by Zuri Day
“Careful, brother.” The concern in Christian’s urgently muttered command caused a pitter-patter in Lauren’s heart. “Is the doctor—”
“Headed to your house right now. Not Dr. Simon, though. He recommended an orthopedic specialist. She’s on the way.”
“Let’s get her in the car. Open the door and then go over to the other side to help me ease her in. Don’t touch the right ankle. It might be broken.”
Lauren wrapped her arms around Christian’s neck and burrowed her head into his shoulder. The pain had ramped up considerably. Yet in the moment, her nostrils had the nerve to catch a whiff of Christian’s cologne, a musky, smoky, spicy combination of sandalwood, bergamot and...was that patchouli? Damned if Lauren could help but reason that had she known this was the fastest way to end up in Christian’s arms, she would have broken her foot Friday night!
Safely ensconced in the back seat of his SUV, Lauren felt the car turning around and speeding down the long road. From her visit to Victoria the previous day, she knew they were heading in the direction of the main house. Yet when the car pulled to a stop a few minutes later and she rose up to look around, the home-slash-architectural-wonder was one she hadn’t seen before. One of three garage doors rose. Christian hopped out of the car and opened the back door, just as another car pulled up beside them.
“Where are we?” Lauren asked.
“My place,” Christian said, scooping her up and effortlessly carrying her as though she weighed nothing at all. “The doctor is here, baby. You can relax now. Everything will be fine.” He turned to the woman exiting a white sedan. “Doctor?”
“Yes. Dr. Burman.”
“This way, please.” With strong, sure strides Christian ate up the distance between the driveway and the side door inside the garage. As they neared it, the door opened.
“Mr. Breedlove!”
“Hi, Tara.” And then to the doctor, Christian ordered, “Follow me.”
As he passed by the woman holding open the door, Lauren took in the kind, worried eyes of a short older woman with long black hair. They continued down a hallway and up a short flight of stairs to the first-floor landing. Lauren caught glimpses of slate tile, marble, stainless steel and large paneless windows before they entered another hallway leading to a set of exquisitely carved black African wood double doors.
After placing his palm against a panel on the wall, the doors opened into a master suite the size of Lauren’s condo back home. He strode through a sitting area to a four-poster bed on a raised platform. As he gingerly laid her on a silky soft spread, she looked up, closed her eyes quickly and looked again. Instead of a luxurious beamed, vaulted or tray ceiling one might expect, the master suite’s ceiling was made entirely of a tinted glass that let in the cloudless sky and the sun’s colorful rays while shielding the room from its heat. If she died and went to heaven, she hoped she’d end up in a room like this.
“What can I get you, Doctor?” Christian asked.
“Only privacy,” Dr. Burman responded, with the slightest of smiles as she placed a black bag on the bedside table and opened it.
“Oh, of course. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Dr. Burman began speaking before the door closed. “Hello... Lauren, correct?” She nodded. “We’re going to have a look at that ankle, okay?” The doctor pulled out a pair of scissors. “I hope these aren’t your favorite jeans. I’m going to have to cut them away to have a look.”
“It’s fine,” Lauren replied, her jaw clamped tight against the pain.
The doctor’s tone was casual, conversational, as she reached for the pants leg hem and began to cut. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”
“About a nine, I guess.”
Lauren felt the doctor’s gentle touch on her foot and calf. “The ankle is swelling quite a bit and beginning to bruise. Now, this is going to cause a bit of discomfort but I need to apply pressure on the affected area to determine the severity.”
The doctor was quick and efficient. Once she finished examining the leg, she checked Lauren’s vitals, as well. “At the very least you’ve experienced a severe sprain, and there may very well be a fracture of sorts. We’ll need to get you in for X-rays to determine how extensive the damage is. Until then, I’m going to do a compression wrap of your ankle to provide stability and support and cold therapy packs to help decrease swelling. I’ll also give you something for pain relief. Keep these pillows beneath the ankle so that it can remain elevated at all times. Other than that, stay off your feet as much as possible and get some rest. Do you have any questions?”
“If fractured, how long will it take to heal?”
“That depends on your body. In some cases a fracture can actually be better than a sprain because then you’re dealing with bone instead of muscle, which can heal faster and easier. It feels as though your ankle is badly sprained. For now, just focus on staying calm and positive, knowing that with the Breedlove family you will receive the best possible care. If the condition worsens—more pain, further discoloration, continued swelling—we’ll get you in for an X-ray tonight.”
After wrapping the ankle and activating the ice pack, Dr. Burman disappeared to another part of the room and returned with a glass of water. She handed it to Lauren along with a pain pill and after briefly leaving the room, returned to Lauren’s bedside. She helped remove the cut jeans and sweaty tee and provided her with a clean extra-large T-shirt from Christian’s wardrobe room.
With the doctor’s reassuring pat and a quiet goodbye, Lauren fixated on the colorful prisms on the glass overhead created by the sunrays as they danced their way west, and fell asleep within minutes. Hours later, groggily coming awake, she was filled with Christian’s scent and the feeling of him in bed beside her—naked, hot and hard. She moaned, her arms encased in his embrace, something wrapped around her legs. She shifted to push the cover away from her foot and...
