Cocky Savior: A Hero Club Novel

by Jane Blythe

  “Always, princess.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head again and held them there, drawing in her sweet scent and savoring it because he knew he’d come very close to losing her. “Always.”

  * * * * *

  2:09 P.M.

  It had been a long day.

  She had sat on Eli’s lap until the paramedics arrived. Both Eli and the medics thwarted her protests that a trip to the hospital wasn't necessary, so she’d gone there, endured tests, been poked and prodded, and then eventually released. Eli had driven her home, but now that they were here, she had the monumental task of making it from the street up to her fifth-floor apartment to conquer.

  “You know I could just carry you,” Eli said. His arm was wrapped around her waist, and although he was practically supporting most of her weight anyway, she shook her head.

  “No, I can do it.” Being helpless was not a feeling with which she was familiar, and it made her uncomfortable. She was going to walk to the lift, stand in it, and then walk to her front door if it killed her.

  “You know you have a concussion, you’re supposed to be taking it easy,” he reminded her as he opened the door to her building and helped her walk through it.

  “And I will once we get upstairs,” she said, gritting her teeth and plowing forward. Giving up was not in her vocabulary.

  “You call me cocky, I'm going to start calling you stubborn,” Eli muttered under his breath, but she heard the humor in his tone and knew he was just teasing her.

  Although it sometimes drove her crazy, Florence secretly liked it when he teased her. Growing up, she and Fletcher were more concerned with trying to stay alive, finding food to eat and clothes to wear, than teasing one another. Even though they were adults now and both had jobs that paid the bills, they didn't have the traditional sibling relationship. But Eli’s teasing made her feel a levity that hadn't been a part of her life before.

  Her legs felt heavy, and her head hadn't stopped drumming with a steady beat that seemed to send pain reverberating through her body, preventing her from thinking about anything but putting one foot in front of the other.

  They made it all the way into the lift before Eli’s patience ran out. “This is ridiculous,” he snapped, scooping her up. “I think you’re strong and tough, you don’t have anything to prove.”

  Florence opened her mouth to protest, insist that he set her down, but it was such a relief to be off her feet that she didn't bother. Instead, she just uttered a tired sigh, rested her aching head on Eli’s strong shoulder, and let him hold her.

  When the lift dinged, he strode out, keeping his movements slow and steady so he didn't make her nauseous, and she was thankful that he was so attentive to even the smallest of details. He’d been wonderful today, sitting beside her in the hospital, holding her hand, pulling her hair back for her when she’d thrown up, and wiping her brow with a cool cloth. It was hard for even her deepest seeded insecurities to convince her that he was only interested in sex when he was being that sweet.

  He obviously had her keys because he unlocked her apartment door and carried her inside, where he set her on the couch, then locked up behind them. CSU had finished up in here, and although there was a mess that would have to be cleaned, she wasn't up to dealing with that at the moment.

  No sooner had he fluffed up some pillows, propped her up against them, and covered her with a blanket than there was a knock on her door.

  Tutting disapprovingly, Eli answered the door. “What do you want?” he asked bluntly, and she craned her neck to look around him to see who was there.

  “I have questions I need to ask the two of you,” Jake said as he strode into the room.

  “She’s supposed to be resting,” Eli said.

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. Whoever had broken in here and attacked her knew too much about her case, he was obviously stalking her.

  “I won't be long,” her partner promised as he came inside, grabbing a chair from the table and pulling it up.

  Eli tutted again but came and joined her on the couch, sitting down at the other end, lifting her legs, and then setting them on his lap, his hands absently stroked the length of her calf. “Ask your questions but be quick about it.”

  This protective side of his was sweet, as was the attentiveness and fussing, who knew that her cocky savior had such a soft side. Focusing her gooey mind on her assault she told her partner, “I remembered what he said to me. He said that he knew who the Dumpster Killer was. He said the name Michael Stypes. How could he know that was one of our suspects?”

  “I don’t know,” Jake said. “Did he say anything else to you?”

  “He said that he wasn't going to hurt me and that I shouldn’t fight him. He kept me pressed up against that wall,” she said, gesturing to the wall behind her, then shooting Eli a reassuring smile when she felt him tense. “He knew about me almost getting hit by the car, then he told me we were on the right track and that Michael is the killer. He’s obviously been following me, it’s the only way he could know about the car, I think he was the person watching my apartment the other morning.” Eli tensed again, and she held out her hand to him, he took it and entwined their fingers.

  “What did you see when you got here?” Jake asked Eli.

  “When I was walking up to the building’s door, a man was hurrying out. He smelled of lavender, and the first thing I thought was that he had been in Florence’s apartment.” Eli hesitated, shot her an apologetic look, then continued, “I wondered if he was her boyfriend and nearly turned around and left, but then I realized that was stupid and came inside.”

  “You thought I was cheating on you?” she asked, hurt. That wasn't something that she would do, and she’d given no indication to Eli that she was hiding another man in her life.

