Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set

by Black, Stasia

  And I’m with Logan and I love him and he loves me and we’re home finally. Maybe it’ll be different this time.

  Maybe it’s true what they say, and anything is possible as long as you have true love. I look at his beloved face, vulnerable and free of that terrible mask he used to wear.

  We’ve come through so much. Can we make it through this, too?

  “Mhhmm.” He picks up a blood pressure cuff, fastens it around my arm, and takes my blood pressure like it’s the most normal thing in the world for us to do together. I frown and my blood goes cold in a way that has nothing to do with my illness.

  How many times did I witness this exact same scene play out? My father bent over my mother’s hospital bed, set up in their bedroom? Taking her blood pressure, her temperature, or drawing blood. I’ve seen what it looks like when what was once love becomes clinical. How a series of triumphs and failures with every lab test can become an entire marriage.

  Still, out of habit, I count the seconds along with him as the blood pressure cuff releases pressure.

  When he finishes, he nods, removes the cuff, and leans in to kiss the top of my head—the top of my head mind you, not my lips—before going to the medical stand to enter the results on the computer. Then again, why would he want to kiss my lips when I’ve got this gross tasting salve on them? I can’t even describe the despair that hits me at that thought. Because I can only imagine how terrible the rest of me looks.

  From what I can see of the screen, all my medical records are there.

  Logan moved me from the hospital. Permanently. Holy shit.

  “Um, Logan...why did you move me?”

  “The hospital and I had a difference of opinion on your course of treatment.”

  “A difference of opinion,” I repeat.

  “Yes. You know what? It’s a little too breezy in here. I’m going to shut the window.”

  And he strolls away. Before he shuts the lower section, he picks up a scoop from a big birdseed bag, opens the screen and empties the scoop on the sill. Then he removes the screen and closes the window. The sound of birds is muffled, but I see them fluttering to the sill to eat the seed.

  The absurdity of it strikes me. Is this real? Do I really have birds chirping at my window like I’m in a Disney movie?

  “Yeah.” He answers, and I realize I said all that out loud. Logan straightens, a shy grin tugging the corner of his mouth. “I thought it might be nice for you to watch them. I ordered a few different feeders, but haven’t had a chance to install them. Apparently different birds eat different kinds of seeds and—”

  I squint at him. “Who are you and what did you do with Logan Wulfe?” Maybe it’s not so surprising that Logan has a huge nurturing streak. He is a doctor. And he’s just… Logan. The man who held me all night long when I grieved for my mother. The man who never pushed me before I was ready and when I was, guided me so carefully every step of the way.

  “It’s me, baby.” His white teeth flash and heat streaks through me. It’s weird to feel turned on in a hospital bed, but my body always reacts to Logan this way. I’m sick, not dead. “Are you feeling comfortable?”

  I’ve been so busy processing my shock at my new surroundings, I forgot to assess the state of my body. I move my limbs tentatively. Less weakness than before.

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Good.” He settles into a chair at my side. One of the huge armchairs that’s more of a throne. It’s twin is gone from the usual place by the fireplace. That’s not the only change—there’s no fire lit in the grate, and there’s a new flat screen TV that adorns the wall above the mantle.

  Logan follows my gaze to the new flat screen. “I want to make sure you don’t get bored.”

  “I can’t believe you did all this. You moved me from the hospital.”

  I stare at the screen, still feeling too many emotions. I can’t seem to settle on one before another is swooping in. Gratitude that he moved me. Anxiety. Fear. Love. So much love. Which makes the fear scarier than any I’ve ever felt before.

  “No harm done. You slept through it, and through the night. I may have given you an extra dose of painkillers to make sure you didn’t feel the transition.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Yes,” he agrees with no hesitation. “I’m going to get you well, Daphne.”

  My eyes start stinging. I blink them rapidly, turning my face away from Logan to hide my expression.

  I know what’s ahead of me. Endless tests, needles, charts. Days and nights in this bed where every second feels like a millennium. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. Weak and pathetic.”

  I wanted to pretend…that there was a chance it wouldn’t come back. That I’d actually beat this when I was a kid and wouldn’t ever have to fight it again—

  “Daphne—” I hear a rustle and then Logan’s there standing by my side, his big hand sliding into my hair, coaxing me to face him. “Look at me.”

  My chest is filled with boulders. I want to turn away but he won’t let me.

  “Look at me,” he commands, his voice deep and compelling. The timbre of The Master. His heavy brows oversee his stern expression, but his huge hands on my face are gentle. “You are not weak. I won’t allow you to say or think that. Just look at your charts. What you went through, what you survived...and still you’re full of love. Full of life.”

  I wet my lips. “I didn’t want the disease to define me.”

  “It hasn’t. And it won’t.” He looks so grim and determined, his huge form standing between me and death, I almost believe him.

  But I’m done with fairy tales. I have to be. For my sanity. It’s time for cold, hard facts.

  “How is this going to work? Am I going to go through treatment—here?”

  Logan tucks the blanket around me. “I’m starting you on a new treatment. An immunosuppressant. I think the traditional treatment is the wrong course of action. It assumes the deformed blood cells are the drivers of the disease. I think they’re just a symptom.”

