by Jessi Gage
“He loves you,” Derek whispered to her. “He’s not perfect, but he’s your brother. He’s grown since that night.”
Her gaze locked with his while the others kept arguing. “What night?” Her eyes were big and wary.
“The night he ran you off the road because he was too fu—frigging stoned to know what he was doing,” he said through gritted teeth.
She went still in his arms. “How did you know what I was dreaming?”
He hadn’t known for sure, but now he did. “Because I dreamt it too.”
Her surprise only lasted a second. Then her eyebrows knitted together. She shook her head. He saw denial in the set of her jaw. She didn’t want to believe Cade had anything to do with that night.
He, on the other hand, had no trouble believing it. All these years she’d carried the guilt of the accident he’d witnessed in his nightmares. She’d carried it all when she had no business shouldering any part of it. She’d carried it alone.
That’s why fate had brought the two of them together. He’d needed Camilla to help him see what an angry bastard he was and that he needed to start taking responsibility for that and make some changes in his life. Camilla needed him to help erase the guilt she’d borne for so long. He’d never been more sure of anything. He and Camilla were destined to be.
Nurse Bulldog said, “If he’s her significant other, I’ll eat my badge.”
“Want a knife and fork?” Cade asked.
The security guard, a big black man, laughed. He said to the nurse in a deep voice, “Ma’am, it don’t look like the patient’s in any trouble here.”
“Well, only one visitor is allowed at a time after hours,” nurse Bulldog said. “And what are those doing in here? There’s no flowers or plants of any kind allowed in the ICU.” She barreled past Cade and scooped up the vase of roses Derek sent yesterday.
Someone had smoothed out his crumpled note and tucked it into the greenery.
“I’ll take them with me,” Cade said, reaching for the vase. “I’m going. See you later, Cams. I won’t call Mom until morning. You’re welcome.”
“This one’s got to go too,” the nurse said, jerking her thumb at Derek and looking expectantly at the security guard.
Cade looked like he was about to argue some more, but he didn’t get the chance.
“If he goes, I go.”
Everyone gaped at Camilla, including Derek.
“I’ll sign an AMA,” she said.
He knew she was talking about an Against Medical Advice waiver, because he’d signed one before to get back to work after a round of stitches and a mild concussion. He was a lot older and wiser now.
“The hell you will,” he told her. “You’ll stay right here until the doctors say it’s safe for you to go home.
“I’m done here,” the security guard said, and he left with a rolling chuckle.
Nurse Bulldog left too, grumbling about young love.
He smiled into Camilla’s hair. Young love. Yeah, that’s what he had with this woman. He had a feeling she’d keep him young for a good many years to come.
Chapter 20
“Did that really just happen?” The last few minutes floated in front of Cami in wisps of surreal wonder.
Her brother had argued for Derek’s right to be there and owned up to his part in her fall. Apparently, he’d also fetched Derek’s roses from her fourth-floor room, ignoring the ICU’s ban. That’s where he had gone. He hadn’t been leaving her, after all. Add those minor miracles to the too-good-to-be-true security of having Derek’s arms around her again, and she might have thought she was still dreaming.
But the blinding pain in her head told her she was very much awake.
Derek huffed a laugh into her hair. “I know. I can’t believe it, either. I think he’s warming up to me.” He leaned back just enough to look her over. Worry creased his forehead. “You don’t look too good, sweetheart.”
Understatement of understatements. If she looked anything like she remembered from her glimpse in the mirror yesterday, she’d put him in mind of a bandaged eggplant someone had practiced their sewing skills on. A far cry from the DG he’d called beautiful.
As he reached across her to press the call button, his scent of sunshine and Irish Spring soap brought her thoughts to focus. Surreal departed stage left, and reality blindsided her.
Derek. In her room. Holding her.
Derek, who’d cut her off last Friday. Who’d made love to her while she’d been semi-corporeal in his bedroom while her body had been in a coma at Mercy Med.
