Modern Heart: City Love 3

by Belinda Williams

  “Scarlett—”

  “I’m fine,” I ground out. OK, I’d obviously been better, but I was alive.

  “Your bikini.”

  I looked down to see that in the ocean’s attempt to kill me it had wreaked havoc on my bikini. My pants were still on, but my bikini top was only covering one breast.

  The perpetual gentleman, John stepped protectively in front of me while I readjusted my outfit, his eyes carefully focused on the horizon.

  When I was done I stepped around him and walked, a little unsteadily and coughing on and off, toward the shore. John stayed beside me and I could tell by the way he was walking he wanted to reach over and steady me. Wisely he kept his hands to himself.

  Eventually, still coughing, I reached my towel and collapsed onto my back. Cate had obviously joined the others in the ocean pool because I was the only one there. I said a silent thanks to God that no one had witnessed my near-death experience. Other than John, of course.

  “Scarlett?”

  “What?”

  “Get up. You need to come and let the boys take a look at you.”

  I assumed by “boys” he meant his lifesaver friends. I gave him the evil eye from my position on the ground. “Did you miss the fact that I’m alive?”

  “You almost drowned.”

  “And I’m alive.” I finished my sentence with a coughing fit.

  John crouched down beside me. “You could have water on your lungs.”

  The coughing subsided and I shook my head at him. “I’m pretty sure I deposited any water I swallowed back into the sea when I hurled my guts up.”

  “Doesn’t work like that.” Before I could protest, John reached over, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to my feet. “If you have water on your lungs you could still be drowning.”

  Was he mad? Maybe he’d swallowed some water of his own while rescuing me. “John, I’m fine—”

  “We don’t know that.”

  John tugged me across the sand toward the surf lifesaving headquarters. God, he was strong. I barely came up to his shoulder and if I hadn’t just drowned I’d probably try to kick him somewhere I shouldn’t to make him stop. Nearly drowning really took it out of a person though. I honestly couldn’t be bothered with physical displays of hostility right now.

  I opted for verbal abuse instead. “John, how could I still be drowning? I’m not in the water anymore.”

  “If you’ve got water on your lungs it will impair your body’s ability to take in oxygen.”

  “I’m taking in oxygen just fine, thank you very much—”

  “Jesus, Scarlett!” John stopped abruptly and my feet squeaked, skidding in the warm sand. “For once in your life can you trust someone might be looking out for you? Here’s the deal, OK? You get water on your lungs and it starts an inflammatory effect. This mixes with the water on your lungs and you’re not able to produce the amount of oxygen your body needs. Your lungs might start to collapse. Breathing will become more difficult. You lose consciousness. You die. It might happen one hour after you nearly drowned or twenty-four hours after. It’s called secondary drowning and it’s a very real possibility given the time you were under the water. We need to get you checked out.”

  I swallowed. OK. So maybe he wasn’t overacting and he knew exactly what he was talking about. “I could still drown?” I asked quietly.

  John sighed. “Come on. The boys are trained in this stuff.”

  Suddenly the idea of the “boys” seemed like the best idea in the world. Anybody who could take a look at me, give me the all clear and reassure me that I wasn’t dying. That would be good.

  I nodded at John and let him resume gently tugging me across the sand.

  Chapter 5

  Wanting to die from public humiliation and actually potentially dying were two very different things, I discovered.

  After the “boys” had made me lie down and forced an oxygen mask onto my mouth, they’d called an ambulance. The arrival of the paramedics had attracted lots of curious onlookers, much to my complete mortification. That of course hadn’t been anywhere near as bad as when my friends realized what was happening.

  Cate’s voice had risen several octaves. Maddy had gone into efficiency mode, informing Paul to take the boys home while she organized a lift to the hospital with Cate. Christa had watched on, pale-faced and worried, with Max standing silently by her side.