“Ow!”
Lauren’s eyes flew open as pain shot through her body. Brow scrunched, she looked around as the sensual dream faded and cold, hard reality dawned. She was alone—not tightly ensconced in Christian’s arms—and the bedsheets had somehow wound themselves around her.
Gingerly sitting up, she placed a pillow behind her and leaned against it while looking around. The lavishness and exquisite attention to detail in the room’s design that she’d missed earlier were now breathtakingly evident—grays, tans and ivories, burnished metals, sleek, clean-lined furnishings and abstract art. There appeared to be several rooms; one she knew contained his wardrobe. Another she assumed was the master bath.
But there was more. Turning left, a profusion of color greeted her. On the bedside table was a bouquet of vibrant flowers: yellow calla lilies, orange roses and hot-pink daisies. Amid the blossoms and Hypericum berries was a small white envelope, her name scribbled across it. She pulled it from the holder and retrieved the note inside.
Hello, sleeping beauty: I hope you’ve rested well and are feeling better. Push the button beside you for whatever you need. Your pain medication prescription has been filled. The doctor sent along crutches. Don’t use them. You’ll heal faster by staying in bed. Tara is waiting to assist you with food, drink, whatever you need. I’ll be home later.
CB.
She read the note twice, frowning at his presumptuousness in issuing orders even as she ran her finger over the authoritatively delivered promise that he’d be home later. Discreetly placed beside the table was the button he mentioned, one that she imagined would bring servants running, ready to attend to her every need.
What was it like to live this way, she wondered, with everything at your fingertips? A part of Lauren felt appalled at the idea, the other part could quite get accustomed to it. She nestled against the pillow, remembering her dream, imagining a lifetime with Christian beside her. She shifted her leg. A jolt of pain shot up from her ankle, reminding
her why she was there. She sat up and consciously shut down the wistful meanderings.
She reached for the pad and pen on the table beside her and replied to Christian’s acts of kindness. Then, after deciding what actions to take, she pushed the bedside button. Tara magically appeared. She carried a small plastic container that she set on a table. She removed a small pill cup and crossed to the bed.
“Are you in pain, Miss Lauren?” The housekeeper held out the small paper cup. “Here is your medication.”
“Thank you, Tara, and please, just Lauren is fine.”
“Oh, no, Miss Lauren. I couldn’t. The title is a sign of respect.”
Lauren shrugged. “Okay.” Let the lady have it the way that she wanted. After today she’d likely not see her again. She reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and downed the pills.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like help with a bath?”
“I’m fine, thank you. All I need is something decent to put on and a ride back to my house.”
Tara’s eyes briefly widened. “Oh, no, Miss Lauren. Mr. Breedlove gave explicit instructions that you are to remain here to be properly attended to.”
Lauren’s brows rose as images of how properly he could probably attend to her flashed through her mind.
“Thank Mr. Breedlove kindly, but it’s only my ankle and it already feels better. I left a note so he’ll know it was my call. Is there someone who can drive me, or should I call a cab?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Both ladies turned as Christian sauntered into the room with the air of a boss and an expression that brooked no argument.
“Mr. Breedlove!” Tara stuttered. “I didn’t expect you back until later.”
“There was a change in plans.” He moved to the edge of the bed and lifted the cold pack, now room temperature, from Lauren’s ankle.
Tara hurried to the container she’d brought into the room. “Here is the new cold pack, Mr. Breedlove. I was just about to change it.”
“Thank you, Tara.” He spoke to the housekeeper but his eyes were on Lauren. “I’ll take over from here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once the housekeeper left the room, Christian walked over to place the used cold pack in the plastic container. After gently placing the fresh one on her ankle he said, “I thought my instructions for you were very clear—to remain here, in bed.”
“And I thought my dad’s name was Paul.”
Lauren watched his eyes narrow and darken, the message within them unreadable. She kept her face neutral, but her insides shivered. This was her first encounter with his presidential persona, a man undeniably in charge, used to giving orders and having them followed. His autocratic demeanor and commanding tone were traits she was sure had felled lesser men. They moved her, too. But he wouldn’t know it. She lifted a defiant chin and met his smoldering gaze.
The atmosphere in the room snapped, crackled and popped.
Christian’s eyes held a devilish glint when he raised them to her. “You’re being a lousy patient.”
“A lousy houseguest, maybe, but I’m following the doctor’s orders, Dr. Burman’s instructions,” Lauren emphasized, “as best as I can. She has an exceptional bedside manner.”
“And I don’t?”
A flippant answer died on her tongue, replaced by a quiet intake of breath that matched the slow, steady trail Christian made with his finger, from ankle to knee and back again. He walked to a chair, sat, and began removing his shoes.
“Are you saying my bedside manner needs improving?”
“I...”
Again, words failed her. Lauren could only watch as he rose from the chair and erased the distance between them. Without removing his khaki shorts or polo shirt he eased up on the bed and against the headboard and pulled her into his arms.
