Captiva Captive (4 page)

“I was out of the powder stuff.”

“I’m a floor below,” he pointed out, staring down at her. “And I’m a phone call away. 
Always
.  But lately, I think you’ve lost my number.”

“Ryan.”  She attempted something as both palms unconsciously came up in that pleading stance she always took when he was around.  “I have so much going on, and I can’t do this.  You give and give and I can’t keep taking from people, particularly you.”

“You’ve never taken a dime from me.”

“We both know that’s not what I’m talking about.  But to clarify, it’s the whole I can’t go there speech.  Except it isn’t a speech, but the truth, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear it again.   I certainly don’t want to repeat it.” She righted her skirt while pushing away the clinging suds.

“Back to that.”

“Never left that,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

“We’re not having
that
conversation now.”  He clamped a steely palm over her arm, pulling her toward the kitchen.  Without another word, he jogged in an out of the bathroom with peroxide and cotton balls in tow.  “You don’t have bandages.”  He easily lifted her onto the snack bar.

“I’m a tough gal.”  She grinned.  Relieved they’d dropped the unpleasant conversation she usually didn’t escape with him lately.  Of course, not wanting a relationship with Ryan didn’t stop her from ogling, not at all.  As far as she could tell, her hunky self-imposed guardian was physically flawless.   
Ah, there’s no randomness in beauty
, Blythe mused, since nature selects those who must be a step above, or even a few miles ahead of the rest.  It was a cosmic something or other, which happened from time to time.  A high-five from the genetic lottery bestowed upon the few lucky ones.  She admired the view, because she wasn’t nearly dead yet, and Ryan was a stunning man.

He settled a chair between her thighs.  Giving her no other choice but to sit and endure or attempt another smack down on the tile.  Unnerving as usual, Ryan locked his possessive eyes with hers and reached under her skirt.  With a precision only a man who knew his way around a female body could take; he smoothly slid her pantyhose down her long shaky legs.  His nostrils flared a bit, going white around the edges, a telltale sign against his golden complexion.  Only then, did he break his hypnotic stare to pour the cool peroxide on the blood-matted nylon, forcing it to give way.  “Ouch,” she hissed.  Eyes flipping back to hers, he whispered lips over the worst of her cuts, staring soul-deep while kissing her bleeding leg.  “You shouldn’t,” she protested, but he simply tightened his hold when she tried to yank her leg away.

He licked his bottom lip, openly tasting a drop of blood.  “It’s just you,” he said, voice dripping an octave with that gruff sex-filled edge of his, “and me.”

Still holding on to her calf, he rubbed deep circles with his thumb, inching up and up and….  “Thanks, I have to get some rest.”  A level below, Six Feet Under’s throbbing music had just stalled out for the night.  With her floor no longer vibrating, it was the perfect time to catch some shut-eye.

“Dismissal time,” he ground out. “So I go and pretend you mean nothing to me when you close your door in my face?”

“God, don’t.”

“Why not?  Do you think, even for a second, that this can go on indefinitely?” He looked as if he wanted to yell, rant and rave.   Throw something at someone other than her.  But he didn’t.  That wasn’t Ryan – not him.   No way, he was too cool-headed, eerily calm at all times. 

“We’re close friends,” she said, helpless to offer more.  Her head was too messed up, and she refused to use the one man who had never let her down since high school.  If they attempted a romantic relationship, and it failed, she’d lose him for good. That just wouldn’t do.  She was still hoping that all his flirting with Dakota would amount to something.  However, Dakota wasn’t interested and Ryan’s heart truly wasn’t into her.

“Call up whatever you need to fight me.” Gently he grasped her waist and efficiently planted her on a dry section of tile. 

“I don’t want to fight.”

“That’s just it,” he rounded on her, a sudden lightning storm reflected the depths of his shockingly bright eyes, “you don’t fight for anything when it comes to
us
.”

    “Ryan, there’s never been any
us
.”  She watched him walk over to her shabby bookshelf and pick up their prom picture.  Why she still displayed it after all these years, she’d never know.  But she couldn’t find it in her heart to stuff it in a box and shove it in the closet.

    “Our only true date,” he murmured.

    “Ten years ago,” she carefully reminded him.

    “You were radiant that night.”