  On the journey, the blaring sirens echoed painfully in my head. Closing my eyes seemed like a good way to deal with it. Or perhaps that was just my desire to pretend I wasn’t lying on a stretcher on my way to emergency. The oxygen mask was still fixed over my mouth. I was surprised that despite my embarrassment at the ordeal, I was becoming quite attached to the plastic mouthpiece.

  Throughout it all, John remained by my side. He’d insisted on riding with me in the ambulance. Maddy had the foresight to grab a handful of our things, which she’d unceremoniously thrown at him before the ambulance doors closed. I now had my sarong and John had a t-shirt and shoes. I was feeling too vague to be distracted by his ripped physique, but I’d still noticed the way the female paramedic’s eyes lingered a moment too long when he’d slipped the shirt over his head.

  The oxygen mask made talking difficult so we rode in silence. On arrival they whisked me from the ambulance straight to emergency and it was there I started to feel dizzy. I tried to tell myself it was the efficient actions of the hospital staff. They spoke to John and me to ascertain the events that had led to my near drowning. Stupidity being the cause, of course, but John discreetly left that part out.

  Tests and monitoring followed. A full blood work up, plus an ECG to check my heart. Up until that point I’d thought my heart was the least of my worries, but it was a necessary precaution, I was told. I was also taken for a chest X-ray. Scary terms like pulmonary edema and hypoxia were thrown around routinely by the doctors.

  After the longest five and a half hours of my life the nurse came to my bedside to inform me my chest was clear and I’d soon be released.

  “It’s a good idea to have someone stay with you overnight just in case your symptoms worsen,” Tina, my nurse, informed me. “It’s very unlikely they will, but there’s a twenty-four hour window associated with secondary drowning. Will your boyfriend be staying?”

  “He’s not my—”

  “I’ll be staying,” John replied, in a tone that implied it was a done deal.

  “You’re not staying,” I hissed at him while we watched Tina walk away.

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Christa will.” I wasn’t about to ask Maddy because she was pregnant, and I wasn’t sure I could handle Cate’s overenthusiastic attentions post near-death experience. Besides, I knew Christa would be there without even having to ask.

  “I know what to look for. I’m the best person to monitor the situation.”

  The situation? So I was a situation now, was I? “I don’t think so, but thanks.”

  “Scarlett.”

  I opened my mouth, then paused. The last time I’d heard that tone of voice I’d ended up being taken away in an ambulance. “What?” I ground out.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  My frustration surfaced in an evil grin. “Oh? So that’s what this is about? You’ve always been desperate to take me home now that I think about it.”

  John blinked, then stood. His eyes looked almost black under the fluorescent light. “And to think it’s taken nearly drowning for you to come around.”

  “Well, you know, a near-death experience can change a girl.”

  John shook his head, not taking the bait. “I’m going to the bathroom. Be ready to go when I get back.”

  I exhaled a long, shaky breath as he walked away. Well, that was disappointing. Earlier in our friendship my casual, if somewhat teasing, comments would fluster John. As childish as it was to admit, I kind of enjoyed watching him squirm. He wasn’t squirming now though. Nothing about John in the last six or so hours could be described as flu
stered. He’d been steadfast and in control, which was a side to him I hadn’t seen before. The thought of having him in my apartment was more unsettling than I cared to contemplate.

  There was nothing for it. I needed to resort to an underhanded approach.

  I reached for my mobile phone, which was sitting on the bedside table next to me. My wonderful girlfriends had packed up the rest of my things before following me to the hospital. I brought up Christa’s number and hit call.

  “Hi, Scarlett.”

  “Bubbles, are you still waiting outside?”

  “Yep, Cate and I are still here, but Maddy had to head home. She said to call her in the morning or she’d be forced to administer some of her newfound motherly affections on you.”

  I cringed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Hey, can you give me a lift home? They’re about to discharge me.”

  “That’s great news! But isn’t John taking you home?”

  I frowned. “What gave you that idea?”

  “John did. He’s right here with me, by the way.”