  Every blood film I’ve viewed dances in my head. Knowing the shape of diseased cells doesn’t lessen the painful sensation in my body. It makes it worse. “But that’s not the accepted model. My father—”

  “Is gone. Maybe it’s time to try a new way.”

  I’m blank-faced and blinking, thinking through the implications of what Logan just said. This would change the direction of my father’s research—my research.

  Logan leans down and touches his lips to mine, breaking the spell. “Trust me, Daphne.”

  But all I can think is—he kissed me. Where he was supposed to, on the lips.

  His scent surrounds me, a crisp cocktail of his cologne and the clean delicious smell that’s all him. “I’m going to heal you from this current relapse. And then I’m going to cure you.”

  “So arrogant,” I whisper, but tingles run down my limbs at his proclamation.

  Logan looks like a knight ready to slay a dragon. He cups my face, his shadow falling over me, his presence a comforting cage. I feel small and safe, tucked away in this room, hidden from the world, with Logan at my side to defend me from Death.

  I want to close my eyes and give in to his strength. It would be so comforting to let someone else charge into the fight for me. To let Logan lead the front lines. To lay down the standard and rest for once in my life.

  But as I look up at Logan, so confident and determined, I can’t help wondering: is this what my father looked like when he made promises to my mother decades ago? When he swore he’d go to the ends of the earth, do anything, to make her better?

  That lifelong battle destroyed my father. It eventually turned him into a monster and my mother and I had a front row seat.

  How can I let the same tragedy play on repeat, this time starring Logan and myself?

  I swore never to turn out like my parents, even before I knew the extent of my father’s…betrayals. What he did to Logan.

  “I just got you back,” Logan murmurs,
holding me even tighter. “I can’t… I won’t lose you.”

  They’re words that are meant to soothe. Instead the uneasiness inside me grows, even as my eyes grow too heavy to stay open and I spiral back into sleep.

  Four

  Logan

  I hurry out the door before the delivery man can ring or bang the knocker.

  They’re delivering medical supplies, so you’d think they’d have a clue there might be sick people inside and they should be quiet. But the guy delivering equipment yesterday drove a truck so old, it backfired and woke Daphne up from a nap after it had taken her forever to fall asleep.

  I about took the guy’s head off.

  I jog down the steps of the front porch to head off any calamities, but the van that pulls in is a sleek, new model that’s so quiet, it has to be electric.

  A man in a gray uniform pushes open the front door and I greet him. “Did everything go smoothly with the shipment? When you got it off the truck, was anything broken?”

  “No, sir,” says the man. Paul, by his name tag. “I double-checked everything myself.”

  I nod and follow him around to the back of the van and, after signing paperwork on the digital clipboard he hands to me, he opens the doors.

  I pop open the top of the boxes and run my hands over the brand new, state-of-the-art hematology analyzer and cytology equipment. I’ve been waiting all week to get my hands on these. There are plenty of universities and labs that don’t have such quality machines. But I don’t care about cost. I’ll spare no expense when it comes to Daphne’s life.

  I nod again. “They look like they’re in good shape.”

  I’ll be able to get much more accurate readings with this equipment and really be able to know if any changes we’re making in Daphne’s treatments are having even the most incremental effect.

  “I’ll use the dolly to get them safely inside,” Paul says but I just wave him away. I don’t want anyone else inside the house disturbing Daphne. She’s the lightest sleeper these days.

  “No need.” I pick up the large hematology analyzer and heft it in my arms, then head for the door. Paul stands by, his mouth slightly open. He doesn’t offer to carry the other box. A good idea since it probably weighs half as much as he does.

  I’m quickly back for the second box anyway. It’s heavier than the first but after a quick trip, I’ve deposited it inside as well and am sending Paul on his way.

  It’s another ordeal to get them downstairs and set up in the lab. I’m breaking a sweat by the time I’m done but it feels good. At least this is something tangible that I can do.

  Better than sitting around all week watching Daphne suffer and not being able to do a damn thing to fix it.

  I meant what I promised her. I’m going to cure her. I’ll be strong enough for both of us.

  She just has to trust me…

  Like you trusted her?

  My hands clench but then my cell phone starts blasting “Down with the Sickness” by Disturbed. I laugh out loud and immediately answer. “When did you change my ringtone?”

  Daphne’s wan voice answers, “You must be getting slow in your old age if you didn’t notice me do it.”

  I’ve already started out of the lab and am halfway up the stairs. I treasure any time she’s awake and hate to think of her ever lying there in bed all alone. At the same time, I feel the pressure beating at me from all sides. Have to find a cure. Have to find a cure. There’s no time. Daphne’s mother died young.

  Even allowing the briefest thought spurs my feet faster and in no time, I’m pushing the door to Daphne’s room open.

  “How is my favorite—?” the words die in my throat, though, when I see Daphne spread out on the bed in nothing more than a slip of red lingerie. My mouth goes dry.

  “Hi,” she says shyly and wiggles her fingers at me in greeting.

  “What are you doing?” I look around, immediately zeroing in on the open window. “Daphne, it’s not safe. Your immune system is compromised right now and we can’t take any chances.” I rush over and shut the window with a harsh bang.

