Storm Damages

by Magda Alexander

  But as it turns out, I don’t need to go that far. I emerge from the bathroom to find Gabriel in the hallway, propping up a wall. “I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong.” Straightening up his tall frame, he pins a cold, unflinching gaze on me.

  He’s been there a while. That much is clear. “Just powdering my nose.”

  All six three of him stalk up to me. Without saying a word, he takes my arm and drags me up the stairs.

  My heart skitters, skips. “Where are we going?”

  “To the library. We need to talk.” His tread on the steps is firm, sure.

  “Talk?” Does he mean an actual conversation or something else?

  “It will give us the privacy we need.”

  Privacy for what? Sex? After ignoring me an entire week? I don’t think so. I briefly entertain the thought of wrestling free, but I have no hope of doing so, not by the way he’s gripping my elbow.

  As soon as we step into the library, he releases me, and then locks the door. To keep someone out or me in?

  Walking into the space, I rub my hands up and down arms suddenly gone cold. The library is beyond beautiful. Bookshelves, stocked to the brim with books of all sizes, line the walls from ceiling to floor. In the center, an open Atlas rests on a large reading table, next to which a huge globe resides. Here and there, burgundy leather wing arm chairs laze, including an inviting duo near the fireplace at the other end while a cream-colored rug, thick enough to sink your toes into, covers the floor. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its brilliance muted, while cozy lighting, composed of floor lamps, sconces and table lamps, illuminates the place. Given half a chance, I could learn to love this room.

  “Please sit.” He points to one of the chairs around the hearth before strolling toward a corner cabinet which holds crystal glasses and a decanter filled with an amber liquid. “Would you like some cognac?”

  “No, thank you.” I’m pregnant, and I need to keep a level head.

  He pours a healthy splash of the liquor into a snifter.

  I didn’t miss his bleary eyes when I first arrived. Or the wine and champagne he drank during dinner. “Haven’t you had enough?”

  “Not nearly.” He knocks back the drink, grimacing as he swallows, before he stalks toward me and clasps his hands on the arms of my chair. “Why did you do it? Was it money, advancement, what?”

  What is he talking about? His heavy breathing and wildly flaring eyes alarm me, but trapped as I am, I can’t evade him, so I brave it out. “Why did I do what?”

  He cups my chin swivels my head right then left while his gaze scrutinizes me. “My God, what an actress you are. I can’t detect an ounce of deceit in your eyes.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He lets out a mirthless laugh and storms away before turning back to confront me. “The papers your boss pushed under my nose on Monday. Did you think I wouldn’t realize they were photocopies of the documents I was reviewing in the Park Suite?”

  A light’s beginning to glimmer. “And you think I made copies and gave them to him?”

  “Who else could have done so? Other than me, you were the only one in the room.” His eyes flash with anger, no mistaking that emotion.

  “Lots of people from Storm Industries had to have those papers. Surely, you were not the only one.”

  He waves his hand in the air. “Not with my comments on the margins. I wrote those notes that day, when you were in the suite with me.” His usually melodious voice vibrates with the force of his feelings.

  Flying out of the chair, I start to deny his accusation. But then I realize he’s given me the opening I need. I haven’t prayed for many years, but now? Yeah, I beg God to give me the strength I need to say what I have to say convincingly enough so he’ll believe me.

  I shrug, smile. “You got me. How could I pass up such a chance? Our client got a bigger check, which of course means more money for my firm.”

  For a second he freezes, and then he pounds the ground to loom over me. “A small part of me hoped you’d deny it, but you not only admit it but gloat? Do you know what this cost me?”

  “Eighty million dollars.” I shrug. Like it’s no big deal. “Storm Industries can afford such a sum. It’s a multi-billion dollar company after all.”

  “I had to mortgage the Brighton.”

  His beautiful home. I recall his pride in the place and my soul howls with anguish. Knowing the emotion must be clear on my face, I turn my back on him. “Sorry about that.” God. Even to my own ears, I sound remorseful. Gotta do better than that. I swivel around. “But business is business after all.”

