Body Talk: An Ex-Navy SEAL Billionaire Romance

by Ashlee Price

  “Good,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, sweetheart,” she said, touching her hand to my brow.

  “We were going to get married the next day, you know. We bought a house along the lakeshore, north of here. Nothing elaborate—the wedding, that is. Justice of the Peace, and that’s all we want. So at least there wasn’t any big event to cancel, and soon as they spring you from here, we’ll go get it done. I’ll look after you from now on, especially during your recuperation.”

  “Okay,” I whispered, but I was buying time. I didn’t feel anything for this woman next to me. I wasn’t about to marry someone I didn’t recognize, but I’d play along until I figured it out. I had a niggling worry about something muffled in the back of my head, but it wasn’t this woman. She didn’t even look like someone I’d be attracted to, but I must have been. I went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Whitney

  I was desolate. We hadn’t heard anything from Dagger whatsoever. Kat was puzzled, but I felt alarmed. It wasn’t so much that I was worried about him, because I knew that if our pay was still showing up in the bank, that meant he was probably okay. It was the kind of oblique message Dagger would find to leave. But it also meant that he was doing something that he didn’t want me involved in. Was it Malchevsky, or something worse? Was it another woman and he was giving me the message that it was time to move on? Maybe he didn’t want to tell me to my face. He’d been behaving oddly for weeks, avoiding me and using short language. I’d known something was up then, and now I knew it for sure.

  We’d kept the doors closed, which wasn’t good for business so soon after our successful first Coupling Night. Kat took phone calls, though, telling clients we were closed for vacation and would re-open soon. It was the best we could do.

  I missed Dagger terribly. I wanted to feel his strong, responsive body next to mine. I needed his wisdom, his caring and his worldliness. If I closed my eyes, I could picture him, his body locked into a plank over mine, kissing my breasts and opening my thighs so he could enter me. God, I missed him.

  Kat and I were sitting up front, the television on as we let the news drone on and on. Somehow it felt less guilty than watching movies or the odd game show.

  “Kat, I don’t understand what’s going on. We weren’t fighting, and I asked him if there was something wrong. He said everything was fine and then he just disappears. What am I supposed to think?”

  She shrugged, smacking the gum she was chewing in a disinterested fashion.

  “I can’t just sit here forever. He may be waiting for me to leave. He might have someone else. Maybe he doesn’t want a messy goodbye. I’m not working for my paycheck. This just isn’t for me, but I have to tell you, it’s breaking my heart.”

  She brightened a bit at my words. I knew she still harbored a romantic interest in Dagger, even if he wasn’t returning the feeling. “Where ya going to go?”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I’m not sure. I’ve got some money, so I suppose I could get an apartment, but then I don’t have any furniture, and I hate to buy some if I’m only going to be there a short time. I’ve considered moving away, far away. Like maybe to California.”

  “Whoa!” she commented. “That’s a bit drastic, don’t you think? What if he’s meaning to come back, but he’s tied up with something? Then he finally shows up and you’re out in Hollywood?”

  “I know,” I sighed. “I’ve thought of that, too, except that he left without a message and he’d been so moody up until Coupling Night. It just makes me feel like it’s more of a rejection.”

  “Look,” she said, smacking the gum, “you know I’ve had my eye on him and the best thing for me would be if you left the state. I might have a shot at him then. Probably not, but you never know what he might reach for to get over his missing you. But, shit, I know it’s not going to happen. I think you need to be loyal and stick around. Disappearing is sort of a chicken’s way to handle it, don’t you think? I mean, the checks are still coming in, so obviously he’s alive and expects you to be here when he gets back.”

  I nodded. “There’s another thing, though. I don’t feel safe here alone at night. Malchevsky, that trouble-maker, has a grudge against Dagger and has alienated my sister from me. I haven’t heard from her since Coupling Night. He could easily get into this building at night. He probably knows Dagger isn’t here. I was thinking maybe I’d go rent an apartment on a short lease.”

  “Come stay with me. I have a guest room. That way you’ll feel safe and I get to keep my job for not letting you run off to California.”

  I thought about her offer. “Really?”

  “Sure, I’m not so crazy about living alone either, you know.”

  I nodded. “Okay, let’s give it a try. I won’t overstay my welcome, I promise, and of course, I’ll pay my share of the expenses.”

  Kat shook her head. “I don’t think it’s going to be that long of a stay, so don’t worry about it. You can buy us steak for dinner, how’s that?”

  “Deal! I’m going upstairs and pack a couple bags.” I felt more at ease than I had since Dagger had left. I went up to my apartment.

  “It’s only a small closet,” Kat called up the stairs.

  “Okay.” I put in general clothes. We could always come back if I needed something else. All I’d need were night things and a few casual outfits. I was really grateful to Kat for her invitation. It almost felt like I had a sister again, which prompted me to worry about Tiffany. Why hadn’t I heard from her? Could Malchevsky have harmed her somehow, or was he preventing her from staying in touch?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Dagger

  I was able to sit up now and eat normal food. The doctors were holding me in the hospital to make sure the concussion was not causing brain tissues to swell and that my arm was healing as it should. I had a feeling there might also be a little law enforcement activity going on in the background. I knew they would uncover my Navy background and my record would speak for itself. The SEALs wouldn’t release details, but they would launch their own investigation. After all, one ex-SEAL killing another was cause for inquiry.