    “I don’t think so,” she scoffed.  “I wore a hand-me-down dress accessorized by cheap high heels our dog chewed the night before prom.  And just
look
at my hair,” she groaned. “The only salon Dad could afford employed an ancient hairdresser who smoked while she worked and still thought Kennedy was president.”  Blythe cracked a smile.  “She gave me a black beehive and we both know it.”

    “It was beautiful.”

    “Uh huh, for someone who was marrying Elvis.”  Blythe stepped closer, staring down at the past.  “She must’ve plowed through two cans of
Aqua Net
to get that kind of height.”

    “I thought you looked more like Wonder Woman,” Ryan said wistfully. “I twirled you around the dance floor, hoping that dress would fall down and reveal your red, white, and blue body suit - a true tribute to the American flag if there ever was one. And when you finally kissed me, I thought we were headed for your Invisible Jet to place our membership in the mile high club.”

    “Weren’t you afraid of my golden lasso?”

    “Never afraid of the lasso, Blythe, and it’s not too late to whip it out.”  With great care, he repositioned the picture and faced her. “What I
am
afraid of is your continuing to take care of your brother while neglecting yourself, and I can’t have it.”

    “You can’t have it?” Unfortunately, he didn’t really get a rise out of her since she was used to his macho bullshit. Or maybe she was just too tired to step up to the podium and speak for women everywhere. Ryan was a ‘club them and cave them’ kind of guy.  He’d been that way since she first met him years ago.  His father was that way, and at this point, would never change.  And why should he?  Ryan’s mamma loved him dearly. He stayed faithful and loved her deeply in return. They had an awesome marriage that anyone would long for.  Depending on how you looked at it, Ryan had learned from the best and would make someone happy one day - just not her.

    “You work three times the hours you should,” he placated, trying his best to back off though they both knew he couldn’t. “You say you can’t give up the cash.  How much of your income goes to pay for Anthony’s medical expenses?”

    “Although you didn’t bring it up, I appreciate the cheap rent here. I know you could get five times as much from anyone else.” She was embarrassed. “And it doesn’t matter what income I share with my brother.  You know that Tony needs me.” She walked over to the window, noticing a metallic flash that disappeared as quickly as it came.  Blythe rubbed her eyes, blaming it on exhaustion while realizing it was
way
past bedtime.  She was expected in the doctor’s office at eight in the morning, and the time neared three already.

    “It does matter, Blythe.” He said steadily.

    “I need some sleep.” Dropping this conversation was the best thing she could do for their friendship.

    “You sure do.  But first, step into the bathroom with me.”

    She stared at him. “The bathroom?”

    He gathered her hand into his and pulled her through the barely there hallway.  A mustard yellow eyesore awaited them on the other side.  “Hop in, both of us can’t fit,” he said because he was well past six feet, weighing in at a good two sixty – all muscle, and her bathroom was the size of an animal cracker box.

    Blythe didn't do anything with the apartment except mediocre scrubbing. Sure, the bathroom was clean if you could overlook the mold growing around a couple of shower tiles.
Everyone
had that.  But that awful paint color…. They needed sunglasses, and it was pitch black outside.  Instead of taking the money, time, and energy – all three things that Blythe didn’t have – to repaint, she bought a twelve dollar shower curtain depicting the Beatles’ infamous Yellow Submarine and decided to embrace the day-glow theme.  Her friend, Dakota, found a replica of the old movie poster while yard sailing and tacked it over the toilet. Voila. All that was missing was an unconscious, naked rocker in the bathtub and a few groundout joints floating around inside the wobbly commode. 

    “Look around, sweetheart.”

    She did.  “I’m tired.”

    “Really tired?  Bone tired?  Do you feel like you could crawl in that little bed of yours and sleep for months?”

    That’s when she saw her hair.  Black strings matted the drain.  Some draped the counter, while most littered the floor.  Ryan leaned around the threshold and opened the tiny drawer under her sink, the one holding her rubber bands and hairbrush.  She was sure she cleaned it out yesterday, but still.  His long tapered fingers clinched around the bristles and brought a clump the size of a small rodent to her face.  “What’s going on?”

    “I don’t have cancer.”

