One of the golfers protested, “But someone should call the police—”
“Go back to your games, gentlemen, nothing to see here,” said the largest “gardener,” who was in fact, Brutus, the same man who’d posed as a waiter earlier.
“Thanks,” Tommaso said. “But she needs to get to a hospital and—”
Charlotte let out a soft groan.
“Charlotte? Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
“Owww…” She reached for the top of her head. “What happened?”
“Don’t move,” he commanded. “You hit your head on a rock.”
Her eyes still closed, she mumbled, “Why did you tackle me like that?”
He brushed the hair back from her forehead, still applying pressure to the wound. “Tell me what you saw, Charlotte. What scared you out there?”
“I felt him watching me,” she muttered.
“Who? Who was watching you?” he demanded, angry as hell that someone would torment her like this.
“The monster.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
It wasn’t long before the paramedics arrived and checked Charlotte out, determining she would not have to be hospitalized or require stitches. The cut, though deep, was only half an inch long.
“She needs a cold compress, but other than that, she’ll be fine,” said the female paramedic.
They moved Charlotte into a sterile-looking, bright white first aid room on site at the resort, and Tommaso stayed with her.
The moment the “garden staff” and paramedics left the room, Tommaso was doing his best not to sound alarmed.
“Charlotte, I need to ask you something. And please don’t think that I’m judging you, because I’m not. But what did you mean when you said there was a monster watching you?”
Charlotte, who was stretched out on a gurney, sitting up with a bag of ice on the back of her head, went rigid from head to toe. Tommaso was fairly certain she’d even stopped breathing.
“Charlotte?” he pushed, standing over her with his arms crossed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sounded defensive.
“I saw you standing at the top of that hill, looking like you couldn’t move your feet.”
“I-I was just standing there, watching some golfers.”
Bullshit. “I called your name, and you didn’t respond.”
She looked away, toward some Heimlich poster on the wall as if suddenly fascinated by the thing.
“Charlotte,” he said sternly, “tell me what happened.”
She didn’t reply, but her body did. Her breath quickened, her nostrils flared, her face turned tomato red.
He sat down next to her in one of those plastic molded chairs and reached out, laying his hand on her thigh. Dammit, touching her felt way better than he imagined. “You can trust me, Charlotte. I won’t think you’re crazy.”
She let out a slow breath and then looked at him, conflict and turmoil stewing in her brown eyes. “If I think I’m crazy, then you sure as hell will.”
Was that what was bothering her? “Don’t be so quick to judge. Appearances can be deceiving.” I’m certified fucked in the head. In fact, if you cracked open my skull, tiny sour jellybeans would fall out.
“So, if I told you that I’ve been having nightmares—the kind that feel so real I wake up and run to the kitchen for a knife or call 9-1-1, hysterical and convinced something is in my house, or that I’m afraid to go to sleep anymore because I think I might never wake up, what would you say then?”
Her words sickened his heart. Had he done this to her? Hurt her like this? He wished he knew what was happening.
“How long has this been going on?” he asked.
“A very long time. But I’m afraid to get help. They’ll lock me up.”
Shit. A very long time? He’d only seen Charlotte for the first time a few days ago. Was something else or someone else tormenting her?
“But just now,” he said, “when you were on the golf course, you said that you saw the monster.” She had not been asleep.
“I was just having a daydream.”
He knew she was lying. Fuck. Was it me she sensed? “In your dream, what happens? What does the monster do to you?”
“It’s silly,” she groaned. “Please, I’m fine. Just go and enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Uh-uh. No you don’t.”
She flashed a small frown at him.
As if that’s really going to scare a guy like me off. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, dear woman. Not until you tell me what really happened and I’m convinced you’re all right.”
“There’s blood all over your shirt. You should go back to your room and change.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not leaving. Besides, the blood makes me look edgy.” It actually made him look psycho, like he perhaps took the sport of golf a little too seriously and had beaten someone to death at the ninth hole.
“Please,” he said, “I am only trying to help.”
Charlotte sighed. “Fine. In my dreams, at first the monster seems like it wants me to help it. Then when I can’t, because I’m too afraid, it turns on me. It drags me out of bed and tries to kill me.”
Tommaso ran his hands through his hair. What was happening? Had he dreamed of attacking her or somehow shared one of her nightmares? In the immortal world, it wasn’t unheard of for couples who shared a powerful connection to share emotions, thoughts, and sometimes even speak with one another telepathically.
Only, she and I don’t have a powerful connection. Their relationship was more like a one-way ticket on a lusty train, and he was the only one riding. He needed to rectify that immediately.
That aside, she’d been having problems before they’d met. Now he wasn’t sure of what was real—or happening—but he no longer had the option to simply tell Charlotte the truth: He was turning into a real live, grade A horror film creature and needed her help, just like the thing in her nightmares. She’d be terrified of him.
So what next? He still had a shot at saving himself if he could get her to like him. I need to get her to trust me, to let her guard down. If he could do that, then she might feel something for him and end his transformation. It was worth a try at this point, as there were no other options and no other women to fall madly in love with. She was it. And he wasn’t complaining.