  I resisted the urge to swear. Pretty boy was more strategic than I’d given him credit for. “Well, he only thinks he’s taking me home, but in actual fact, you are. He just hasn’t got used to the idea yet.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Scarlett,” Christa replied in a bright voice, “I think he’s the best person to keep an eye on you under the circumstances.”

  She was lucky she was in another room because the death glare I was sending her was lethal. “Don’t you dare,” I whispered, except what I really wanted to do was shout.

  I had no doubt Cate was probably standing next to her and cheering her on. They’d been waiting for an opportunity to get John and me to spend more alone time together, but who would have guessed they’d stoop to this? John’s words about it taking me almost drowning suddenly seemed well chosen.

  “Christa,” I began.

  “No, it’s all decided,” Christa announced. “Max has just picked up John’s car and brought it here, so you’re all ready to go.”

  “If I live, I’m going to have to kill you.”

  “Calm down. Almost drowning has made you really grumpy.”

  “With my bare hands,” I continued.

  “She really is in a foul mood, isn’t she?” Except Christa wasn’t talking to me. It sounded like she was talking to John. “Good luck. You’ll need it,” she added, then to me, “Bye, Scarlett. So glad you’re alive. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She hung up on me.

  Who would have thought almost drowning would be the high point of my day?

  Chapter 6

  “Nice.”

  I felt bone tired by the time we arrived at my apartment, but I still managed to preen a little at John’s comment as we walked through my front door. I dropped my keys on the sleek white modern hall table and stepped down the couple of stairs into the open plan living area.

  I heard John close the door quietly behind me. The dark wood polished floorboards were original to the building and gave away every movement even when barefoot. I’d grown used to their serenade of whines and creaks. When I didn’t hear John follow, I turned.

  He was still standing near the entrance, hands on his hips, surveying my living space. He blew out a long breath, then looked at me. “This place has style. Do you own it?”

  “I wish. I’ve been renting it for the last couple of years.”

  “I’m guessing it’s not cheap.” John kicked off his shoes and padded barefoot past me to where a massive steel pylon stood.

  It was a considerate gesture but I wasn’t sure how I felt about him walking around my personal space with bare feet. I watched as he placed a big palm on the painted black metal and peered up at the ceiling above us.

  “I’d love to do a restoration like this,” he admitted.

  He was too busy staring upwards to notice my satisfied smile. I wasn’t an architect but the eclectic combination of raw building materials in my loft warehouse apartment was the main reason I’d signed the exorbitant lease agreement on the spot. Two massive steel pylons painted a glossy black were positioned at either end of the open plan space. The solid concrete walls were a stark white. The same wooden floorboards spanned the space overhead. On the underside, a series of structural beams ran at right angles, while pipework painted a rusty red journeyed along the ceiling and into the walls.

  John returned his attention to the floor space and took in the minimalist white kitchen, which ran the length of the open plan living area. A small glass dining table with molded wooden chairs sat tucked near the floor-to-ceiling window. In the far corner opposite the dining table, wooden steps with a metal railing curved upwards.

  The way he was taking it all in, with such a look of concentration, made me drop my guard.

  “Seeing as I had to almost drown for you to get an invitation, why don’t you come upstairs?” I offered.

  John followed behind. I navigated the twisting spiral steps up into the loft area, which I’d discovered the hard way could be torturous after a heavy night out. I’d since learned to keep close to the outer edge to ensure my longevity.

  Upstairs I felt an odd chill when I stopped next to my bed and waited for John. Why on earth had I brought him up here? This was my most personal space. It was my place of work and rest, it was my place to escape. Suddenly it seemed like a very bad idea. I turned on my heels to tell John to go back downstairs, but bumped into his solid chest.

  “Woah.” He steadied me, placing both of his hands on each of my arms. He stooped to look directly in my eyes. “Alright?”

  I nodded, inexplicably mute and dropped my gaze. John’s hands left my arms and I frowned at the absence. He stepped past me and walked into the middle of the space.

