Full Exposure: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance

by Tracy Wolff

The doctor took in his blood spattered clothes and various bandages and sighed, “Of course you are.”

  “Can I take her home?”

  “No, Mr. Riley, you cannot. While her concussion is relatively mild, I still think she needs to be observed. She’s taken a pretty bad beating.”

  “I know. And I’ve tried to calm her down, tried to convince her to stay.” He acknowledged the doctor’s skeptical look. “I have. But look, she’s had it rough.” He explained the situation, watched the doctor’s expression change from impatience to horror and finally to acceptance.

  After studying Kevin for a minute, he sighed loudly. “Let me talk to the nurse and check Serena one more time. Then we’ll talk.”

  He returned a few minutes later, shaking his head. “You’re right. She isn’t going to settle here.” He looked Kevin in the eye, his gaze direct and absolute. “If I let you take her home, you have to promise to watch her closely. And I want to see her in my office tomorrow morning.”

  He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to Kevin. “Call and make an appointment. Tell my receptionist I want to see her first thing in the morning. And if she doesn’t look good, I’m putting her back in the hospital. Even if I have to knock her out to do it. Do I make myself clear?”

  Kevin nodded. “Absolutely. Thanks, man. I really appreciate this.”

  “Take care of her.”

  “I will.”

  The doctor merely shook his head. “The nurse is working on the discharge papers. She should be ready to go in about twenty minutes.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Kevin sat in a chair by the side of his bed, a small light burning on the nightstand and his sketchpad in his lap. Serena was sleeping, finally, though she tossed and turned restlessly. He reached out a hand to soothe her, loving the feel of her petal-soft skin beneath his.

  She’d insisted on a shower when she’d gotten home and he hadn’t had the heart to deny her. Though the hospital had cleaned her up pretty well, he understood her need to wash the day’s events away. So he’d taken one with her, holding her limp body up and washing her hair before settling her in bed with a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup.

  She’d eaten a little, but by then she’d relaxed enough for the medication to finally take effect, and she’d fallen asleep over her tray. He’d been sitting by the bed ever since, watching her, thinking about how close he’d come to losing her.

  He needed to call Grayson. The police who’d answered Serena’s 911 call had assured him that they’d get in touch with the detective, but he still felt the need to touch base. To find out what was going to happen to Rawlins now—if he even lived after Serena’s fireplace poker stunt. Surely he couldn’t buy his way out the way LaFleur had—he didn’t have the money or the status to pull it off. And if he tried, well, Kevin had a lot of money of his own to throw around.

  He stroked his pencil lightly over a piece of blank paper, drawing more for comfort than any artistic purpose. He sketched the fine lines of Serena’s face and the long, slender column of her neck. Then he began to fill in the details—the high cheekbones, the long eyelashes—but the paper kept blurring in front of him.

  He b the tears back, astounded that he was crying for the first time in his adult life. As much as Deb had hurt and angered him, he’d never shed one tear for her—had never even considered it. But Serena had nearly died today, with him less than fifty yards away. And he hadn’t even known she was in danger until it was almost too late.

  Standing up he crossed to the window and looked outside into the darkness of the bayou. He loved this woman, had known that he loved her for weeks now. But he hadn’t made a move, hadn’t cemented things between them. Structure had never been that important to him before—he lived his life his way and to hell with what others had to say.

  But he wanted Serena, and not just for a little while. He wanted her for a lifetime, tied to him legally, emotionally, in every way a man could bind a woman to him. He wanted to watch her grow ripe with his child, to see what she’d look like at forty. And fifty and sixty and seventy.

  But what did she want? She’d never said the words, had never told him that she loved him. But he felt it—in the way she touched his hand, in the way she kissed him, even in the way she always came home with an addition to his stash of Twinkies.

  She had to love him—now that he’d found her, he couldn’t handle the thought of life without her. When Deb had left it had hurt, but if Serena left him he didn’t think he’d ever recover. She was it for him. This was the woman he was destined to spend the rest of his life with. As long as she cooperated.

  Serena moved restlessly, moaning, as she shifted in her sleep to find a more comfortable position. Rawlins had really done a number on her—there was barely an inch of her poor body that wasn’t black and blue.

  Anger rose in him again, and he wished, not for the first time, that he had killed Jack Rawlins and gotten him out of her life for good. This new, bloodthirsty side of himself surprised him, because while he’d never run from a fight, he’d never looked for one either. He lived out here alone because he liked it, because any extended contact with people—harmless or violent—was too much for him. He craved his isolation.

  Of course, that was before Serena. Now, he could picture himself living happily with her, seeing her face every day, hearing the laughter of their children as they played in the backyard. Not that he was ready to do anything as drastic as moving to the city, but having a few people around wouldn’t be so bad.

  Serena moaned again, crying out as she rolled onto a badly bruised shoulder. He was furious that Jack had gotten his hands on her, but he was also incredibly proud of the woman he loved. Never in a million years would he have put her as the type to pour boiling soup down a man and then stab him in the back with a fireplace poker.

  But he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d known all along that there was a lot more to that calm, cool exterior than she showed the world. Today he’d simply found out that there was more there than he’d ever expected.