  He picks me up, drops me on the reading table. Fire flashes in his eyes, and I know I’ve gone too far. But I can’t get away.

  In the blink of an eye, his mood shifts and he goes from angry to sad. Tears fill his eyes. “Why did you betray me?” His hand curls around my cheek. “I trusted you. Loved you. I thought you loved me too.”

  Deny it. “I never said such a thing.”

  He circles my jaw, caresses my skin. “You want to know the worst? I still want you. I still yearn to gaze into your lying eyes and believe you love me too.” My hair’s come loose. He buries his head in its depth, breathing hard. “I love the way you smell. Like gardenias.”

  A bit of my heart chips away. I have to leave now. Before I break down. “I better go.”

  “Stay,” he whispers against my ear. I shiver, maybe for the last time.

  “I can’t. I have to return to the hotel and pack.” And cry, because there’s no way I can avoid that.

  “You don’t understand.” He raises his head from my shoulder, holds my head in those big hands of his. “I want you to remain in London.”

  “What?”

  He touches his forehead to mine, even as his palm caresses my nape. “You like The Brighton, don’t you? I’ll put one of the co-ops under your name. You can live there rent free.”

  Ice spreads through my limbs, freezing me. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Only one way to find out. “What about money, jewelry?”

  “Anything you want. Please stay.” He drops a kiss on my lips. His are warm, soft. Mine are the cold of a winter chill.

  When he ends the kiss, I say, “A job at Storm Industries.”

  He chuckles, but there is no humor to his laugh. “No, not that. I couldn’t trust you not to betray me again.”

  My heart breaks from the misery I’ve wrought. “And what would I have to do for the co-op, the money, the jewelry, anything I wished?”

  The heated kiss he gives me sings through my veins, reminding me of everything we had, everything I’ve lost. “Be my love.”

  “You mean your whore? You bastard.” Pushing against him, I jump off the table.

  He stumbles back, brushes a hand across his brow. He appears confused, disoriented. “That’s not what I meant.”

  I grab my clutch from the chair where I left it and run toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  In two strides, he catches up and snags the doorknob.“You can’t go. You can’t leave me.”

  “Yeah? Watch me.” I fight to get the door open but he’s bigger and stronger than me. “Gabriel, let go.”

  He falls to his knees, and his grip loosens on the knob. “Please, don’t go.”

  Oh, God. I can’t take more of this. I have to leave now before I renege on my lies and beg him to forgive me. After I wrestle the door open, I race down the stairs, surprising the hell out of a footman standing at the front of the house. Without bothering to get my wrap, I run out into a night filled with thunder, lightning, pain and walk for miles, not knowing if the dew on my face is from my tears or the soft, falling rain.

  Chapter 33

  ______________

  Gabriel

  SHE’S GONE. She and the entire Smith Cannon contingent took off on British Airways at two thirty this afternoon.

  I don’t remember much about what t
ranspired last night between Elizabeth and me. All I recall is her admission of guilt and her walking out without once looking back. Everything else is hazy. But then, that’s more than enough, isn’t it? Chances are we argued after I accused her of her betrayal. And then she raced down the stairs and out into a stormy night, forgetting her shawl. The one I now hold in my hands.

  This morning I woke up in my bed at The Brighton with a worried Bri hanging over me. Apparently, a footman found me on the library floor, unconscious. Before they could call a doctor, I came to and insisted on coming home.

  Bri was here all morning, insisting I eat. Royce and Jake dropped by to check on me. They thought I’d passed out drunk last night, but Bri suspects otherwise. I got rid of them all, even Bri, although first I had to swear I would go to the doctor. Even then, she left only when I promised not to leave the penthouse the rest of the weekend. A promise I intended to keep.

  But now?