  I turn around to head back to the bed so that I can cover Daphne with the thick comforter. But what I’m not prepared for is the fury on her face.

  Or the pillow that comes zinging right at my head.

  “Wha—?” I yelp before getting smacked right in the face by the pillow. I look at Daphne in bewilderment but she’s just getting more ammunition, ready to launch pillow number two.

  “Daph!”

  She launches the pillow and I manage to get my arm up just in time to knock it out of the way as I stride toward the bed to head off any more attacks. They don’t hurt, but she doesn’t have the energy for this. She barely managed to get the second pillow the few feet away from the bed to even hit me, she’s already that tired.

  I sit on the bed beside her and grab her up in my arms. She struggles for the slightest bit before going slack.

  “Don’t you dare,” she hisses. Apparently she hasn’t completely given up the fight yet.

  “Dare what?” I asked, genuinely fucking bewildered. “Usually I can follow your moods, babe, but you got even me stumped.”

  “My moods? My moods?”

  I arch an eyebrow. “I feel like anywhere I step is a landmine.”

  She looks away from me, staring at the wall and biting her lip. So many times I’ve wished I could read her mind. If I could just see into that broiling brain of hers that’s always ten steps ahead, maybe I could finally feel like I understand what’s—

  She suddenly looks back at me, a desperation in her eyes I’ve never seen from her before. “Make love to me.”

  Her words make me harden instantly. Because I’m a selfish fuckwit like that and I want her, all the time. Any way I can get her.

  But I’m trying to be a better man. I peel her off of me. “Daph, no. We can’t. You’re way too tired for that.”

  “Says who? You? Suddenly you’re inside my body and know what I can and cannot take?” She’s challenging. Belligerent. Angry. And afraid.

  Because underneath everything else, I see her fear. I see her vulnerability.

  I might not understand everything that’s going on in her head. Or hell, maybe I don’t understand anything that’s going on in her head.

  But I can see she needs me right now. And I’ll always give my Daphne everything she needs.

  So I pull her against me and drop my lips to hers in the gentlest kiss imaginable. But Daphne’s not having it.

  She crushes her lips against mine and tears at my shirt. But it’s like she barely has patience for that, only shoving it past my abs far enough so that she can get to my bare skin. And then so that she can get to the button on my jeans.

  “Whoa whoa, Daph, maybe we should slow down?”

  But she just grins up at me, the shadows under her eyes doing nothing to diminish her beauty.

  She reaches into my pants and squeezes my ever-hardening length. “It doesn’t feel like you want to slow down.”

  I groan and devour her lips, because I can’t not. “You know that’s not the problem,” I murmur in her ear. “I’m trying to handle you with care.”

  “Don’t.” She leans up and bites my ear. “Just fuck me. Hard like I like it.”

  My cock lurches towards her like a heat seeking missile. Maybe if I’m extra careful… If I take it slow and watch her body for signals…

  But slow is not on Daphne’s radar tonight. She pushes me back on the bed—well, she applies the tiniest force to my chest and I go back because I know it’s what she wants. And then, before I can consider anything else, she’s climbing on top, straddling me.

  “Daphne—”

  But she silences me with a kiss. I’m not sure it’s passionate, but it certainly is desperate. My Daphne is desperate and it fucking kills me.

  So I kiss her back. In spite of the alarm bells going off in my head about how her being on top is the most taxing position for her, and how limited her energy levels
are, and—

  I wrap my arms around her to help hold her in place, and I kiss the woman I love back.

  It’s a shameful rush. Giving us what we both want so desperately, but in the back of my mind, a chorus of voices chant: you’re hurting her, you’re hurting her, you’re hurting her—

  I’m about to push her away when she suddenly collapses to the side, feebly reaching for her pillow.

  “Daphne!” I exclaim, but she turns her face away from me.

  “Go away,” she says weakly into the pillow, still not letting me see her face.

  “Daph, what the hell just happened?”

  Finally she shoves the pillow to the side and glares at me. “I don’t have enough fucking energy to seduce my fucking boyfriend, that’s what.”

  First of all, her boyfriend? The term is ridiculous for what we are. And secondly, when did she get so foulmouthed?

  She turns her face away again. “I just keep sticking my foot in it. I didn’t mean to say you’re my boyfriend. I know we’ve never, like, defined things…” Her voice turns bitter. “Especially now that we can’t even fuck.”

  This woman… I shake my head at her. Have I taught her nothing? Then again, I’ve been so concerned with her external well-being that I’ve been neglecting the appetite I helped her develop. And sex was always the place where the two of us went to find clarity.

  I lean over her and capture her wrists, pinning them on either side of her body. “I think you should take one of the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed tonight,” I say in my lowest, most dangerous voice. It’s the voice of the Master. “You’ll need your rest for what I have planned for you tomorrow.”

  I’m hovering so close above her, I feel the shiver that runs through her body, head to toe. Even in the middle of everything she’s going through, I can still affect her.

  I want to curl myself behind her and clutch her to me, to prove to myself that she’s real and she’s not going anywhere.