by Cooper, Tea
Arms wrapped around her waist, she hugged herself tightly, trying to control her shivering body. One foot in front of the other, she stepped gingerly into the bathroom. She looked into the mirror and saw her battered face. Blurred glassy eyes starred back at her. She looked as haggard and bruised as a piece of flotsam.
Her tangled hair hung across her swollen cheek, and her eyes looked shadowed and puffy. She would have a black eye by tomorrow. Groaning, she reached for the washcloth and splashed her face with cold water. She cringed as the rough toweling touched her skin. Her whole head throbbed and she gingerly placed the cold cloth on her bruised cheek.
All she wanted to do was sleep, crawl under her feather duvet, make a cave, and sleep. The persistent pounding below her eye and the feel of stretched skin across her cheekbone forced her to the kitchen to find some ice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jake looked at his watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. He’d lost sight of Cassia when she handed him her glass of champagne, and he was tired of making polite conversation. This really was not his scene.
On the other side of the room, Alan waved his arms. Jake stepped around the metal pyramid of keys welded to form the outstretched wings of a black bird. He’d do anything for Cassia, but the exhibition wasn’t his idea of fun. It had merely been another excuse to see her.
Cassia’s agent was in full flight, looking like the bird sculpture. He was deep in conversation with a large woman in a multicolored kaftan. This was Cassia’s environment; this was where she belonged. Lyle was right: the problem had started here in the first place. Cassia needed to be in the middle of things, not tucked away in some shack in the middle of nowhere.
He ran his finger around the collar of his shirt, wishing he could undo his tie, wishing he were back at the beach and away from the city and the crowds, anywhere but here. A circulating waiter appeared miraculously, allowing Jake to deposit the warm glass of champagne onto the tray before he edged closer to Alan.
“Excuse me, Alan,” he interrupted, frustration surging through him. He was past caring about the social niceties. Alan stopped his waving and moved to introduce him to the woman in the rainbow kaftan, whose hair was more like an architectural masterpiece than a hairstyle. He didn’t give him the opportunity. “I was looking for Cassia. I haven’t seen her for about half an hour. Have you any idea where I could find her?”
“We were hoping she would be back by now too,” said Alan. “I wanted to introduce her to Tasha. She’s very interested in commissioning Cassia to produce something for her garden in Double Bay.”
“’Back’?” The hairs rose on the back of Jake’s neck, and he shivered involuntarily. “Back from where?” Where was she? Surely she would have mentioned it to him if she were leaving.
“She went to her studio with a man who was interested in looking at some of her driftwood sculptures.”
“She did what?” Shock pummeled his stomach, the anger rising into his gut like bile. “You let her go on her own? Who was this man?” He struggled for breath. He needed to get out of the room, to run and not stop until he had Cassia back, next to him, safe.
“I haven’t met him before. I told you, he was inter—”
“Yes, I heard you!” Jake yelled over his shoulder as he turned, failing to control his impulse to run through the crowd to the exit.
His gut churned at the rush of rage surging through him. “I’ll kill the fucking bastards if they lay so much as a hand on her,” he promised himself as he left the gallery and turned onto the wharf, cursing the slippery cobblestones when his leather soles skidded and he almost fell. A car cruised past him, and he slammed his palm against the trunk as it bounced off his hip. Pain ricocheted up his arm. The wave of dread tightened his chest. Cassia had been alone in the city for months now, and there hadn’t been a problem. Madeleine was safely tucked up with her parents, and the dealers were behind bars, in custody, awaiting trial. It was all but over.
Please, let it be over.
He reached the security door of Cassia’s studio and pushed, frustration blazing as he remembered he had given her back the security card. He leaned on the buzzer, tapping his foot against the doorjamb, willing her to respond. A chill coursed through him, goose bumps flecking his arms and his neck as only the gentle lapping of the black water against the wharf broke the oppressive silence. He moved backward and gazed up at the picture window, realizing with a jolt of relief she was there. He could see her standing, looking out at the bridge, her hand cradling her face.
“Cass! Cass! Answer the door.” He moved back to the security door, frantically searching for a way to attract her attention. He pressed the buzzer again, holding it down for what seemed like an eternity and then banged his fists on the glass door, trying desperately to get her to look down at him. After an interminable wait, the intercom crackled.
She didn’t speak, but she was there.
“Cass, open the door. It’s Jake. Are you all right? Come on. Open the door.”
The buzzer sounded, and he pushed his shoulder against the door, forcing it open as he ran into the lift. He punched the button, and the door opened. Moments sped past as he slowly rose to the studio. The doors parted, and he ran out. Skidding to a halt, he looked from left to right, searching the room for Cassia.
She stood where he had seen her at the window, staring silently out at the bridge. In three long strides, Jake reached her, and he pulled her into his arms, dread twisting his gut. If it hadn’t been for his involvement with his brother she would be back at her exhibition, basking in the glory of her achievements.
“Ouch,” she said, placing the ice pack back on her cheek. Rage curled in his belly. The desire to ram his fists into something, rip apart the bastard who had done this, almost overpowered him. He should have followed his instincts. The threat to her had been real; here was the proof, and he had brought it on her.