  The meds don’t handle my pounding headache. Neither does the half bottle of Courvoisier I drank after they all left. Worse than that, everything in the bloody place reminds me of Elizabeth. The sofa where I kissed her soft lips, the kitchen where she poured out her hopes and dreams for her future, the bedroom where I made sweet love to her. Hell, I can’t even go to the loo without thinking of her. Her intoxicating scent is everywhere, torturing me every time I breathe. Of course, clutching her wrap like a security blanket doesn’t help.

  Fuck it! I can’t be here anymore.I grab my jacket and take the lift to the parking garage where I keep several automobiles. I’ll take a ride, drag some fresh air into my lungs. Not London. The country. The cottage with the cherry orchard I bought in Kent. I’ll find peace there, the peace that eluded me my whole life and only found in Elizabeth.

  As I turn on the ignition, I note the time on the car clock. A little after eight. Her plane should be landing just about now. Should I call her? No, she might not pick up. I don’t care what she’s done. She’s damaged. But then so am I. We’ll work on her issues—trust, love—while we work on mine. And maybe we can find happiness. Together.

  I locate her number in my mobile. With no recollection of what transpired between us, I struggle to find the right words to reach her. I go for the obvious. The sentiments I should have expressed to her. “I love you. Please forgive me. Marry me, Elizabeth.”

  I don’t move, hardly breathe, while an eternity goes by.

  When my phone pings, I steady my trembling hand to read her answer.

  “I’ll never forgive you. Do not contact me again.”

  Oh, Elizabeth. I drop my head against the steering wheel while the tears roll unheeding down my face. My heart. It hurts so much. Almost as much as my head. I drag in a deep breath and end up coughing, deepening the pain.

  When bright lights flare, I glance up. Where am I? The Jag? Why? Am I going somewhere? And then it comes back to me. The country. That’s right. The cottage I bought in Kent. I wanted to take Elizabeth there, but we didn’t have time. And now there will be none. A drive to the cottage will clear my head, make the pain go away. Once I arrive I can lie down beneath the cherry trees and finally, finally, find some peace.

  The miles roll on. Thankfully few cars tool down the motorway along with me. The car drifts to the side and I jerk the wheel back just in time to keep from tipping over into a ditch. Slide down the window, you fool! When I do, the cool air braces me. For a few seconds at least. But soon my eyes drift close. A car passes me, blasting its horn, and I jerk them open wide.

  Bloody hell.

  I need to pull over before I cause an accident. I’m edging to the shoulder when the excruciating pain hits. Like nothing I’ve known before. “Aarrrgghhhhhh.” I can’t see. I can’t bloody well see. I brake hard, pull the wheel to the left, hoping against hope I don’t hurt anyone else.

  A split second later metal grinds and something bounces against me, so hard my chest screams with pain. I’m whipped around and around as everything in my world turns over once, twice. I end up upside down, held in my seat by something. The safety belt? My leg screams in agony. I can’t catch my breath. Something warm and sticky flows down the back of my head. Blood. Has to be. What did I run into? Oh, God, please don’t let it be another car. I try to rise but the wheel, the dashboard pin me in.

  Noises, voices come at me from the outside. “You all right, mate?”

  “No.” My voice is so weak I can’t hear myself.

  “Emergency transport’s on the way. Hang on.”

  I want to laugh at the joke since I’m hanging upside down. But a sledgehammer lands on my head and everything goes black.

  Chapter 34

  ______________

  Elizabeth

  SOMEONE GENTLY SHAKES MY SHOULDER. I blink, slowly open my eyes.

  Brian, on the seat next to me. He changed his ticket from first class to coach and managed to snag two seats together on the back of the plane. He’s been kind enough to pull a blanket over my shoulder.

  “Have we landed?” I’ve slept most of the plane ride to Dulles. God knows I needed the rest, but still.

  “Yes. A couple of minutes ago. They’re sorting out first class.” His eyes telegraph kindness. And quite a bit of concern. He snaps open the overhead compartment. “Just your shoulder bag, right?”