Derek, who had no idea who she really was.
In his bedroom, she’d found him easy to talk to. Touching him and receiving his touch had come as naturally as breathing. She’d been aware of an undercurrent of insecurity in her personality, but free from her past, she’d been a different person, a better person. She’d been DG.
Now she was just Cami. Insecure, acceptance-craving Cami. And Derek was a big, intimidating, quick-to-anger, alpha male who looked like Hard Hat Monthly’s answer to GQ Man of the Year. Fate must have one twisted sense of humor to have thrown polar opposites like them together. She’d never be like the perfectly-groomed, perfectly-tanned, Pilates-body, big-diamond-wearing wife she’d seen in that silver frame, the kind of woman who looked like she belonged with someone like Derek.
She slammed the door on the possibility they belonged together in any fashion. The echo rang in her head, making itself at home with the intense pain.
A nurse came in, introduced herself as Melissa and took her vitals around an immovable Derek. Within a minute of starting on a morphine drip, the throbbing in her head quieted, but the cacophony of emotion storming her heart would not abate. Shutting the door hadn’t been enough.
Winds of possibility poured through the windows every time Derek’s powerful body shifted, always angling toward her, always sheltering her, every time his normally serious eyes met hers and went all tender and territorial.
Melissa pulled some padded leather straps from a blue case. “Dr. Grant left orders to restrain you once you woke up. I’m sorry I have to do this. Please put your hands near the rails.”
She’d never been claustrophobic, but the thought of being tied down reminded her of the fog. She’d rather have the nurse strap the huge helmet on her head than be helpless again. She nearly choked on her panic.
Derek took one look at her face and was on his feet. “That’s not necessary. I’ll make sure she stays in bed.”
“I’m sorry, it’s doctor’s orders.” Her expression radiated sympathy, but she gripped the straps with resolve.
Derek put himself between nurse Melissa and the bed. “Get the doctor on the phone.”
“But…I can’t,” the nurse stammered. “It’s the middle of the night. Dr. Grant won’t be on call ’til seven.”
“Well then, maybe we can wait ’til seven to talk about those restraints again, don’t you think, Melissa?”
“Well.” The nurse sounded uncertain. “It’s really not up for negotiation, Mr.—”
“You can call me Derek. I’m Camilla’s boyfriend. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. You can trust me on that.” He sat back on the bed and curled his warm fingers around hers.
She gripped his hand, thankful for an ally in the anti-restraint camp.
“She’s been through a lot, Melissa. And you can see she’s afraid of being tied down. Can’t you cut her a break, here?”
“I’ve learned my lesson,” she piped up. “I promise I won’t get out of bed. Not for anything.”
Melissa huffed. “Alright. No restraints. For now. But I’m putting them on at the end of my shift. No arguments. You can take it up with Dr. Grant when she finishes rounds.” She pointed at Derek. “If anything happens to Ms. Arlington between now and then, I’m going to hold you personally responsible.”
“I have no problem with that,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at nurse Melissa. His eyes were on hers. Nurse Melissa left, and Derek
said in a quiet, rumbly voice, “I take my responsibilities seriously. I don’t have any straps, but I’m happy to restrain you, if you think you need it, beautiful.”
She swallowed hard and tried to worm her hand out of his. When he looked at her softly like that, her insides pulled tight with longing. Stupid insides. She’d tried to convince herself they didn’t belong together this side of consciousness, but Derek kept stacking up evidence to the contrary. He kept making her feel as though they belonged together in every way, forever. What a dangerous thought.
He didn’t let her hand go, keeping it securely wrapped in both of his. His calluses rasped her skin, making her shiver.
“Please,” she said still trying to extricate her hand and ducking to avoid his gaze.
He lifted her chin with a finger. “You don’t need to pull away from me. Whatever you’re doubting, whatever you’re scared of, stop.”