“Are you all right? Let me look.” He moved the towel with a gentleness he didn’t feel. Her lips were red and swollen, and there was an angry raised lump on her cheekbone. He swallowed down the intense desire to shout and hit out at the sight of her battered face. “What happened? Who did this? Have you called the police?”
Cass looked up at him, her lovely eyes blank, and then she shuddered and collapsed to the floor, fists pressed to her mouth. She rocked backward and forward, obviously terrified. He squatted beside her and cradled her crumpled body in his arms, taking over the soothing motion, murmuring nonsense.
“Sssh. Sssh. It’s okay; I’m here now.”
“I—he, he…wanted Madeleine. I hit him.” Her words were punctuated by gulping sobs.
He pulled back from her, searching her face. “You hit him?”
“Yes. I hit him, and he punched me.”
Despite his fury, he smiled grimly.
She had hit him. Excellent.
So much toughness and vulnerability all wrapped up in one small package. “Oh, darling, are you sure you’re okay? Come over here.” He led her away from the window to a chair. “Did he do anything else to you? Did he just hit you?”
Just hit her.
As if it weren’t enough. The angry lump emphasized her blanched face. He took the sodden towel and ice pack, and gently traced his fingers down her cheek. It was his fault. He should have stayed away from her, prevented her from coming back to the beach. From the beginning he had been frightened this would happen. He had always dreaded his involvement with Lyle and Madeleine would eventually lead to Cassia. Someone looking for information would search her out, trying to find something they could hold against Lyle, some form of threat or blackmail to make him withdraw his evidence.
He pulled her against him tightly, her shuddering body sending waves of irrational desire through him. Considering how much he wanted her, holding her so close probably wasn’t wise. He buried his feelings and put his energy into comforting her. Acting out his pent-up frustration and desire wasn’t going to help anyone.
***
“We have to call the police and report this.” Jake’s voice pierced the fog of her shock, bringing her back to reality with a crash. With an effort, she lifted her eyelids and blinked at him. She shook her head slowly.
“Jake, I don’t want to. I feel such a fool. He didn’t really hurt me, and I shouldn’t have hit him.”
“Rubbish!”
Cassia flinched at the harshness in his voice, scrunching her eyes tightly to hold back the welling tears. She had done her best. She hadn’t given anything away.
“Why was he looking for Madeleine, Jake?” She moved the ice back to her cheek as she waited for his reply. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. Nothing added up.
“What did you tell him?” She could see the worry in his eyes, the concern etched on his face.
“I said I didn’t know where she was, and the last time I had seen her was two years ago when she bought one of my sculptures.”
“Thank God for that.”
Putting the ice pack down, she touched her fingers lightly to the lump. She had been right. Madeleine’s safety was paramount. Madeleine and her baby. Jake’s baby. It was natural for him to be concerned about his child and her mother. She shivered as a wave of loneliness coursed through her.
“You’re cold,” Jake said. “It’s the shock; you need to put on something warm.” She sank back into the chair as he stood over her. Waves of anger rolled over her, almost as painful as the punch to her face.
“I’m not cold, Jake. It was just someone walking over my grave.”
Over the resting place of our relationship.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. You go. You need to get back to Madeleine, wherever she is, make sure she’s all right.”
“She’s fine. I’m not going to leave you alone here after what has happened.” Jake’s eyes blazed. “What kind of a man do you think I am?”
The silence was deafening. A blind man could have seen the answer. He was the man who had betrayed her. Thrown away their relationship on a whim. Taken up with his brother’s wife the moment she was out of the picture.
She didn’t respond to his question. She wasn’t sure she could, and there was no point. She had no room right now to think about it. Her teeth were chattering. Her cheek was throbbing, and she was certain someone had tied a metal band around her head and was tightening the pressure, twist by twist, moment by moment.
Jake’s hands were clenched in tight fists, his knuckles white and stretched. She had never seen him so burned up. He folded his arms across his chest. She wanted him to open them and pull her into their safety, but his concern wasn’t for her. Madeleine was his priority. He had made it quite clear. He had made his choice, and now there was the child to consider. Her heart clenched at the memory of the portrait. The blazing green eyes staring out of the little child’s face told it all. She should remember his child, not how she’d like to be in his arms.
She hiccupped and allowed herself the luxury of one small tear. It trickled slowly down her face, the salt stinging the abrasion on her cheek.
***
Jake took a deep breath and looked at his hands. He slowly unclenched his fists. He was so angry. Furious with himself for allowing this to happen, and now, by the look of Cassia’s pale face, he was frightening her. It was the last thing she needed. He hadn’t meant to shout at her. It was just his concern for her safety and an overwhelming need to protect her. He had been waiting on tenterhooks for this to happen ever since Lyle had gotten him caught up in this ridiculous situation.