  “I'm sorry, I know it’s stupid. It was just that you blew me off last night and then never returned my texts, and I guess I panicked a little when I saw a man leaving smelling of your perfume. I'm sorry, Florence.” His hand squeezed hers, and the look he gave her was genuinely remorseful.

  “Yeah, okay, I guess I have been unsure about the two of us, I can see why you might have interpreted that as me dating someone else,” she acknowledged. Given that she had doubted the two of them and their budding relationship, she couldn’t really hold it against Eli that he had doubted her.

  “So you saw the man who attacked her,” Jake said, it was the only logical conclusion they could come to. “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Not a good look, a passing glance maybe. He was older, late forties I would guess, dark hair streaked with gray, glasses, medium height and build, dressed in sweats,” Eli rattled off.

  “That’s a pretty good description,” she said.

  “I'm observant, I notice details even when I'm not really paying attention,” he replied.

  “Do you think that if you saw him again, you’d recognize him?” Jake asked.

  Eli shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “I'm going to set you up with a sketch artist,” Jake announced. “Do you have any idea who the man was?”

  Florence considered this. There had been something familiar about him, but her memories of the assault were still hazy. Bit by bit, they were coming back to her, but right now, it was like looking at it through a pair of glasses that weren't prescribed for her, everything was blurry and trying to focus on it made her head hurt.

  Reluctantly, she shook her head, then winced at the movement. “There was something familiar about him, but I can't put my finger on it.”

  “It will come to you, don’t push too hard,” Eli told her.

  “He’s right,” Jake agreed. “When you stop trying it will come back. All right, is there anything else either of you can think of that seems important?”

  “No,” she said, and Eli shook his head.

  “I think you should probably go now, she needs her rest,” Eli told Jake.

  “All right, I’ll see myself out. Take care of yourself, Florence, a
nd call if you need anything. If either of you remembers something, you call me.”

  Once Jake was gone her eyelids grew heavy. This concussion was wiping her out.

  “Close your eyes, princess, take a nap.” Eli stood, then removed one of the pillows behind her and helped her lie down, making sure the blanket was tucked around her so she didn't get cold. Then he stood beside her and stroked her cheek and smoothed her hair.

  This was nice.

  Having someone take care of her like this.

  Any boyfriends she’d ever had she’d held at arms-length, not letting them get close enough to care for her when she was sick.

  But here was Eli, a wealthy businessman with a billion-dollar company that no doubt needed his attention who had only known her a week, tending to her, fussing over her, caring for her.

  “Sleep, sweetheart, I got you,” he whispered as her eyes fluttered closed, and she drifted off to sleep.

  * * * * *

  3:28 P.M.

  He watched her sleep.

  She looked so relaxed, so carefree, like in slumber the weight of the world was no longer crushing her.

  Eli liked seeing Florence like this. He wanted to help her be this way when she was awake. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was dealing with some heavy stuff, and as much as he wanted to convince her to tell him, let him help her carry the burden, if he pushed too hard she would only shut down.

  He could have lost her today.

  He’d known that she was in danger, that someone was watching her, he should have insisted that she come and stay with him until she and her cop buddies figured out who it was. Instead, he had ignored his instincts because he was trying so hard not to mess this up.

  Florence had become very important to him in a very short amount of time, and he was beating himself up about thinking that she’d been leading him on and seeing someone else, while she’d been lying unconscious in her apartment. He should have recognized her leap of faith in trusting him with her past for what it was, her saying without actually saying it, that she felt the same thing he did growing between them.

  She stirred on the couch, her eyes blinking sleepily open.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, leaning forward from the armchair where he’d been sitting watching her sleep, and cupped her cheek in his hand, touching a kiss to her forehead.

  “Hey,” she mumbled, struggling into a sitting position and wincing.

  “You shouldn’t be moving about, actually you shouldn’t even be awake, you were only out for forty minutes, you need more sleep.”

  “Can't sleep, I need the bathroom,” she said, going to stand.

  “I got you.” Preempting her standing, he scooped her into his arms and carried her through the apartment to her bathroom where he deposited her inside. “I’ll be waiting out here, call out when you're done.”

  “Eli,” she said overly patiently. “I can't go with you standing out here listening, and I can walk, I only have a concussion.”

  “I’ll go stand in the living room then,” he said, ignoring the part about her walking on her own. As long as he was here, she would be taking it easy even if he had to make her.

  Florence rolled her eyes and closed the door behind him with a firm click.

  To give her a little space, he walked out into the living room and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest while he waited. When he heard the bathroom door opening, he walked back into the hall and picked her up again. “I think you’d be more comfortable in bed than on the couch.”

  “You’re a regular Mr. Mom aren’t you,” Florence grumbled, but she curled her arm around his neck and rested comfortably in his arms.

  “The best,” he agreed cheerfully, he’d spent the last several years taking care of his dying mother, and caregiver was a role he was comfortable playing. “There you go,” he said, pulling back the covers, setting her down, and fluffing up her pillows against the headboard and covering her with the blanket. “Better?”

  “Yeah, actually, it is.” She rested her head against the pillows and closed her eyes. “I can't remember the last time I spent the day in bed.”