  “Kevin?” Her voice was husky with sleep and he turned to find her sitting up in bed, staring at him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, crossing to her and sinking to his knees at the head of the bed.

  She smiled. “I’m fine. But I miss you. Aren’t you coming to bed soon?”

  “I promised the doctor I’d watch you.”

  “You can watch me from bed.” Her smile was frankly sensuous. “Anyway, I’m fine.”

  “I know. But I’m going to make sure of it.” He brushed his hand over her hair in a gesture so achingly familiar it nearly broke her heart. “Are you thirsty?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She patted the spot next to her. “Come to bed, Kevin. I want you to hold me.”

  “I’m coming, bebe.” Facing her fear of the dark was definitely not something she needed to do tonight, so he turned on the bathroom light before flipping off the bedside lamp and easing himself gingerly onto the bed beside her. Ignoring his concerns, she reached out and dragged him closer, laughing when he protested.

  “Stop treating me like glass. I’m a little sore. So what? I still want to feel you against me.” She wrapped herself around him, pillowing her head on his chest and throwing her left leg over his.

  Serena breathed deeply, letting Kevin’s familiar smell wash over her. She could finally sleep now, with his warm and solid body against hers. She could finally feel safe. She didn’t know where Jack was now, or where he was going to end up. In the morning she knew she’d want to know why he’d done the things he’d done. But for tonight she didn’t want to think about him—refusing to give him any more importance in her life than she already had.

  Snuggling closer to Kevin, she listened as his heart beat rhythmically beneath her ear. “You’re not going to sleep, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” She pulled away, looked at him in the dim light. “I’m fine.”

  His smile was gentle. “I kno
w. But it doesn’t hurt to be sure.”

  “Kevin—”

  “Stop arguing and go to sleep.” He gently pressed her head back to his chest. “It’s the best thing for your headache.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, Serena! Get some rest or that doctor will send you back to the hospital tomorrow.”

  She sighed huffily, but didn’t say another word. He found himself grinning at the ceiling as she drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Serena fought to keep from snarling as she watched Kevin leave his studio and head to the house. He’d taken her to the doctor yesterday, who had pronounced her definitely on the mend. But had that stopped him from coddling her? Not even close. He hadn’t left her side once yesterday and this was the fifth time today he’d made the trek from his studio to the house—how he was getting any work done she didn’t know. God knows, he was certainly interfering with her work.

  With a grimace, she closed the screen of digital images she was categorizing. All she needed was Kevin leaning over her shoulder, complaining about each and every picture. Especially with her deadline looming two days closer.

  She had to leave tomorrow. Much as she’d tried to ignore her responsibilities and pretend that she didn’t, she knew that her time with Kevin was drawing to an end. She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples in an effort to alleviate the pounding headache that had suddenly broken through the pain pills.

  What was she going to say to him? How would she tell him that it was over? He thought he loved her, told her so nearly every day. But she couldn’t love him back, wouldn’t love him back. She’d lost everyone she ever cared about and she wasn’t strong enough to make it through losing him too.

  Look at Jack. Besides Kevin, he was the only person she’d truly trusted in the almost eleven years since Sandra’s death and he’d ended up being a certified, documented sociopath. Detective Grayson had called late last night, had told them of the heavy-duty medication in Jack’s apartment. Of the sick shrine he’d built to her—complete with copies of her sister’s homicide photos. Of the room in the back of his house equipped with chains and every torture device imaginable.

  Kevin had nearly lost it then—shouting and cursing in French, throwing the phone across the room. She’d known, instinctively, that he was imagining her in Jack’s little shop of horrors—something that she had tried very hard not to do. She found it so hard to believe that she’d trusted Jack, had gone to him for help, had defended him to Kevin. What on earth had she been thinking? How had she been so blind to what was really going on in the ADA’s head? Her radar had never so much as beeped.

  So how could she trust her judgment again? Her heart told her Kevin would never do anything to hurt her and she believed it. But she knew herself—knew how much more fragile this latest betrayal had made her. She was a total basket case—only one, small nervous breakdown away from the same mental institution that was currently housing Jack.

  The thought of leaving Kevin now ripped her apart. How much worse would it be if she stayed and something happened later on? She’d never recover and Kevin would be smart enough to figure it out, kind enough to stay with her when leaving was the best option.

  Which was just one more reason that it was time to move on. Maybe she had refused to acknowledge her love for Kevin yet—but she cared about him and wanted what was best for him. Those were just two more reasons it was past time to move on. She wasn’t good for herself, let alone anyone else. Her life was a slippery, nightmarish slope and asking anyone else to share it was absurd. Kevin—for all his surly masculinity—craved his solitary life. What would her absurd, horrifying existence end up doing to Kevin if she stayed?

  If he really believed that he loved her, a clean break was better. She’d thought long and hard over the past twenty-four hours about whether or not she wanted to continue the relationship. But it wasn’t a matter of want. Or even need. She couldn’t continue with this thing, couldn’t let Kevin start building his life around hers. Her life was such a mess—as evinced by the events of the past forty-eight hours—how could she still look at herself in the mirror if she asked him to take all of her baggage on?