She blinked in surprise. Then she got angry. Her emotions weren’t a switch she could flip. She couldn’t just stop doubting herself and everyone around her because he told her to, even if his confidence made it seem simple and absolutely doable.
She gave his shoulder a push with her free hand, and he finally let her hand go. She glared at him when he had the gall to look pleased with her.
“What are you doing here?” She might be angry, but she mentally winced at her ungrateful tone. He’d saved her from the restraints, after all. “It’s the middle of the night,” she added without the attitude.
“That never stopped us from getting together before.” His grin made her think of some of the intimate ways they had gotten together, and her cheeks flamed.
“I didn’t call you. I—I didn’t invite you,” she made herself say. He really shouldn’t be here, interfering with her plan to avoid him for their mutual good.
“You needed me,” he stated, as though it excused everything.
She raised her eyebrows in unspoken question, which didn’t even hurt. Her face must be healing.
Derek had made himself at home in her bed. He sat facing her, his muscular, jean-clad thigh pressing her hip. With her bed set to a forty-five degree angle, they were very close. In fact, he was invading her personal space. Her breath must smell like a Dumpster on garbage day. She pressed herself into the pillows to put as much distance between them as possible.
He leaned forward. “You came to me all those nights and comforted me through the nightmares. Tonight, it’s my turn to comfort you.”
Her heart pumped hard, on board with being comforted by this big, confident man. Silly, sentimental organ. So easily broken. Not to be trusted. Especially when he kept bringing up the nightmare she didn’t want to think about.
No way could Cade have been involved in that accident. For one thing, it was too big a coincidence that they just happened to have been on the freeway at the same time that night.
Furthermore, her brother couldn’t have been as callous as the version of Cade in her dream. He hadn’t always been the nicest brother, but he’d never been malicious. Driving away after hurting someone, that was unconscionable.
That’s what Derek did last Friday.
Time to close the shutters against those gales of possibility. All boarded up, she could almost believe nothing bound her to Derek except a fanciful illusion, and nothing had driven a wedge between her and Cade except a ridiculous dream.
“It didn’t mean anything,” she said. “I don’t need comfort. It’s not like what I dreamt really happened.”
Derek’s eyes remained serious, but his mouth turned up at the corner. “Sweetheart.”
* * * *
So that was Camilla’s game. She thought she could pretend a miracle hadn’t happened to them tonight. Maybe she’d convince herself a miracle hadn’t put them together for those nights she’d been in her coma, too.
“What?” she demanded.
He liked the way she looked indignant. She had an insecure streak wider than I-5, but when something threatened a loved one, she stood her ground. A force to be reckoned with, his surprisingly steely beauty.
By bringing up the dream they’d shared tonight, he’d threatened her perception of her brother, and the sham of a relationship she probably had with him, based on everything he’d observed. She and Cade could have so much more if they cleared the air between them. He knew that firsthand. Brothers could be assholes. They could also be the truest friends a man—or woman—could have.
Camilla had also stood her ground against a nurse and a security guard a few minutes ago, and she’d done it on his behalf. That meant even though she was giving him a hard time, she still loved him. The knowledge made a permanent smile stick on his soul.
“What I dreamt?” he prodded.
A pleat appeared between her brows. She was so expressive, just like he remembered.
“Yes, what I dreamt.” Her raised eyebrows broadcast her annoyance. He was getting to her.
“What we dreamt,” he corrected.
She shook her head.
He breathed a little easier, seeing the movement didn’t pain her. That morphine was good stuff.
“That’s impossible,” she said.
“I made love to you, Camilla.” He refused to let her shut him out. He caged her with his arms as she paled. Her eyes went as big as the ocean. “That should be impossible, too, but it happened. Don’t you dare deny it.”
Her lips parted in surprise. Then she snapped her mouth shut, but her tongue darted out and wet her lips. Damn, but she had a beautiful mouth.
