by CC MacKenzie
Sounded like T.C.
Nah, not possible.
"He is sleeping," said a man's voice with a French accent.
Sean tried to stop hearing the voices because the sound hurt his head, the brutal pounding on his skull, the steady beat of agony that pulsated through his chest with each careful breath. And failed wretchedly on all counts.
A gentle hand rested on his forehead.
"I think he's running a fever," said T.C.
What the hell T.C. was doing in the middle of the pain of his nightmare, Sean had no idea.
"Oui. His body is working hard to deal with the severe bruising to his ribs, we may have to intubate him if his breathing does not improve."
Intubate?
"No way," he yelled. At least it was supposed to be a yell. Instead pain knifed up his jaw and he muttered something like, "Nay."
A glorious and wondrous silence reigned.
Only to be broken by,
"Omigod, he spoke. Sean! Sean! Can you hear me?"
Sean swore filthy and furious words in his head that once he opened his eyes he was gonna kill her.
He told himself to roll over.
The molten lava of pain that coursed through his head, his ribs, told him there was no fucking way in hell. He went for something that would require little or no effort, something easy, like opening his eyes. Eyes that felt as if they'd been stuck together with super glue.
Nothing happened.
He was ex-special forces, goddammit.
He tried again and groaned when he was blinded by a too bright light. His eyelids fluttered, like a girly girl, he thought in deep disgust as he battled like a warrior to bring the room and the people in it into some sort of clarity. Then he wished he was still in that dark, dark world. A huge purple teddy bear with a stupid smiling face was staring at him.
He couldn't stop the jerk of surprise. And he swore more filth and bile and the rhythmic pattern of sheer agony was so bad he nearly broke down and cried. Christ, he felt as if he'd been hit by a bus. Eyelids doing the fluttering thing again, his eyes stayed glued to the grinning purple bear.
"Shit. Fuck," he whispered. The thing was at least two feet high and attached to the wrist was a floating silver balloon which said, Get Well Soon!
Who in the name of God would buy him a big ugly bear?
The answer came a lot sooner than expected.
T.C.'s face appeared.
Baby blue eyes peered down into his.
"Hello there, sleepyhead. You're back in the land of the living."
She sounded friendly, for a change.
His mouth curved, displacing a crusty scab on a split lip.
He winced, tried to lift his hand to touch the sting and found he couldn't.
He wiggled his toes, his fingers.
Closed his eyes and took a very careful and relieved breath. A movement that evoked another lava flow of agony so bad the room swam.
Footsteps, male this time, came closer.
He made a valiant attempt to turn his head and failed.
All he could see was that stupid bear.
The smell of antiseptic and flowers hit him.
He was in hospital.
Of course he was in hospital, otherwise, why would the bear want him to get well soon.
Jeez, his thought processes were all over the place.
"Monsieur Kennedy?"
A deep voice brought him back to the room.
It took effort, a lot of effort, but he cranked his eyes open.
Again his vision blurred. He felt a cool hand on his forehead. Again his eyelids fluttered.
Directly in front of him was a middle-aged doctor.
"Monsieur Kennedy?"
"Sean?" T.C. was back, those big blue eyes watching him closely.
He read anxiety, worry.
Theresa Catliff was worried about him? Leaning over him, the neck of her T-shirt gaped a little. His eyes dropped to the curve of those wondrous breasts. The flutter of arousal between his legs told he wasn't nearly dead yet.
"Where am I?" he tried to say and failed.
For a moment her smooth brow creased then her baby blues went wide.
"Where are you?"
"Yah."
"No idea what you're saying. You're in hospital. You went head to head, quite literally, with a bus. The bus won. But by nearly killing yourself, you saved the lives of Anastacia and Danni."
Faltering images of what had happened flickered in his mind.
"They okay?" came out like, "Ayoa?"
She smiled.
"A few bumps. A few bruises. They're back at the hotel. I'm on guard-the-hero duty. You did good, soldier."
"Don-ike-hospitals."
"Me neither," said a cheery T.C. who'd morphed from grunting abuse at him to Chatty Cathy.
"Monsieur Kennedy?" The doctor said to him for the third time. When Sean's eyes turned to him, he smiled. "You are in the Pitie-Salpetriere hospital. You have a concussion, very badly bruised ribs. Nothing broken. You are a lucky man."
He closed his eyes.
He didn't feel lucky.
"His head aches," said T.C. and then she entered into a lengthy discussion about pain medication with the doctor.
One question was niggling at the edge of Sean's brain and no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't grasp it.
He opened his eyes, found big blue ones studying his face.
"You're a mess. Black-eye. Split lip. Huge bump on the temple and bruised jaw. You have a hard head. Don't wanna know what the rest of you looks like."
After very kindly gifting him with that comprehensive list, she smiled.
A real smile.
A smile that made his groin stir.
The question no longer niggled.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in?"
The smile went wide.
"Easy. I'm your fiancée."
