Too Much to Lose (26 page)

“That’s true. But it’s in the
past. Nothing changes the fact that you’re my princess, Jessie. Mine.
Understand?”

I shake my head. “You can’t
possess me. I’ve had men own my body. I won’t let that happen again.”

He drops his arms as if stung
by my words. I don’t turn to face him but I imagine him scraping a hand through
his hair.

“I’m nothing like them,” he
says tersely.

I turn then, arms wrapped
around myself. His brow is creased, eyes dark. Tense lines crease around his
lips, barely disguised by the dark hair on his jaw.

“I know—”

His head snaps up. “Do you?” He
steps close again and looms over me. I’m bent against the kitchen counter. His
chest comes flush against mine and my traitorous body responds again. “When I
say you’re mine, I don’t mean your body, Jess. I mean your heart.” Hunter steps
back and smacks a hand against his chest. “You own me and if you let yourself I
know you’d figure out that I’m in your heart too. And there’s no changing that.
Your past, my past, none of it will change that. You can fight this as much as
you want but I’ll still be there, just as you’ll always be in mine.”

I pin my shaky hands under my
armpits, mind reeling from his words. The heart in question throbs against my
ribs as if reaching out for him. “I—” I’m too weak, I want to say. Too scared.
Too distrustful. None of it comes. I’ve been played with too many times now.
Betrayed once too often. If I accept all this, there will be no going back.

“I was an asshole. I wanted
money. Nothing was worth hurting you for, but believe me, I will make up for
it. You just have to let me in.” He says the last part through his teeth. It
verges on a growl of frustration. “You have to let me in,” he repeats.

The ache in my throat threatens
to strangle me. My vision blurs and I spin away before I can weaken. It’s all
too much for me to take in—that kind of love. Can I even live up to it? I storm
upstairs and hide myself in the spare bedroom. When no footsteps follow, I cry.
I cry because of the hurt in my chest and the tainted memories, and I cry
because, in spite of myself, I wanted him to follow.

When the sun has dropped and
the street lights are on, I finally emerge from the bedroom. I have my full
make-up on, something I’d been cutting down on since the truth came out. I
still need some kind of disguise, particularly for being at the bank, but the
terror I’d lived with had eased in Hunter’s presence. But not today. I need
protection. Dressed in leather trousers and a Murphy’s tee, I draw up my
shoulders and try to reform the plates of my armour. It seems Hunter has put
too many dents in it because as soon as I see him, all in leather too, I want
to fling myself against him.

“You ready?”

I nod. “Are we taking the
bike?”

“Yeah.” His gaze skims me.
“You’re dressed for it.”

I go to snatch the jacket I
normally wear from the hook in the hallway and pause. I’ve fallen in love with
the jacket. The subtle smell of Hunter in the leather always comforts me but
I’m not sure it will do that now. Sucking in a short breath, I fight to remain
emotionless and slip it on. The warmth and scent surrounds me like a shroud and
when I look at Hunter, I find him watching me in that way that makes my toes
curl. I remember the first time I wore this jacket. Is he remembering the same?

It’s weird because we really barely
knew each other then and he thought I was a criminal but he still looked at me
like I was his world at that moment.

I shrug off the thought and
stalk past him to the back door.

He wheels the bike out, hands
me a helmet and gestures with his head. “You getting on then?”

I shake my head to myself. I
know why he’s chosen the Harley today. I’ll end up pressed against him and
he’ll be hoping it weakens me. I snort. Too late. I’m already pathetic around
him. It doesn’t stop the painful hurt from swirling through me though. He
worked for my abuser. The man who effectively ruined my life. How am I meant to
get past that? Even if I…
feel
for Hunter, won’t it always be tainted?

I climb on, try to keep a gap
between us and force my thoughts to drift when we set off. Being on the bike
works through my muscles and the powerful engine between my legs eases my
tension. Before long, I’m flush against Hunter and enjoying the moment. Guess
I’m hopeless when it comes to Hunter on a motorbike.