  I had been remembering. The pieces were filling in one at a time, and I now knew everything about Malchevsky. I wouldn’t have to use the evidence in the Santa envelope, because he was gone. That saved me from exposure to hearings and inquiries that would amount to nothing but more cover-ups. I’d gotten what I wanted: satisfaction for Tim.

  I’d also begun to recognize that the woman with me was not my fiancée. She wasn’t my type, and I didn’t think that sort of thing changed with a concussion. The CAT scan that morning had revealed that my brain was back to normal; there had been no long-term damage. I hadn’t told Tiffany that yet. I needed to play along to find out what she was hiding. She was definitely hiding something. There were so many inconsistencies when she spoke. She’d catch herself and backtrack, but the second time she brought it up, something else had changed. She was familiar, though, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

  She’d taken up a habit of sitting in my room, almost as if she were a guard dog. She brought me magazines to read, and she had also brought a little vase of pilfered flowers from someone’s garden. I could tell by the way the stems were ripped, rather than clipped. I was touched, but highly suspicious.

  Just now, she was sitting in the corner, watching another one of those infernal screaming-housewives shows. I was becoming bored, and rather than doing a bit of screaming myself I picked up one of the magazines, idly leafing through it. I turned a page and there it was.

  It was an article on yoga.

  It felt as though the doctors had shot a hypo of memories into my brain. The final puzzle piece dropped in. I remembered. Tiffany was not my fiancée. Whit was my girlfriend, and Tiffany was her miscreant of a sister. Tiffany had been arm decoration for Malchevsky and was now capitalizing on my memory loss to get my name on a marriage certificate. That way, she’d not only get her han
ds on me and my money, but upstage her sister in the cruelest, most despicable manner imaginable. I hated her.

  My doctor walked in right then and wanted to talk. I asked Tiffany if she’d excuse us, and she pouted as she left the room. As my fiancée, they’d let her in on all the medical decisions. Now, I didn’t doubt that she was wondering why she was being excluded.

  “Tiffany,” I asked, “would you mind running down to the cafeteria and bringing me up a piece of chocolate cake? That sounds awfully good right about now.”

  She nodded and set off on her errand. I think she hoped that’s why she’d been banished.

  “Have you had any of your memory return?” he asked me, consulting the tablet in his hand which served as my medical chart.

  “Some,” I answered, keeping the news close to my chest.

  “Good. Well, the CAT scan came back normal, your wounds are healing as expected, and you seem to be in good spirits, so I don’t see any reason you can’t go home tomorrow.”

  Why did hospitals always let you go home tomorrow? So they could bill for one more overnight stay. I nodded. “Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I’d hold off driving for another week, though,” he cautioned. I nodded. “No problem. I’ll hire a driver.”

  He seemed satisfied with that and shook my hand before he left. “Thank you for your service,” were his parting words. I’d been right. Everyone involved knew exactly who I was, and that’s why they were under instructions to keep me a few days to make sure I was okay, and then to take very good care of me. It felt good to have earned a little VIP treatment. I couldn’t deny it.

  Tiffany hadn’t come back yet. I picked up the phone on the side table and dialed the number of the studio. It rang and rang. No one answered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Whitney

  I went back down to the lobby with my bags in hand. “What do you say we close up and I’ll take us out for an early dinner?”

  The phone began to ring. I shook my head. “No, don’t answer it. The answer hasn’t changed. We’re still not open and we’re on vacation. Businesses don’t answer the phone when they’re closed for vacation, and we’re not going to start.”

  She nodded, her hand poised over the handle. “Okay, if you say so.” She pulled her hand back and grabbed her purse. They checked the front lock and headed out the back. Their caller hung up.

  ***

  Kat and I pulled an all-nighter, but not in the usual sense. She talked me out of going to dinner on the way home, saying she was tired and could we just order in pizza and watch movies on television. That was fine with me. It put me in mind of my years in the dorm. It felt comfortable.

  As a result, we began to talk, and soon we were exchanging inner thoughts just like dorm mates. The more we talked, the more we wanted to talk.

  “I don’t understand why Dagger hasn’t contacted one or both of us,” I reiterated for the third time. We were, by the way, drinking wine directly from the bottle by that point. It may have been that I was repeating myself. The pizza was long gone, nothing left but a thrice-folded piece of cardboard jammed into Kat’s kitchen trash can.

  “I know, I know,” she nodded, swinging her bottle up for another swig. It’s not like him.”

  “Doesn’t he realize we can’t run the business without him? I mean, who’s going to train the guys? If he doesn’t come back soon, we’ll go out of business.”

  “Aww… he don’t care,” Kat summarized, her grammar having steadily decreased as her wine consumption increased.

  “Why not?”