She fluttered dense lashes.
He was engaged to T.C.? The room spun and he wondered if he had some sort of weird memory loss.
Something must have shown on his face, because that smile became a soft laugh as she moved close to whisper in his ear.
"I lied."
In his head he said, Bad, bad, girl.
He knew for a fact she was bad to the bone.
Their eyes locked and held.
Something wild, something hot, something alive leaped between them.
Sean burned, even though all he wore was a hospital gown and a white cotton sheet. His skin tingled all over and he had the strange and very weird sensation of having an out of body experience as he floated, suspended in time and space.
T.C.'s blue eyes went dark as her pupils dilated. Her breath seemed to stop and then begin again, only this time it was faster.
"You're not from this planet, are you?" she said, and broke the moment.
"I might not be from your world, Theresa, but then I doubt many people are."
"Don't start arguing with me, soldier boy. You're in a weakened state and I'll just kick your ass."
"Don't worry." He closed his eyes against the wicked glint in his. "I always bounce back," he murmured and let sleep claim him.
He didn't feel her fingertips stroke his cheek or the gentle kiss she placed on his sore mouth.
T.C. gazed down into that bruised and battered face and knew that something big had happened in that moment when their eyes held. There was no point in denying they'd both felt it.
She heaved a big sigh.
If only things had been different.
If only she could have a normal life with someone like Sean Kennedy.
A man she just knew would give her a run for her money.
Then again, there was nothing to stop her sleeping with him, once he was better.
However, she'd need to make it clear she wanted nothing more than hot sex.
Still touching his face, she wondered if that would be enough for either of them.
Perhaps she was playing with fire.
A girl might get badly burned, even be consumed, if she played with fire.
As she turned away, she gave the purple teddy bear a pat on the head. He'd hated the very sight of it. Sean Kennedy wasn't exactly the teddy bear type. The thought made her smile. She'd won this round with him. Something told her she'd need to have her wits about her to win the next one. She couldn't wait.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"You will feel better after a bath."
"More like you just want to get me naked," muttered Anastacia still sitting on the edge of the bed. Her brain kept jumping in flashback from scene to scene. She kept seeing Sean lying on his side, eyes closed, face too pale. At one point she'd thought he wasn't breathing. The panic she'd experienced in the moment leapt to her throat.
Olivier didn't smile, if anything his eyes went even darker.
"Always."
She blinked up into his face, having no idea what he was talking about.
Olivier watched the way her eyes went hazy and dazed and knew Ana was in no fit state to talk about their future. And he suspected she was suffering from shock. Who could blame her? He was in shock himself. When he'd got the call that she and Danni had been literally thrown under a bus, his heart had stopped beating before stuttering to a start. He'd never forget racing to her side to find her alive and clutching Danni. He'd never forget being scared to death either.
It didn't matter about their problems.
They'd get through them like any other couple.
She was rocking back and forth just staring unblinking into space.
He went into the bathroom, picked up a bottle of scented oil, opened it, sniffed and poured it under water gushing out of the fancy tap on the wall.
The scent of lavender flowers rose in the steam.
When there was enough water in the tub, he turned off the tap and returned to find Ana still sitting where he'd left her.
He began to strip her himself.
His hands were gentle as he removed her shoes and checked her feet, her legs, for bumps and bruises, very relieved when he found none.
Her arms rose and he peeled her dress over her head, unclasped the fragile silk of her bra to release exquisite breasts. Again, he gently explored her ribs, her torso and shoulders looking for anything. He frowned when he found a livid bruise blooming on her shoulder blade. That had to hurt.
After sliding her panties down long legs, he lifted her in his arms and placed her in the water, making sure her hair slid over the edge. He grabbed a hair tie and secured the curls on top of her head.
"Are you climbing in, too?"
Her eyes were a vividly violet blue and too big for her face.
She looked tired.
She looked a little bit broken.
And it killed him.
"Not tonight. You need to relax, de-stress. Then we will eat. You will accept protection both here and in the UK."
Her eyes flicked to his.
"I wasn't the target."
"Si, I know this. Pascal is organizing personal protection for Danni, too. He is a wealthy man. He will not risk her being harmed again."
"She nearly died today."
"Si, but she did not and you did not, thanks to Sean."
She hissed out a breath as she sank into the hot water and sighed as she lay back, closed weary eyes.
He got himself a beer, leaned against the bathroom door frame as he sipped it, and watched her ashen face warm as she finally relaxed.
Alive, he told himself.
Alive and well and with him.
Thank God.
The next morning Anastacia awoke to a new day.
For a moment she couldn't recall where she was and then remembered the night before.
Olivier.
She turned her head to find him lying on his belly, facing her.
His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and steady.
Fast asleep.
He'd been amazing with her last night.
Gentle.
Supportive.
Wonderful.
She'd eaten a light meal and had a single glass of red wine, for medicinal purposes, he'd said. And as soon as her head had hit the pillow, she'd dropped like a stone into sleep.