    “I didn’t say that you did.  But you have something.” He threw her hairball in the trash, carefully put her brush away and then braced both hands on the doorway, blocking her in.  Yes, Ryan was domineering.  Yes, she was used to it.  His high-handedness always worsened when he was angry or upset. 

    “Stress.  Let me by.” She refused to look in the mirror and admire her pallor, brittle hair, or the lines working themselves around her mouth and eyes. 

    “I don’t doubt that you have loads of stress, but that’s not it.”  He stayed right where he was.

    “Anemia, Ryan.  I have anemia.  My cancer markers are fine.  Platelets are up, but due to the anemia and nothing more.”

    Those spectacular eyes narrowed, before he marched into the kitchen, nearly slipping in the suds, and opened her refrigerator.  “There’s no food in here.” He slammed the door furiously.

    “Cut it out,” she pleaded. 

    “You cut it out!” He brought a mop and a bucket out of a nearby broom closet, and went to work on the remaining suds.  “You’re going to the doctor tomorrow.  With.  Me.”

    “I already have an appointment at eight in the morning. He looked up at her, though his arms continued laboring at a blinding speed.  Mopping the floor until she thought he would wear a hole and fall through to the club below.  “What doctor?”

    “Dru Holt.”

    He visibly relaxed.  “When was your last true meal?”

  He always could tell when she was lying, and she never understood how.  “Lunch with Dakota,” she said honestly.

  “No dinner?” He stopped long enough to point a finger her way. “That shit’s gonna stop.”

  “I don’t have an appetite, Ryan.  Not lately.  Okay?”

  He wrung the mop out and perched it on the sink.  The bucket ended up back in the closet after he rinsed it.  She never had the time to do anything for him in return, only Tony.  But Ryan didn’t want anything from her other than her heart.  And if it hadn’t been clawed out and stomped on by a certain nameless asshole, she probably could have given it up by now.

    He glanced at his watch and then back to her.  “You’ve got a few hours left to sleep.  Skip the shower, get your ratty Florida State jersey on, and I’ll be there in a minute.” He stared her down, daring her to argue and added, “I have to make a phone call first.”

    Like she’d invited him to sleepover.  “Dakota’s lending me her car, so I can drive myself to the doctor.”

    “I can see your hands shaking from here,” he ground out.  “You don’t wanna go toe-to-toe with me on this, Blythe.  Not the way I’m feeling right now.”

    After her parents were killed in a car accident on the Sanibel causeway, they’d slept side by side for countless nights as friends.  And even though she’d been gone for years, they’d stayed close with phone calls, texts, emails and an occasional visit.  Now that she moved back to the United States nearly six months ago, Ryan treated her as if they’d never been apart. At no time had he hid the fact that he wanted more, and up until lately, he’d been patient with her.  

    She understood that he wasn’t going to leave for the night, no matter her protests. “Yeah.  Bed sounds good.” 

    He had the nerve to ask, “You still snore?”

    “I hope so.”

    Ryan adjusted his hard-on while watching the curve of Blythe’s jaw-dropping ass disappear into the bedroom.  With his phone in hand, he pulled up his contact list and hit Dru Holt, resident vampire and all around ally of the Weres.  Which was more of a ‘command performance’ relationship since the good doctor married the Alpha’s sister-n-law, but most days, it worked out for everyone.

    “Ryan?”  The doctor asked sleepily.

    “Doc, I have a problem.”

Chapter 4

  
A
n
hour later, Sixteen took the form of an alley cat and followed Blythe’s freshly blazed trail, which led to an upstairs apartment that was situated right over Six Feet Under.  He’d hunted her by scent alone.  One that he’d know anywhere. It had always called to every fiber of his being.  A relentless draw that said she owned his soul.  

By her heart’s languid rhythm, she was sleeping, and he couldn’t believe how close his body was to hers.  Barriers of brick and mortar couldn’t stop the connection that first embedded itself into his very existence many years ago. Problem was, she wasn’t alone. Slinking further up a shaky, wooden staircase that led to his sleeping Blythe, he cocked his head, thinking he smelled another vampire.

    And he did.

    He hissed uncontrollably through the windowpane.

    Inside, the vampire stiffened.  Then peeked over
her
head and smiled cruelly in his direction.

    “Hey,” Blythe mumbled, “what’s wrong?”