  “Yes.” I stand up and glance over the seats. CeCe’s up front looking back. I wave to show her I’m okay. Well, not really. Alive is about all I can lay claim to at the moment. She wanted to sit in the back with me, but she suffers from poor blood flow to her legs and I wasn’t about to let her risk a clot.

  “Here you go.” Brian rests my bag on the spot he occupied.

  “Thanks.” Needing to let Casey know I landed, I retrieve my purse from underneath the seat next to me. But I can’t find my cell in its usual place. I finally locate it in an outside pocket. “Strange.”

  “What?” Brian asks.

  “My cell. It was in the wrong place.”

  “Maybe you shoved it in there last time you used it. You were a little upset.”

  A little? I’d called Brianna to thank her and say goodbye, but in the middle of our conversation, I’d burst into tears. CeCe and Brian had swarmed in, joking and carrying on around me, while I got myself back together. Thankfully, it worked, because no one from the Smith Cannon so much as glanced at me, but remained buried in their electronics or conversation with each other. Brian changed seats right after that, claiming I needed a seat buddy. Upset as I was, I didn’t have the strength to say no.

  “I guess.” I’m so tired all I want to do is sleep for the next twenty-four hours after I get home. But first I need to show Brian my appreciation for what he’’s done. “Thank you for helping me out.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looks at me from his great height, and a frisson of something runs through me.

  He’s tall. Almost as tall as ... No. I’m not thinking about him. I glance past the sea of bodies. First class has emptied. CeCe waves back at me before stepping out into the aisle.

  Brian touches my upper arm to get my attention, leans closer to me. “I know this is neither the time nor place, but something happened to you in London. And I just wanted to say, if you need a friend. I’m there for you.”

  “Brian, I can’t.” I start tearing up. Last thing I need right now is another man.

  “Hey,” he puts his arms around me in a really awkward hug, given his height and the overhead compartment. “I just want to be your friend, that’s all.”

  I try to gauge his sincerity in the iffy cabin light. What I see there reassures me. “I could use a friend right about now.”

  His smile would light up Manhattan. “Good.”

  I smile back before I dial Casey to let him know I’m here. He’s waiting for me in the terminal. After I end our conversation, I tuck the phone in my purse’s inside pocket, still wondering how I managed to put it in the wrong place before.

  Chapter 35

  ______________

  Gabriel
>
  “GABE, DARLING, PLEASE WAKE UP.” A woman’s voice drifts into my consciousness, along with mechanical beeps, whirls, a whooshing sound.

  Where am I? I struggle to formulate an answer, but my mouth won’t work. I hurt all over. My stomach, my leg, my head.

  “Oh, why won’t you wake up?” Someone pinches my hand—hard—and pain shoots up my arm to fuse with the rest of the agony.

  “The man’s been through a lot. You might want to take it easy on him.” A deep male timbre.

  Yes, obey the man.

  A sob. “What if he never wakes up, Jake? What am I going to do?”

  The air stirs around me. Somebody’s moving. Alarmed I’ll be on the receiving end of more pain, I force my eyes open.

  A woman, blonde, beautiful, tears streaming down her face, sits by me, her head on the shoulder of a dark-haired man kneeling next to her.

  “Give it time,” the man says. “The doctors said it would take a few days for him to wake up.” He rubs a thumb across her flawless face, wiping away her tears.

  My hand twitches underneath hers. I want to comfort her.

  She sits up, stares at the hand, stares at me. “Oh, Gabe, you’re awake.” Her face lights up with a bright, bright smile. She holds the pinched hand to her damp cheek. “How are you, darling?”

  Digging deep, I will my tongue to the task. “F-f-fine.”

  “I’ll go get the doctor.” The dark-haired stranger races out of the room, leaving me alone with the beautiful blonde.

  “We were so worried about you. But now you’re awake, you’ll be up and about in no time. You’ll see.”

  The excruciating pain and a broken leg up in a sling tells me otherwise. Even more troublesome than my pain is my recollection. My name’s Gabe. I got that much. But everything else—time, place, her. Not a clue. “Who are you?”