We pick up speed and round a
corner, barely slowing down. I’m used to Hunter driving fast but this isn’t
like him. I grip him tight as we head for the next street corner and he still
doesn’t slow down. Have I angered him with my distant attitude? I never thought
him the type to let his driving be affected by his mood. People, cars and
traffic lights seem blurry when we turn too hard and the world tilts. It
happens quickly. I can barely comprehend what’s happening.

The ground rushes up to meet
me. Searing pain burns through my arm as it hits. My head rattles and I see
gravel and red buses. When I stop rolling, I can’t move. Every part of me aches
and I struggle to draw in breath and figure out what just happened. I roll my
head to one side and through the cracked visor, I can just make out Hunter
sprawled across the pavement. Lifeless.

Jess

Bleeping. The smell of
chemicals. An ache in my head. Panic welling in my chest. I try to force open
my eyes but someone seems to have glued them shut. Crisp cotton encases me,
holds me down. It rustles and I hear voices—muffled, concerned voices.

Light invades my eyes as I
finally drag them open and it hurts. I close my eyes and try again. A face
comes into view, her features distorted.

“Who…?” My voice is gravelly.

Gravel. It stings. I remember
it now. The bike skidding on a corner. The road coming up to meet me.

Hunter.

I sit and my head swims. I
squint at the woman—a nurse I realize—and reel my gaze around. I’m in a
hospital bed. A printed blanket and white sheet tucked in so tightly around me it’s
pinning me down. On the side table, a jug of water awaits. I register cold
fingers against my wrist.

“Who are you?” I try again.

The dark-haired, slightly curvy
nurse smiles. “I’m Sandra. You’re at Queen Elizabeth’s hospital. Just relax.
You’ve been in an accident but you’re okay. We spoke when you first came in.”

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s not surprising. You did
hit your head.”

“In the bike accident.”

“That’s what they told me,
yes.”

“Am I… have I done some
damage?” I feel so sluggish. I can’t get my thoughts straight. Maybe I’m
brain-damaged.

“No, you may be mildly concussed
but the fact that you were awake after the accident is a good sign. You were
communicating quite well.” Sandra releases my wrist and jots something down on
a clipboard before dropping it into something at the end of my bed. “We’ll get
someone to come and take a look at you in a moment. Do you need something for
your head?”

“I—yes, please.” The pain seems
to increase when she reminds me of it. Sandra turns and that fear rumbles
inside me as fractured images come back. “Wait! Where’s Hunter?”

“The man you came in with?”

“Yes. Is-is he alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive. He didn’t
wake up so they’re taking him down for a CT scan.” She comes back to my side
and puts a hand to my arm as I struggle to loosen the blankets. “Don’t worry,
everything will be fine. Just rest until we can get a doctor to look at you.”

“No.” I push back the bedding.
“No, I need to see him.”

“Jess—”

“Please! I need to see him.” I
finally free my legs from the bed and swing them over the edge. Fear makes me
tremble. What if he dies? What if he’s so badly injured he’ll never recover?
What if he’s forgotten me? Everything else seems so trivial now. The stab of
betrayal has given way to the terror that I might never be able to tell him… tell
him what?

That I love him?

Do I?

Shit. I get to my feet and
stumble back onto the bed as my head spins. I’m wearing an open backed dressing
gown and cold air swirls around my back. I probably just flashed half the patients
on the ward. Sandra steps forward and kindly helps me put on a thin gown.

“Let me just get a doctor to
check you over and then I’ll have a porter take you down, okay?”

“Please hurry.” I have to be by
Hunter’s side. I dread the thought of him alone.

Sandra hastens off and I glance
around the ward. It’s mostly elderly. Some are asleep, others have visitors.
Their hushed tones sound unnatural and too much like a funeral home. The staff
move briskly and efficiently and coldness seeps into my bones. Does Hunter have
someone kind at his side? What if he wakes with no one there?