  Upstairs the floor area was the same as downstairs. My simple low-lying double bed was tucked close to the window, leaving the rest of the space free. Or at least it would have been if I’d been able to keep my creative urges in check.

  “The inner sanctum,” John observed, his back to me and his voice low.

  He stepped carefully past a drop sheet spattered with the colorful remnants of my latest painting frenzy. My easel held down the sheet and an array of painting supplies lay positioned along the external wall.

  John didn’t appear interested in my equipment. Instead, he walked to the canvases stacked along the far wall. Two massive skylights in the vaulted ceiling cast early evening light across my paintings like a spotlight. It made the bold, colorful slashes in my work stand out even more.

  “Damn, Scarlett,” John said, still with his back to me. “They’re beautifully intense.” Then he let out a low whistle. “That one’s a self-portrait, isn’t it?” He gestured toward a canvas depicting a shadowy likeness of myself. It was spattered with deep red and black to convey rage, passion, uncertainty, and fear.

  “Yeah, it’s called ‘Framed’. It’s pretty scary, isn’t it?” I joked, feeling strangely exposed. It was a dark piece, just like my mood had been at the time.

  “Haunting,” he corrected. “It captures you.”

  My response was to turn away to look out the window at the view of the neighboring building.

  I didn’t let people in here. I didn’t allow them to come up and make observations about my work. In the handful of small gallery showings I’d been involved in, the environment was business-like. This felt too personal. Too real.

  “Scarlett?” His soft, deep voice echoed around the cavernous space.

  I turned back around to find him watching at me. I attempted to keep my voice light. “Seen enough?”

  John frowned, the fading light casting shadows across his face. It made him look dark and sensual, and I itched to go and pick up my paintbrush.

  “Are you kidding? I’d love for you to take me through some of them. Which ones have you chosen for the New York exhibition?”

  “I—” I took a step forward and subconsciously brought a hand to my forehead. I’d been about to say I can’t do thi
s but for once I had the presence of mind to cut my words short. Usually I couldn’t care less about sounding abrupt, but John didn’t deserve that from me after today.

  “You’re exhausted. It’s not important,” he said after a beat. “Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”

  God, he was being too nice. He should know by now that I didn’t do nice. It was taking every fiber of my being not to bite his head off. “I’m starving, but all I really want to do is have a shower,” I said carefully.

  John nodded, taking the hint. “I’m going to wander down the street. See if I can pick us up something to eat. If you’re not hungry I’ll just throw it in the fridge.” He paused and a hint of mischief lit his eyes. “I assume I’m on the sofa, right? It is a little small …”

  I tried to imagine his impossibly long frame fitting on my sofa. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve got a roll out mattress. Now leave me alone. I want to go and have a shower.”

  He stared at me a long moment and I wished he would just stop it.

  “Got it,” he said at last.

  He closed the distance between us in a few long strides and went down the steps ahead of me. Halfway down, he paused, forcing me to stop behind him. I stifled a frustrated groan.

  “Hey. Thanks, by the way.”

  “What for?”

  “For allowing me in your space.”

  I shrugged. “It was nothing.” Except it was everything and I was trying not to linger on that fact.

  John studied me. He was too close and it was making me uncomfortable, but I had the feeling he was used to being close to people.

  “It was something and I appreciate it.”

  “Anyone would think you’re the artist, the way you carry on,” I shot back gruffly.

  His lips curled slightly. “I make art with buildings, didn’t you know?”

  “Idiot,” I said under my breath.

  He laughed softly, a warm, deep rumble. I shoved him gently to get him moving down the stairs again.

  As I followed behind, I thought about how when I’d first met John, I’d thought of him as a kid. At thirty, I was five years older than him. My girlfriends thought I was being stupid. Judging by the tightening of my gut in response to his laugh, my body thought he was a man. And while I was being honest, boyish was not the word I would use to describe John.