When she didn’t deny it, he went on, because he figured no one in Camilla’s life ever pushed her, and this woman desperately needed a push to get out of the rut of insecurity she was stuck in. “You remember,” he said, closing the distance between them and putting his mouth near her ear. Strands of her hair peeked from under the bandage. The strands were darker than he remembered, as if they missed the sun. “You remember waking me up from a bad dream with that gorgeous mouth on me. You remember me inside you, making you come, losing my mind because you felt so amazing.”
She moved her hands up his back and curled them into his t-shirt below his shoulder blades. He hadn’t moved, but her breasts smooshed against his chest. She had to be arching her back to get closer to him. “You remember what you said to me that night. I know you do. Because I remember. I will never forget. You told me you loved me.”
“Derek.”
“I’m here, sweetheart. I said it earlier, and I’ll say it again. I’m not going anywhere. Not even if you push. I’ll push back, Camilla. I’ll always push back.” He stroked her throat with his nose as he gathered her close. She smelled a little sweaty and like a hospital, but with the faintest trace of melon. He inhaled it greedily.
When she didn’t shy from his caress, he pushed a little more. “I’m glad you’re not on a breathing tube,” he said, and he kissed her.
She released his shirt to dig her fingers into his back, like before, when she’d first woken up. Her lips responded to his so sweetly, and she moaned into his mouth as he opened her up and swept his tongue inside. Ah, yes. He remembered this. She was his DG, his Camilla. His.
He wanted the moment to last forever, but he backed off just enough to say, “Tell me you remember.”
“I remember,” she breathed against his lips.
Before she could take her next breath, he took her mouth again. And again. He kissed her until he had her panting, until he was hard as a rock behind his zipper and aching.
Shit. He had to remember where they were. In her hospital room. Where she was healing from horrendous injuries. Being with her felt so amazing it was easy to forget. He made himself stop and just hold her.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I put you in here.” He smoothed his hand over her bandages, cringing inside.
She rocked her forehead on his shoulder, no longer trying to pulling away. His heart swelled to feel her relax against him, trusting him with her fragile body. “I had no business being on the fr
eeway,” she said.
“Hey.” He made her look at him. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing. Understand?”
She ducked his gaze.
“Camilla.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “I knew better than to—”
“Hush. None of that.”
“But—”
“I said, none of that.” He silenced her with a soft peck to the corner of her mouth. He’d meet resistance with what he said next, but he’d never avoided confrontation in his life. Or stood by doing nothing while someone he loved suffered needlessly. “And that night with your father, you didn’t do anything wrong then either.”
She went still in his arms.
“Say something, sweetheart.”
She leaned out of his embrace, and he let her go, content to sit near her and talk with her now that he knew he had her back.
“You can’t know that,” she said. “And you don’t know me. This—” She motioned between them. “This isn’t going to work. I think you should go. Please.”
“No.”
She hugged herself and frowned, like his refusal caused her physical pain. Her thumb absently stroked the inside of her arm, where her pale skin peeked from under the ill-fitting short sleeves of the hospital gown. Up and down, over and over again. She searched his face, her expression wounded. She didn’t even realize she was comforting herself with that touch on her arm. He’d done that to her, hurt her, made her feel uncertain and insecure, made her need comfort. Shit.
He made his voice gentle. “A few minutes ago, you were arguing for me to stay.”
She didn’t disagree. She didn’t continue to insist he leave. She did something worse. She shut down, shut him out. He saw it happen. The light went out of her eyes as she diverted her gaze to the window, the message clear. You won’t leave, so I will.
Damn it. He’d pushed too hard too fast. He was losing her.
* * * *
Cami felt like a balloon, drifting up on a current of happiness one second then yanked down by a string of reality the next. Just when she had herself convinced she and Derek could never work, he would set her body aflame and make her believe she could have her heart’s deepest desire, complete acceptance. Then he would force her to think about something that hurt worse than getting hit in the head with accident debris, the possibility Cade might have been responsible for what had happened eight years ago, that her brother had let her think it was her fault all this time.