I blow out a long breath when
Sandra approaches with a woman in a purple blouse and black trousers. Sandra
hands me some water and painkillers as the woman pushes her glasses back up her
nose and eyes me. “Jess, I’m Dr. Morgan. How are you feeling?” She draws up a
chair and sits opposite me.

Painkillers in hand, I eye them
warily. My head is agonizing and if I want to see Hunter, I need a clear head
but I fear these small little white capsules. What if they lead me down a route
I can’t go down again? Taking a breath, I throw them back and take a sip of
water. For Hunter, I can do anything. I won’t let them control me again.

The doctor runs through what
feels like endless questions. I battle the desire to push past her and find
Hunter myself but I’ve no idea where he is or if I’ve even got enough strength
to go to him. She checks my eyes and looks over the clipboard at the end of the
bed then offers me a smile.

“You have a mild concussion.
You’ll feel out of sorts for a few days but I see no reason why you can’t
return home tomorrow. We’ll keep you under observation today. You won’t be able
to drive home, however. You’ll need to get a lift or take a taxi.”

I nod, barely taking in her
words. “Can I see Hunter?”

“The man she came in with,”
Sandra adds.

Dr. Morgan nods. “Yes, but be
sure to get some rest today. You’ve been through quite an accident. You were
very lucky. Believe me—” the woman eyes me from over her black frames “—I’ve
seen much worse injuries from bike accidents. The police will want to talk to
you about it later too.”

I nod again, but I don’t feel
lucky. All I can think about is Hunter’s lifeless body sprawled across the
ground.

Sandra motions to the man with
a wheelchair waiting at the end of the ward. “This is Mark, he’ll take you down
to see Mr O’Reilly. He’s under orders to collect you in two hours, okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

They help me into the
wheelchair. Anxiety courses through me and I clench the arms of the chair. Cold
air swishes around my bare legs so I pull the gown tightly around me. In the
sea of well-dressed doctors, nurses and visitors, my sense of vulnerability
amplifies. Mark wheels me to the elevator and we wait. Even through the buzz of
low conversation and tapping heels, my heart pounds in my ears. I long to jump
up and go to Hunter myself. The elevator is taking too long. Why is it taking
so fucking long? The thud of my head and the weakness in my limbs prevents me
from doing anything but wait.

Finally the doors slide open
and we enter, followed by several other people. The lift is wide—to fit the
beds I assume—but I still feel claustrophobic. I’m out of my depth here. I’ve
spent so long living in a bubble of work, home, work, that anything else sets
panic alight in my stomach. I clench my arms tightly around myself and focus on
seeing Hunter again. Maybe I’ll even get the chance to tell him how I feel—to
tell him I love him.

There’s no denying it. I can’t
cope without him. Somehow, in spite of everything we’ve done to each other, I
need him. While he accepted my lies, I failed to do the same for him. I have to
make it up to him. If I get the chance, I’ll show him I get it. God knows, I
can hardly take the moral high ground. I know better than anyone what people do
if they’re desperate.

The ping from the elevator
jolts me back to reality. Mark takes me down a maze of corridors with quiet
efficiency and expert skills. I spot the sign for CT department and my heart
bounds. I hope to God Hunter is okay. Everything that has happened is because
of me. He wouldn’t have been driving so recklessly if it wasn’t for me. How
will I live with myself if there’s permanent damage?

“Wait here a moment.” Mark manoeuvres
me against a wall. “I’ll just find out where he is.”

“Thanks,” I croak, my throat
tight with nerves.

Mark strolls over to the nurses’
workstation at the end of the corridor and I twine my hands in the robe. It’s
funny how everything I’ve been fighting for—anonymity, freedom from judgment, a
life of my own—means nothing now. I’d put up with abuse, bullying, anything
just to be with Hunter right now.

The door to the CT room swings open
and a porter pulls out a bed. I jump up, by some miracle stay on my feet, and
hurry over. “Wait!