“Perhaps I’m out of practice,” he whispered against her temple, before planting a kiss there, and then another. “Perhaps you being here is just what I need to...refine my skills.”
He placed a finger beneath her chin. Lauren’s head fell back against the arm that supported her. Since it had happened before, she thought she was ready for his explosive kiss—those pillow-soft lips and super-skilled tongue. But she wasn’t, couldn’t have been, or else the earth would not have tilted on its axis, along with her body as her tongue danced with his. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips as he brushed his cushiness against hers, kissed her cheek, then her neck. His hand moved down to her breast and cupped it. He flicked his thumb across her sensitive flesh and stroked her nipples, making them harden and her entire body yearn for more.
Her mind was willing, her heart open, her body oh so ready to receive everything that he had to give. But the pain medication was strong and chose this inconvenient moment to begin taking effect. She felt him ease away and off the bed.
“No...” She tried to pull him back to her, but he resisted.
“Not like this, my love. When we come together, I want you to remember everything that happens, and for the only haze to be that of our ardent desire. Right now you need rest and food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need sustenance. I’ll have the chef prepare and deliver a meal, and get someone to drive you home.”
“Why not you?” Lauren mumbled through her fogginess.
He smiled, walked over and kissed her forehead. “Trust me, if I take you there, you’ll get no rest at all.”
A last kiss to the lips and Christian backed away. “Feel better, baby.”
Tara helped her dress. A short time later, Lauren arrived at her front door, aided by a collapsible crutch and one of the estate’s many employees. On her kitchen counter was a well-stocked basket from which wafted something delicious. She’d wanted nothing more than to stay in Christian’s bed and have him rejoin her in it. Had it not been for the pain medication, it would have surely happened. Moments away from making love and once again, life had intervened. Maybe the universe was sending signs that a dalliance with Christian was not a good idea.
She already had one serious man problem. Perhaps she should focus on solving that issue before jumping into bed with another. Whatever the case, here, in her temporary abode, she’d have the space and the time to think more clearly. Because if she’d stayed in his home, the pain would have dissipated, her appetite would have returned, and Christian would most definitely have been on the menu.
Eight
Before leaving home and heading to work, Christian tucked Lauren and the events of the weekend into a mental box that he then pushed to the back of his mind. Compartmentalizing and single-minded focus were skills he’d unconsciously honed as a kid, ones that allowed him to master whatever challenge he faced and developed him into a brilliant businessman. Having just been promoted to president of CANN International, Christian was determined to stay focused on the myriad of moving parts in the family’s ever-expanding empire. Even though Nicholas would continue to be a vital voice in the business, Christian knew that from now on the buck would stop with him.
So as he turned his pricey sports car into the private executive entrance of the hotel, his mind wasn’t on yesterday when he’d returned home and found Lauren ready to flee. It wasn’t on the mixed emotions he’d felt at having Lauren in his bed—hot, waiting and ready—and then realizing she’d just taken pain medication. He couldn’t help but remember that had he not come home when he did, his bed would have been empty. Which brought up a few questions. Was she sending mixed signals, being a tease? How much of the desire she displayed was real, and how much was part of a grander scheme, perhaps the real reason she’d moved to Vegas to work with Mom? And maybe the most important question of all, why did he care?
Passing a mirror on the way to the boardroom, Christian stopped and took in his reflection with a critical eye. Today he wore an original design from his good fr
iend Ace Montgomery’s HIS collection. The tailored navy suit had been paired with a pale yellow shirt that highlighted his bronze skin and the blue, gold and silver patterned tie that bore the CANN logo. His jewelry was platinum but understated—square cuff links with a matching tiepin and a deceptively simple watch.
Christian straightened his tie, ran a hand over his silky curls and then, convinced that his look was perfection, continued down the hallway. He wasn’t vain, and while he’d walked the runway a time or two, he wasn’t the style-conscious clotheshorse that fashion magazines often pegged him. But he was his mother’s son. From their youth, Victoria had preached the importance of and connection between looking good and feeling good. Christian had listened and learned.
He reached the closed boardroom doors and, mentally pushing the on button, entered his first executive meeting as the corporation’s president.
“Gentlemen, good morning!”
Hearty claps and a chorus of greetings followed him to the head of the table. He nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t let the outward show of approval go to his head. He knew that at least two of the smiles were half-hearted at best and one was an outright lie. He was now the boss to men older, wiser and no doubt in their mind more deserving of the position.
“Thanks, everyone. I appreciate the support. Especially now, as I unfold plans for a vigorously ambitious building project, one that will be our most innovative and expensive to date. Let’s get down to business.”
He opened his laptop and connected it to a port on the table.
“As all of you know, CANN UAE was built at the onset of that country’s push to become a playground for the wealthy. However, the window of unlimited opportunity and unbridled growth is quickly closing. For the past year, my advisers and I have been scouting the world for the best location of the next man-made paradise for the superrich, and I believe we’ve found it. More accurately, we’ve found the land where we want to create it. Any ideas?” He looked over at the adviser sitting at the table. “Not from you,” he jokingly admonished.