  Besides, it would have to end eventually. She’d rather end it now, when there were good feelings between them than let it drag on and end with broken promises, missed meetings, and burning bitterness. No, clean and quick was definitely better. And if her heart hurt just looking at him, that was one more reason to end it.

  Kevin had reached the porch, though the tears in her eyes blurred her view of him. Serena blinked, rapidly, desperate to hide the signs of her emotional weakness. She was smiling when Kevin reached the kitchen, and if the smile didn’t touch her eyes, it would be hard for him to notice around the bruises.

  “Hey there, gorgeous!” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist, absorbing his wonderful scent for one of the last times.

  “Hey, yourself.” He looked around the kitchen, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been working,” he accused.

  “Only a little.” She turned her back on him, closed her computer. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve got a choice. The deadline for the book is looming, Kevin.”

  “Call Steve. Tell him to explain the situation to them. They’ll understand.”

  “I don’t miss deadlines.”

  “I know, cher. But this is different. You’re malad. Sick,” he elaborated at her blank look.

  “I’m not sick. I was punched. And pardon me if I don’t want to broadcast that fact to the world.”

  Kevin sighed wearily. “Serena, bebe. You don’t have to tell him the whole story. Though I don’t understand why you’re ashamed of it. You’re the victim here.”

  “I’m done talking about it, Kevin.” She put a hand up when he started to protest. “No, I mean it. I’m finished.”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously, though he didn’t say another word. Serena looked at him suspiciously, not trusting his easy capitulation. It was so un-Kevin-like. What exactly was he up to?

  “So when do you need to head back to Baton Rouge?” he asked, his voice a rough velvet rasp that curled her toes.

  “Tomorrow. I have pictures that need to be developed and sorted through, though I have a pretty good idea which ones I want to use in the book.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Already?” he asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then come with me. And bring your camera. I have something I want you to see.”

  “What is it?” she asked, already reaching for her camera bag.

  “You’ll see. And while I know that it’s your vision that’s going into the book, I really want this to be a part of it.”

  Her furrowed brow smoothed out. “You’ve finished your sculpture! Oh, Kevin, that’s wonderful! I can’t wait to see it!” She stepped out the door in front of him, practically dancing in her eagerness to see his newest creation. She’d watched him work on each of the various parts of it in the last couple of weeks, but she’d been dying to see the whole thing put together.

  This sculpture seemed special to her, and not just because he’d commented more than once on it being the best thing he’d ever done—his talent was so great that nearly everything he did was head and shoulders above the competition. Maybe it was the intimacy of her connection to the piece—watching it form from nothing into pieces that were beautiful on their own. She could only imagine how stunning it was when completely assembled.

  “Hurry up, let’s go,” she said, rushing across the grass that separated the two buildings.

  Kevin grinned at her enthusiasm. “What if you hate it?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I won’t! I’ve been wanting to see it finished forever!”

  “I’ve only been working on it for a couple of weeks. It’s come together much faster than a lot of my work.”

  “Blah, blah, blah. It’s seemed like a lot longer, let me tell you. Can you tell me what it is now? You wouldn’t before.”

  “I said that you’
d either see it—”

  “Or I wouldn’t. I know, I know. But I really want to be able to see it.”

  He pushed open to door to his studio. “You will. I’ve got faith in you.”

  Serena walked in, her face raised expectantly to the ceiling. But this piece was nowhere near as large as some of his sculptures, rather it was quite petite and delicate in stature. Her eyes widened as she looked at the graceful lines, the metal curved and flowing like water from the top of the sculpture.

  She tilted her head, her eyes growing wider and wider. It couldn’t be, but it certainly looked—No. It couldn’t be. She walked around the sculpture slowly, searching for something beside the obvious.

  She glanced at Kevin, who was watching her closely. “Do you like it?”

  “Of course I do.” Her smile was a little forced as the old, familiar panic began to claw at her stomach.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You don’t look too certain.”

  “It’s not that.” She wrapped her arms around herself, studied the abstract sculpture that looked more and more like a woman the longer she stood and stared at it. Her eyes fell on the smooth chunk of metal clutched between the woman’s hands and her heart skipped a beat. It was a camera.

  “Kevin!” Her voice came out high and panicked, but she could do nothing to change it. “It’s me. Isn’t it? You’ve sculpted me?”

  His smile was blinding. “Yes. It’s not what I intended, but every time I came down here all I could see was you.”

  It was beautiful, gorgeous really. The work of a genius who had truly outdone himself. The colors were brilliant—he’d heated the metal to such a state that it bled colors, a shimmering rainbow that added much to the personality of the piece. She tried to be objective, tried to look at the artistic value alone. But everywhere she looked Kevin’s incredible emotions stared back.

  The metal was so smooth, the lines so fluid, that the woman actually looked like she was moving. No matter what angle Serena studied her from, the sculpture seemed to be staring back. Its lines were so graceful, so defined, that her face and the back of her head were interchangeable, the curve of her breasts and buttocks the same. No detail was too small for him to notice, no part of her not represented.