He had to end it. It was too dangerous. Lyle might think it was all over, but he was wrong, and tonight’s escapade proved it. It would be madness to take her to the farm or involve her further by explaining the whole sorry mess. He had to stay away from her. She had her life, her work. Why would she be willing to give away this life she had created for herself and move farther away from the bright lights of the city? Alan had said her exhibition was going to Melbourne. She would be safe there. The thought of Melbourne made his stomach sink. Sydney was bad, but at least it had its beaches. The weather in Melbourne was awful—overcast skies, gray people, and the dank, dark river snaking its polluted way through the city. He couldn’t live there any more than she could move to the farm.
So much for the gallery and studio.
The memory of his plans sank like a stone. The image of her working there had fueled his enthusiasm, and now it was gone. A picture of her in her dungarees flashed through his mind. Such a dream. Shattered by the success of her exhibition and his failure to keep her safe. He’d made too many mistakes and couldn’t afford any others. She must live her own life, and he must leave her alone.
Her beautiful face was bruised and battered, the red swelling on her cheek blooming like an overblown rose, distorting the perfect symmetry of her coffee-colored eyes. A groan escaped his lips; she was too valuable. She should have everything she deserved in life, not half the truth, not unexplained events, and he certainly didn’t want to put her in danger.
He moved closer to her, his gaze holding hers; he reached his hand out to her cheek, taking care not to hurt her. The taste of her inviting lips was vivid in his memory, but then he paused and, taking a deep, shuddering breath, reined in his desire.
“Cass, what are we going to do? It’s not safe for you to be here on your own.” He sat down, his legs weak, and cradled his head in his hands.
“I’ll be perfectly all right. He’s not going to come back, and the door is locked downstairs,” she said with a blatantly false bravado.
“Stop being so brave, and come over here to me.” He stretched his arm out along the back of the daybed. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of indecision flash through her eyes, but he puffed up a couple of cushions and patted them into place, and she clambered beside him.
“There. Is that more comfortable?” Her body snuggled in against his, and he pulled her close, his chin resting lightly on her tangled curls. He needed to reassure himself as much as he needed to reassure her. “How’s your face feeling?”
The angry mark stood out on her cheekbone, and the bruise was beginning to come out around her eye. She’d have a shiner in the morning.
“It’s not bad.”
“Stay here a bit longer,” he said, inhaling the scent of her hair. Even now, he could smell the exotic perfume she had used. The feel of her so light and soft in his arms brought back the simple pleasure of having her within reach, being able to touch her, to assure himself his happiness wasn’t a dream. Cassia had been the first person in his life to accept him for himself and what he believed in. She had made him feel his decision to go his own way, follow his own beliefs, had been the right one. She’d understood he wasn’t a militant environmentalist bent on destroying the world.
She tried to wriggle away from him, but he tightened his hold, pulled her closer, not wanting to let her go. In fact, he could think of nothing he would like more than to crawl into bed with her and make her forget about the evening, the shock, her bruises—everything.
She squirmed closer. At least with her snuggled up against him, he could pretend he was helping her. He watched her eyes close and her hands fall into her lap. Her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks, contrasting with the red welt. She was quiet, her breathing slowed and deepened, and her body went limp. He sat as still as he could, not wanting to disturb her. He hoped she was sleeping.
“Jake?” Her drowsy voice startled him. “Why is someone looking for Madeleine, and why did you say her safety was paramount?” She paused as if each word were a great weight. “That’s a strange word to use.”
“What is?”
“Paramount. It sounds like something from a movie, something a judge would say in an old American film.”
“You’re thinking of the movie company.”
Anything to change the subject.
He didn’t want to have to be evasive. He didn’t want to leave her questions unanswered.
“But why did the man want to know where Madeleine
was?”
He looked down at her into her open brown eyes, eyes so trusting, so honest. He didn’t deserve her. She didn’t deserve a louse like him keeping her in the dark any longer.
“It’s a long story, Cass, and I’m not sure tonight is the night for it. It’d be better told in daylight when you are feeling better.”
“I’m all right. I already told you.”
“Lyle got himself in a spot of bother, and the guy thought Madeleine might know where he was.”
That isn’t exactly a lie, is it?
“But why didn’t he go to the Shack?”
“Cass, leave it for now. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. You need some rest.”
“I’m all right,” she insisted.
“No, you’re not, and I am going to run you a bath, and then I am going to put you to bed. You need to get a decent night’s sleep.”
Nice one, Jamison, you’ve managed to slide out of it again.
Sometimes he disgusted himself.
“I can do it. I’m fine.” He could have disappeared inside her yawn. “Ouch. My face hurts.”
“It will for a few days. I’ll ring Alan and tell him you won’t be going back to the gallery and make you a cup of tea while you are in the bath. You should take a couple of painkillers. They’ll help you sleep.”
And stop you asking questions I’m not ready to answer.
Her hand slipped into his, and he pulled her to her feet. Such a little hand. He could feel the bones through her translucent skin. Fragile like a bird.
***
Lying in bed with the feather duvet covering her and pillows plumped behind her, the effects of the bath worked their magic. Safe and cocooned, her body finally began to relax.
“How are you feeling now?” Jake’s low, laconic drawl connected deep inside her, sparking a flush of heat low in her belly.