  “Hell, Whit, he’s Dagger. The golden boy. He’s already got more money than Bill Gates and everything he touches turns to gold.”

  I gave this some thought and wondered if I’d made too big a deal about the house. Had he thought I was more interested in his money than him? I hoped not.

  I gave an unladylike burp. “This isn’t working. I’m going to California. Tomorrow morning. If he shows up and misses me, give me a call and I’ll come back. I’ll just call it a va-va-vacation for now,” I managed to vocalize.

  Kat was looking at me oddly. “Wait. It’s too hard to undershtand you. You mean you’re gonna leave—after all we talked about?”

  “Yup.” I nodded for clarification because the word yup and the burps popping from my wine-filled tummy were pretty similar in sound.

  “Well, it’s up to you, but I think you’re makin’ a big mishtake,” she told me, another slurp sealing her opinion.

  “I’m leaving in the morning. Haven’t even unpacked yet, and I’ll sleep in my clothes,” I added.

  Kat sat there, a look of pity on her face as she shook her head. “Big mishtake,” she repeated.

  “I think I’ll sleep right here, then I won’t even mess up your bed.”

  Kat shrugged. “Have it your way, but I think I need the bed,” she said, stumbling her way out of the living room.

  I leaned over onto a pillow, and a couple of tears later, I fell asleep.

  ***

  I awakened to find myself in a strange apartment with a huge head full of hangover. I felt sick and went for a glass of water. It all came back to me. The all-night pajama party with Kat, the wine, the declarations of independence from me. All that would pass, but there was still one thing that wouldn’t change.

  Dagger had left me.

  I needed to breathe and find myself again. This city, the turmoil at the studio, Dagger’s disappearance and my sister’s alienation were too much. I wanted a break from it all, and the last thing I remembered from the previous night was saying that I was leaving. I would do it. I would call a cab, head for the airport and get on the first plane to California. It didn’t matter where—it was all a psychological goal, anyway. I could choose Florida just as easily, but wouldn’t. I had a yen for California.

  I showered and managed to swallow a cup of coffee. I opened Kat’s door and whispered good-bye, telling her that if by any chance Dagger showed up and wanted to talk to me, he could call my cell number. She started to put up an argument, thought better of it, and turned over to go back to sleep. My bags were still packed, so I called a cab and went out on the stoop of Kat’s apartment building to wait.

  I was feeling sorry for myself. Tears were slowly collecting on my cheeks until there was enough liquid to actually drop off my chin. I couldn’t even seem to put together a decent damn tear!

  I saw a cab pulling up and stood, collecting my luggage and dragging it down the sidewalk. The cabbie got out and opened the trunk, dropping my bags inside. Just then a second cab pulled up, and I was about to wave him off when the back door sprang open and a man stepped out.

  “Whitney!” he called to me.

  “Dagger?”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I looked at him, a sight for which I would have given my right arm over the previous few weeks. He was standing firmly, but he wore a sling over one bandaged arm and there were scabbed cuts on his face. His hair was tousled and he needed a shave.

  “I’m going to California.”

  “The fuck you are!”

  The cabbies stood back, but neither left. They weren’t sure if the man was about to beat me in anger or collapse on the sidewalk from whatever had placed him in that condition.

  Dagger took one look and turned to toss a hundred-dollar bill at his driver. He moved toward me, bent, and slung me over his unbandaged shoulder. I couldn’t see his face, but I had a feeling it still hurt. He unceremoniously dumped me into the back seat of my own waiting cab, climbed in next to me and pounded once on the roof with the flat of his hand. “Driver, change of destination,” he said, and gave him the address of our newly acquired house on the lake.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. Actually, aren’t you supposed to be at work right now? And where is Kat? Sleeping one off by the looks of you.”

  “How dare you! You disappear on us witho
ut a word and don’t ever check in. We worried and then we got pissed and then we worried again. We couldn’t keep the studio open because there was no one to teach the men and there would be too many questions. So we told everyone the studio was closing for vacation, and last night Kat invited me to stay with her because I’ve been scared staying in that big building all by myself. I came here with her and we stayed up all night drinking wine and eating pizza and calling you every name in the book. Now I’m going to California because I need a change of scenery and something other than worry and self-pity on my brain.” I stopped to take a breath.

  “I get it,” he said succinctly. “Why were you scared staying at the studio?”

  “Why the hell do you think? My sister, who, it incidentally turns out, is no blood to me but only my adopted sister, has become alienated and cut off contact. Then you’ve got that damned Malchevsky vendetta hanging over my head.”

  “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  “And why not?”

  “It seems he had an accident with a knife.”

  “Dagger!”

  “There was a witness.”

  “Who?”

  “Tiffany. She saw it all—he came at me and I had to defend myself.”

  “You mean he’s dead?” I stuttered.

  “Very.”

  “Tiff. Is she okay?”

  “Yes, she’s spent the last week pretending to be my fiancée. I hit my head in the fight and temporarily lost part of my memory. I couldn’t remember her, you, or anything to do with the studio until just yesterday. When I remembered you and the studio, I tried to call but there was no answer.”