“The nightmares are bad enough,” she muttered, “but I wake up feeling like the dream hasn’t ended…” Charlotte groaned.
“You simply need a good night’s sleep, that’s all,” he assured her. “Things always look different when you’re well rested.” Not exactly so simple, but it couldn’t hurt.
“Funny. Sleep is the one thing I’m not getting.”
He nodded, rubbing his stubbly chin. “You trusted me just now to tell me something very personal. I want you to trust me again.”
“Why?” She blinked her beautiful brown eyes at him and he noticed how they had flecks of orange. Not gold, but orange. They were lovely.
“I have a proposal for you, Charlotte.”
“Oh no.” She held out her hands.
Damn her. Such a thick wall. Well, he’d have to bring out his finest chisel. “Don’t flatter yourself, woman. There are no strings attached; I merely want to ask you to trust me and answer a few more questions.”
“Why?”
He could see the despair in her eyes. She wanted someone to trust. She was tired and feeling alone.
“What if I told you,” he said, “that someone once helped me when I truly needed it, that she was the only thing in this world that kept me sane when everything in my life was crumbling? Would you believe that I have been waiting for the opportunity to pay back that debt?”
“So it’s a karma thing.”
“Yes.” In a way, he supposed it was. But nothing in his world was that simple, and trying to explain the complicated truth to her wasn’t an option.
“Fine,” she
said. “If you really want to help, then spend the night with me.”
PART TWO
CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Please don’t say no. Please spend the night. But would he say yes or simply think I was crazy? I’d never been so forward with a man. Or with anyone, for that matter. But I was at the end of my rope. My dreams now haunted me in the daylight, seeping into the world I’d worked so hard to build around me, all to protect myself from the things that had driven my poor mother mad.
She claimed the monsters were everywhere. She claimed that they masked themselves as everyday people, befriended us, made us trust them only to feed on us.
I didn’t believe her when I was younger. But now I did and had for a long time. Which was why I suspected that the ordinary things in this world—stoplights, TV shows, days in the park, and bedtimes—were some sort of self-perpetuated hoax. Order, routines, and activities meant to distract us from the real world. A world filled with monsters.
I looked up at this beautiful man, Tommaso, hovering over my gurney. He made me feel so safe, though I didn’t know why. Or particularly care at this point. The simple fact that he gave me relief was enough for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d really slept, and my endeavor to keep afloat with caffeine, vitamins, protein shakes and anything else I could buy legally was no longer doing the trick.
My legs stretched across the gurney, I set the bag of ice down on my lap and ran my hands over my bob. I used to wear it long, like my mother, but cut it off a few years ago. I had done everything within my power not to draw unnecessary attention to myself and to feel safe, while not giving up my life.
Sadly, I wasn’t winning that battle. That was why I finally had to accept help. Tommaso. He was like an angel sent to answer my pleas for help.
But, oh God, what would this man say if he knew what I was thinking? Still, I didn’t want him to leave, not when he made me feel other things, too. Those dark brown eyes—almost black—that piercing gaze, and those lips… Damn. Those lips. They were like signposts that told a woman exactly what to expect from a guy like him: dirty nights in clean sheets. He wasn’t a slob or a tomcat. He was the sort of man who took care of himself and took pride in perfection—including pleasing a woman in bed.
Okay, yes. That last part was just an impression. But my fear of monsters hiding among us had made me acutely aware of people’s behaviors—when they lied, when they were afraid, and most importantly, when they were dangerous.
Tommaso was dangerous. But in a good way. I could tell by the way he carried himself that he protected what was his, which was just another reason I felt so attracted to him. But God, if I ever told him the truth—about my fears, about what really went on inside my head—he’d run for the hills.
His dark, menacing gaze locked with mine. “Did you just say that you want me to…to…” He spoke with a hint of an Italian accent that so frequently had me distracted. Just like last night when we met at the wine tasting and he had on those sexy leather pants. For the first time in my life, I hadn’t been able to stop myself. I hit on a man. Yes, me. Then he began to speak in that deep sensual tone laced with that seductive accent, and I quickly realized he was way, waaay out of my league. Nobody was more shocked than me to see him this morning on the green. My pupil for the entire day? Him? The hottest man I’d ever seen. Yeah, right—like I’d forget meeting him. But that was what I’d told Tommaso, like a complete imbecile. I couldn’t spend the entire day with him, trying to maintain a professional demeanor, if he knew that I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head all night.
Now, however, I was beginning to see that Tommaso was so much more than just a pretty face. He gave me something I so desperately needed.
“Spend the night with me,” I repeated. “But not the way you think.” Or the way I want. “I’m asking you to watch over me while I sleep.”
He lifted both delicious dark brows, and his sensual lips puckered, as if hoping for a kiss to persuade him.
I resisted the urge to deliver. “Well?” I prodded.