  “You need a day off, everyone does,” he added because he got the feeling she thought that taking time just for herself made her lazy. “I made soup, you hungry?”

  “Actually, yeah, I am,” she said, opening her eyes to look at him. “The same chicken noodle soup I turned down last night?”

  “The very same. I’ll be right back.” Giving her a quick kiss on the lips, he headed into the kitchen and ladled a couple of spoonfuls of the soup he’d made while she slept into a bowl. The bowl went on a tray he’d found in a cupboard in Florence’s kitchen, he added a couple of slices of bread, a glass of water, a couple of painkillers for after she’d gotten some food in her stomach, and flowers in a vase.

  Carrying the tray into Florence’s room, her eyes grew wide when she saw it. “You didn't have to go to that much trouble.”

  “It was no trouble,” he said, setting the tray on her lap.

  “The soup would have been enough, but this looks like homemade bread, and the flowers are beautiful.” Tears welled in her eyes, drops balancing on her thick lashes. “Sorry,” she said, brushing them away, her gaze falling to the covers. “Must be the concussion making me emotional.”

  “Hey.” He hooked a finger under her chin and forced her to look up at him. “I don’t care if you're emotional. I want you to be emotional, this is a safe place, I care about you.” He touched the pad of his thumb to her cheek and caught a lone teardrop that had escaped. “I'm here for you, I'm not going anywhere, you can tell me anything, you can let your guard down around me. It’s going to be okay, Florence.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, giving him a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for being here. This is where I want to be. Here, with you.” To emphasize his point, he lowered his mouth and gently claimed hers. The kiss was soft, sweet, tender, and he felt its ramifications deep down into his bones. “I want to be with you, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips.

  “You’re almost too good to be true,” she murmured back.

  “No such thing, princess. And just so you know I didn't make the bread for you, didn't have time, had my driver go and pick up some I had at my hotel, can't eat store bought bread anymore,” he teased to lighten the mood. Florence laughed like he had hoped she would. “Here, eat up.” Eli straightened and picked up the spoon, if he didn't put a little distance between them he would do a whole lot more than just kiss her, and Florence was in no shape for that today.

  “I can feed myself,” Florence said, reaching for the spoon.

  “I want to do it. Besides your hand is shaking, you’ll probably spill soup all over these pretty lavender sheets.”

  She looked down, surprised that her hand was trembling, then looked up at him. Her sky blue eyes seemed to stare right through him, down into his soul, seeking an answer to a question she didn't want to ask aloud. Apparently, she received the answer she sought because she gave a nod.

  Treasuring that second step of trust she’d just taken, Eli smiled as he dipped the spoon into the soup and raised it to her mouth. Florence parted her lips and took the soup, her eyes widening as it hit her tongue.

  “That is amazing,” she gushed. “Did you make that yourself?”

  “Yep, the recipe was passed down from my great-grandmother to my grandmother to my mother and then to me. I think my mom always wished she had a girl to cook and bake with her in the kitchen because neither my brother nor I were very interested in cooking.”

  “When did that change?” she asked after she took another mouthful of soup.

  “When she got sick the first time. She was always weak from the chemo, she couldn’t get up and cook, and she was nauseous all the time, this soup was the only thing she could eat for months. When she got really sick she would sit in bed, just like you are now, and I would feed it to her.” He smiled at th
e memory, those were about the last moments he’d shared with his mother before she got too sick and was transferred to palliative care.

  “That’s how you learned to feed someone so well, you haven't spilled a drop.”

  “That, and feeding my nephew.”

  “You have a nephew?”

  “He’s ten, was born just a month before my brother died. After his death his wife struggled a lot, in the end, she couldn’t cope with losing her husband, and she took her life two years to the day after his death. My mom was the one who looked after Joey, but then she got sick, and I was balancing school and looking after her and my nephew.”

  “You really love your family.” The look on Florence’s face was wistful, and he knew she wished she’d had a family who loved her.

  “I did. I do,” he corrected, they weren't all gone.

  “Where is your nephew now?”

  “After my mom and then my dad died, I assumed that I would keep Joey, he’d lived in that house, with me and my parents his whole life, but his other grandparents filed for custody. I fought them, used the fact that they were poor against them, and argued that I could give him a better life and that I could give him anything he wanted.” Eli burned with shame as he recalled how dirty he had made that case, determined to win at any cost because he didn't want to lose another person that he loved.

  “You realized that he needed more than money though, that he needed someone who could be there for him day and night,” Florence said gently, reaching out a hand to cover his.

  “How did you know that?” he asked, surprised that she had accurately figured out what had happened.

  “Because I know you,” she said with a smile. “You have a good heart, anyone who would feed his dying mother homemade soup, and look after his nephew like he was his own son would do what was best for the child and not himself.”

  “Joey was lonely, he didn't say anything, didn't complain, but I know he would get upset when I'd miss school plays and baseball games. His grandparents could give him what I couldn’t, and I dropped the case. I still see him as often as I can, and I pay support every month so that they can give him everything he needs.”