision. Shaded dark outlines. I saw Rocco move, but I couldn't tell it was him by the shape. Just assumed since he’s probably the biggest object in the room that can move,” she said.

  “Anything else?” the doctor asked.

  Charity shook her head. “No. Nothing else. No color. No detail. No… nothing.”

&nbs
p; I watched her body sink with defeat. The doctor looked up at me before redressing her eyes, then handed me her discharge paperwork. He walked me through the motions. How to take care of her eyes and not to tamper with them until this weekend. He handed me a card that had a doctor’s appointment scheduled on it for two weeks from now.

  Two weeks of waiting on Charity hand and foot, hoping I could lift her spirits.

  “Her pupils are dilating, which is good. I’m giving you a bag with everything you need in it. Some Tylenol with codeine in case some pain kicks up. A small flashlight like mine to check her vision in a few days. The same exact bandages and gauze I’m using here to keep her eyes from being overstimulated while they rest. The q-tips and salve I use to clean her eyes. Everything you’ll need is in here,” the doctor said.

  He handed me a bag with some paperwork protruding from the top of it. I looked back at Charity and saw a nurse helping her into some clothing, and it took me a few seconds to realize it was Reese. She’d probably gone by Charity’s place to pick up an outfit. And it wasn’t until I scanned the room that I saw a small suitcase sitting by the door.

  I looked up at the doctor and finally understood why he had been looking at me throughout Charity’s entire exit exam. He had been looking for some sort of reassurance that I’d take care of her after she was discharged.

  “She’s in good hands with me. I promise,” I said.

  I watched relief wash over the doctor’s face as I bent down and picked up the small bag that had been dropped at the door. Reese kept talking Charity’s ear off as we all headed downstairs, but I saw Charity’s face. I saw the blank look wash along her body. I knew she wasn’t okay, and I didn’t know what to do.

  I didn’t know how to make any of this okay.