Gabriel West: Still The One. Fiona BrandЧитать онлайн книгу.
and so sick. “Promises,” she muttered, then everything receded, slipping into blackness again.
A hoarse curse scraped from West’s throat as Tyler sagged into his chest. He caught her hard against him, lowered her to the concrete, then on another soft curse, jerked his T-shirt over his head, tore a strip of white interlock off and bandaged the seeping cut on the side of her head. When he lifted her into his arms, her head lolled against his shoulder and fear shafted through him. Head wounds were dicey things, she’d wake up with the mother of all headaches at the very least. He refused to think about other possibilities.
Seconds later he strapped Tyler into the passenger seat of his car, slid behind the wheel and searched one-handed for his cell phone as he took the ramp out of the underground garage.
He found the phone, pressed the emergency code, and waited for the operator to put him through to Accident and Emergency. When the hospital had all the details, he settled down to driving, the damp night air chill on his bare skin as he shoved the car through traffic. Rain continued to stream down in a light, steady drizzle that rose up off the slick streets as a thin mist, wreathing the fast-moving, raucous flow of inner-city traffic.
West’s heart was pounding, his belly tight with apprehension. He felt savage, wary and electrified by what had just happened. His mind fastened on the moment when the elevator doors had opened and Tyler’s dark gaze had found his, hooked somewhere deep inside him and clung. That moment had almost stopped his heart.
He’d moved into the apartment in Tyler’s building with the specific purpose of getting close to his wife, but a part of him hadn’t believed Tyler would ever allow him close again.
Just minutes ago she’d all but crawled inside his skin.
The lights ahead flashed red. He swore beneath his breath, considered running the light, then braked.
The abrupt jolting motion sent a shaft of pain through Tyler’s head. She winced and opened her eyes, for a moment disoriented by the glare of lights off rain-slick roads, and West sitting beside her, his torso bare. The last thing she remembered she’d been kneeling on cold concrete, leaning on West, and he’d been wearing a T-shirt.
The lights changed. West accelerated and, gingerly, she straightened, keeping her head as still as possible. The second she moved, she felt the touch of West’s gaze as powerfully as if he’d reached out and physically touched her. “How long have I been out?”
“Five minutes. We’ll be at the hospital in two. And don’t argue. Aside from needing stitches you’ve probably got a concussion.”
“That’s a safe bet.” Her head throbbed with a deep, frightening ache and she was seeing colors. That was the clincher. The only other time she could remember seeing colors had been when she’d been thrown from a horse at age thirteen, without the benefit of a protective helmet.
West turned into a car-park entrance and pulled into a space. Tyler recognized the A&E entrance of Auckland Hospital.
She reached up to touch the bandage that was wound around her head, and somehow managed to misjudge the distance so that her fingers connected with her head more violently than she’d intended. Hot pain flashed through her skull, and her stomach rolled.
She sucked in a shallow breath, then another, and groped for the door handle. “I’m going to be sick.”
Instead of the door releasing she must have hit the window button because glass slid down and damp air flowed across her face. She heard a soft imprecation. Seconds later her door swung open and West leaned in, released her seat belt, and she found herself hauled out into the rain. His arms came around her as her stomach cramped painfully, anchoring her against him as she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach into the shrubbery bordering the car park.
When she was finished she sagged against him, uncaring that it was raining and that they were both getting wet. An odd peacefulness settled over her at his silent support, his heat and strength engulfing her. All of the issues that existed between them aside, she was too needy, in too much pain, and too disoriented to do anything but accept his help.
The thought drifted into her mind that West might have broken her heart, but he had never broken her trust.
As crazy as it seemed, it was true. He had made promises, and he had kept them, and she’d married him knowing that their relationship would be constantly sidelined by SAS operations. If she was honest, in that sense, she had let him down.
A car cruised past. The bright gleam of headlights scythed the drizzle and broke the fragile peace.
“Are you ready to make a move?” West’s voice was low, with that calm note that said he would stay here holding her in the rain if that was what she wanted.
She’d forgotten that about him—that still, quiet quality. Years ago it had intrigued her. She’d fallen in love with his dark, soft voice, but somewhere along the way, the very qualities that had drawn her so powerfully had started to grate.
He had been too controlled, too patient, and she hadn’t had enough of either quality.
“Can you walk?” His voice was close to her ear.
“Just.”
He left her leaning against the car while he closed the window and collected her bag and the leather jacket. She heard the gentle thunk of locks engaging, then he draped the jacket over her shoulders, wrapped his arm around her waist and urged her toward the brightly lit entrance of A&E.
The rain eased off as they approached the steps, leaving the night still and sodden and heavy with the scents of car exhaust and bitumen.
Tyler lifted her head and caught her reflection in the glass doors, then wished she hadn’t. Her face was as white as the makeshift bandage around her head; her hair was straggling around her shoulders and what she could see of her suit beneath the jacket was wrinkled and sticking clammily to her skin.
West, in stark contrast, looked fresh and sharp and gorgeous, his bronzed shoulders sleek and glistening under the lights. The fact that he had no shirt didn’t seem to affect him. “You know, West, I had this fantasy of how in control I’d be the next time I bumped into you. This isn’t it.”
“Tell me about it.” He paused on the steps and produced a clean handkerchief so she could wipe her face.
Groggy as she was, she noticed it was monogrammed. “You get your handkerchiefs monogrammed?”
“Don’t crucify me over it. They were a gift from a friend.” An offbeat smile flitted across his mouth. “Roma McCabe gives them to me at Christmas just to tick me off.”
The humor in his voice, the sheer intimacy of the gift threw Tyler off balance. Numbly, she wiped her face and blew her nose. She knew who Roma McCabe was—the only daughter of the wealthy and powerful Lombard family. She was also aware of West’s business connections with that family, and that Roma had married one of West’s friends, Ben McCabe, but somehow the closeness of the connection had never sunk in. She had always considered West to be a loner—a man no one could ever truly get close to—most especially not a woman.
It registered that despite having lived with West for three years, she didn’t know him at all.
It also registered that against all the odds she was jealous.
The wail of an arriving ambulance went through West like a knife as the doors to the brightly lit waiting room slid open, flooding his nostrils with the smells of antiseptics and cleaners, the stale miasma of too many people. The abrupt sensory overload briefly spun him back to his childhood and early teens, to broken ribs and pain and, once, the wrong end of a knife. The proximity of sick, hurt people—the hospital itself—closed around him, made the back of his throat tighten. He dipped and nuzzled the top of Tyler’s head, breathed in her pretty, subtle scents, at once taking refuge in the woman in his arms, and conferring protection. If he’d had any doubts before about walking back into Tyler’s life, they were gone.
She might not like it, but right now, she needed