“I-I have—”
“Oh. Your girlfriend.” I shook my head, feeling like an idiot for having forgotten about the reason he’d come for lessons. But of course he’d be taken. He was so goddamned hot that every time I looked at him, I had to pretend he was one of my horrific monsters simply not to drool. Still, I couldn’t help appreciating those broad shoulders or the way the muscles on his exposed forearms and calves hardened with even the slightest movement, like he was built from steel cables underneath that olive skin. On this man, tacky golf shorts looked like male lingerie. It was obvious that his attention to his physical appearance didn’t stop at his sexy fucked-all-night hairdo.
I was jealous of whichever woman had won him over.
“No. I don’t have a fiancée,” he confessed.
What? My heart did a flip. Stay calm. Staaay calm. “But you said—”
He held up his large hand—with those thick fingers that made me think of something else altogether—to shush me. “You said I was engaged. Or trying to impress the new boss. I never confirmed.”
“You didn’t correct me either.”
He dipped his head of messy black hair. “And for that, I offer my apologies. But the truth as to why I wanted golf lessons from you puts me in an awkward position.”
My pulse accelerated as a look of raw lust radiated from his eyes.
Lust. Lust. Lust! He’s giving me the sexy eyes. I hardly knew what to do. I was used to just ignoring men’s advances or telling them to take a hike. But actually enjoying a man hitting on me was completely novel. I hadn’t even had a date since my first year in college. Community college for the first two years and then Cal State Long Beach for years three and four, where I obtained a useless degree in athletics training. Golf was something I just did on the side that turned into something more.
He continued, “I hope this doesn’t rub you the wrong way, but I wanted to spend time with you—not to bed you or make you mine for one night—but to get to know you.”
My breath hitched. His words felt so, so good. Wait. Why would he want someone like me? I was such a mess. Couldn’t he see that?
“Because you want to learn a perfect swing?” I asked.
A subtle, seductive smile crept across his full lips. “Aside from the fact that you love to play, I couldn’t give a fuck about golf.”
“Really?” My heart ballooned with elation. Okay, I knew that might sound silly—to get so excited about him wanting to spend time with me, but anyone who understood my past—what I’d gone through and how hard it was to feel anything for anyone—well, they’d comprehend why my connection with this strange man was a big deal. Oddly, he was exactly what I’d hoped to find when that really strange woman, Cimil, told me that I’d meet my soul mate at her mixer. Ugh—that party had been like a horrific freak show.
Tommaso cocked his head. “Men throw themselves at you by the truckload. Why’s it so hard to believe I want to get to know you?”
“I have my reasons.” And they were pretty damned scary ones.
“Do tell.”
Hell no. He’d think I was damaged goods and mad like my poor mother. “Are you ready to tell me everything about yourself, even your darkest secrets or most painful moments?”
“Hell no,” he scoffed.
Ha. Exactly. “Then we’re on the same page.”
He dipped his head. “Indeed, we are.”
“So will you spend the night?” I hoped he’d say yes, because I hadn’t slept more than a few hours a night for the last month, and even those hours were shoddy. Any more of this, and I would drop dead from exhaustion. And while I didn’t have children or any human beings dependent upon me, I did have a mortgage and some very strange but loving animals no one would ever want except me. Yeah, four of them were chickens with only a few feathers to their names and one cat who completely hated me. But so what? They were my kids. My best friends, Mike and Susan, who ran a ve
gan café, never stopped giving me a hard time about how I was even worse than they were with my animal causes.
Rubbing the bit of black scruff on his chin, Tommaso leaned back in the brown plastic molded chair beside my gurney. It was the strangest thing about this man, but on the outside he was so sleek and polished, like an elegant luxury car. But that look in his eyes and the way he carried himself said he was not to be fucked with. Not even a little.
That’s why I feel safe around him.
“If I spend the night,” he finally said, staring with a wolfish gaze, making me fidget on the creaky metal gurney, “I want something in return.”
Sure, I’ll totally have sex with you. In fact, you can bend me over right now on this bed and… The space between my legs tingled with the thought. And my skin began longing for those large hands of his to touch every soft inch.
Regardless, I blurted out, “I’m not sleeping with you,” knowing I was far too messed up to invite him or any man into my life. Still, I was allowed to have my fantasies.
He smirked with his eyes. “Ouch. You’re a cold, cold woman, Charlotte.”
I offered him a quick smile. “Sorry. It’s not that you’re not a handsome man. Because you are. It’s just that I’m—”
“You don’t owe me any explanations.”
I mentally phewed because I didn’t have one. I had been planning to pull something out of my ass that would’ve been complete nincompoopery, like… “Hey, the kitty isn’t really trimmed for visitors. Not a good time.”
He went on, “I was going to point out that I paid for golf lessons for the week.”
“And?”
“And I’ve already confessed that I did so simply because I wanted to get to know you.”
“And?” I repeated, awaiting his demand.
“I will spend the night, but you will have to answer ten questions.”
Pfft. Okay! That would be easy.
“Truthfully,” he added.
Dammit! That would not. “What about you? Do I get to ask anything I like?”
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