She stretched like a cat, arching her back, and felt the ache in her shoulder.
It wasn't too bad.
She'd gotten off lucky.
Olivier watched her through his lashes and felt himself stir as she arched her back, rolled her sore shoulder. Maybe he should offer her a back rub, or a hug, both might help her feel better. Then he had an idea of something else that might ease her mind, if only for a little while.
"You owe me," he murmured.
She turned her head to look at him.
The horrible scowl on her beautiful face didn't surprise him.
It didn't take long for Anastacia Morgan to bounce back to her old self.
"What?"
"Make-up sex."
Now the scowl turned into a darkly glowering look.
God, he adored her.
"I don't owe you any kind of sex for something I did not do."
He was prepared to cut her a bit of slack, to a point.
"We had a fight," he reminded her.
"Yeah, one you started and I finished."
"I apologized for being stupid."
"An apology doesn't make everything right."
"It does if you accept it," he shot back."
"I don't."
Now it was his turn to scowl. "You are a hard and stubborn woman."
He watched her grab the sheet to cover her breasts, sit up and cast her eyes around the room. On the floor was a T-shirt. She flipped over, giving him a wonderful view of her bare bottom, grabbed the T-shirt and pulled it on.
He hid a wide grin.
It was one of his.
"I don't agree to make-up sex," she said as she sat back against the headboard and folded her arms.
"Okay." He got out of bed, thrust his legs into his jeans, pulled up the zip and strode from the room.
By the time he returned with a breakfast tray and coffee, she was flat on her back and appeared to be dozing.
Anastacia would have sworn that less than a minute had passed when she inhaled the wondrous smell of fresh coffee.
She peeled open her eyes to find Olivier sitting on the edge of the bed sipping his drink.
He held out the mug.
"Are you drinking my coffee?"
"I made it for you and thought I should test it, make sure it was just as you like it."
Her eyes held his. "Is this you trying to be a good boyfriend?"
"How am I doing?"
"Not bad."
She pushed up to sitting, mumbled thanks, then took the mug and drank.
"A good boyfriend might wanna rub my back," she muttered.
"I live only to serve."
Her mouth twitched and so did his in response.
"A good boyfriend might, if he's lucky, get shower sex."
His brow winged into his hairline.
"We will call it a debt paid in full."
Oh, she was so very tempted to just let everything rest there. To forget the problems and paper over the cracks in their relationship that had got her into this situation and the break-up with Olivier in the first place. Namely Jake Thornton.
"You know, I was never one for the boys until I stumbled over you," she said.
His smile was wide and white.
"Grazie, Ana."
"Wipe the smirk off your face. Anyway, before I met you I had a romance with Jake." He wasn't smiling now. "Not that there was much of a romance. I was stupid."
"I find that hard to believe."
"Believe it. He... sort of dug deep into my psyche to work out who I wanted him to be. If that makes sense..." She stared at him. "Does that make sense?"
Olivier nodded, remembering how he'd believed Natalia was someone she wasn't, never had been. And how he had felt like a fool. In many ways,
still did.
"It seems we each learned a lesson," he said softly.
"Maybe. Maybe not." She took a deep breath before continuing, "To me sex wasn't big a deal. I wanted to find out what it was like."
He was amazed he'd never asked her the question. "Jake was your first?"
"Not quite."
"What does that mean?"
"That the first time didn't count. Jake was the second, but it wasn't until you that I realized what the big fuss was about."
He laughed.
God, she killed him.
"When he kissed me, I sort of had a weird flash-back to another time. A short time when things had been good. But it only lasted about a second. And unfortunately that's what you saw. It meant nothing."
Her eyes clung to his and he read the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And it was as if a huge weight had lifted from his shoulders.
He bent down to kiss her hard on the mouth.
Then he stood, peeled off his jeans, and saw her pupils dilate.
Without saying a single word, he strode into the bathroom and slapped on the shower.
Finishing her coffee, Anastacia thought the conversation had gone well, considering.
At the sound of the shower, she slid from the bed and moved to join him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Anastacia watched him from the door.
Olivier had his back to her, his palms braced on the tile, allowing spray from four-fold jets hiss over him. His hair was sleek and black as jet, his taut skin glossy. He had a long back, she took her sweet time to just enjoy studying a body made purely for sin, the tightly toned ass, and strong muscles of his back, his legs.
Stripping off his T-shirt, she slid in and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressed her body against his back. She licked and suckled his shoulder.
"Hmm, you taste good enough to eat."
"You sound hungry."
"I am, for this..." To make sure he received the message loud and clear, she slid her hands down and found him. "Hot and hard and primed and ready, just how I like it."
"All you have to do is touch me," he groaned.
And then his forehead hit the wall as she pumped him fast and hard.
"Lucky me."
He whipped around, caught her face between his hands to kiss her mouth, her eyelid and then the next. "I am the lucky one."