Free of the blood and Frank’s lingering smell, I quickly moved to the tub and eased into the hot water. When I started the jets, the water churned so much, the level rose to the rim. I leaned back and sank down so it lapped at my chin. Slowly, I began to relax.
My mind drifted to everything Frank had said and the call with Blake. Talking to Blake hadn’t been as helpful as I hoped. Could I trust that he’d really given up on me for now? I thought so. At least, Frank’s comment about me not being the only one made it a possibility. Yet, I wondered what “sisters” I had that Blake meant to find. It disturbed me to think of another woman having to deal with Blake like I had as much as it frustrated me that I hadn’t gotten the answers I wanted. I had a lot to share with the group when we got back, though. Maybe some of them would have more insight.
The water hadn’t even had time to cool when I heard a knock on the outer door. I fumbled with the jets, turning them off, and listened. Emmitt walked by the bathroom door. I sunk low in the water, but he only pulled the door shut as he passed.
I left the water as quietly as possible, grabbed a towel, and quickly dried off. All the while, I strained to hear anything. Was it too quiet out there? I tossed on the robe, crept toward the door, and pressed my ear against its surface.
“Food’s here.”
I jumped at the sound of Emmitt’s voice directly on the other side of the door and yanked it open in time to catch his slight smirk.
“Not funny.” I pulled the belt tightly around my waist and flinched when my bruised stomach immediately protested.
His expression grew serious, and he looked me over as I loosened the belt. When his eyes lingered on the side of my head, I turned slightly to show him the scrape.
“It’s not as bad as I thought,” I said turning to look at him again. He wasn’t eyeing my head anymore, but the robe. Too late, I realized what I’d done. The vision had shown me in a robe.
Before I could become more nervous, he indicated the food he’d set out on the kitchenette’s island. His mother had ordered steaks topped with blue cheese, sides of mushrooms, and baked potatoes with the works. There were three full meals. My tender stomach rebelled at the thought of eating so much, but I knew it wasn’t all for me. Emmitt needed more food due to the miles he’d covered.
I settled on one of the stools, heard a clink, and looked down to see one of the meals already set in front of me. I opened my mouth to argue, but Emmitt gave me a warning look. Was I two-years-old, now? Yet, I kept quiet about why I didn’t want to eat.
The scrape on my head and marks on my wrists and ankles were enough for him to worry over. I wasn’t about to give him a full inventory of my aches so he could dwell on each one. He was already upset Frank had gotten me. If he knew the extent of it, he’d just feel worse.
We ate in silence. I picked at the meal, eating a few bites from everything before pushing it away. Emmitt reached for my plate, scraped it together with what was left of his second meal, then put the leftovers in the refrigerator.
Hunger satisfied, I leaned against the counter, propped my head up with my hand, and fought to keep my eyes open. Funny that I’d started out the day thinking it’d be boring when it’d been anything but boring. Banged around, kidnapped, rescued, carried for miles, I needed sleep. I yawned hugely and tried to smother it with my hand. I wasn’t ready to go to the bedroom, yet. No matter how tired I was, I couldn’t forget my vision.
Emmitt noticed my yawn. He had me up in his arms before I could blink.
“I’m not tired,” I protested. We both knew that was a lie.
He looked down at me for a moment. I gazed back, my fingers nervously plucking at the fabric of his shirt. It had a small bloodstain on it, too.
“Frank didn’t hurt you, did he?” I asked, feeling horrible for not asking sooner.
He gave a pained laugh then leaned in to kiss me. A light kiss. He pulled back and searched my face, his expression bittersweet and sad.
I didn’t want him to be sad. We’d made it safely away from Frank, and we were together. I pressed my hand against his shirt over the steady beat of his heart. Together was what mattered.
I slid a hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. His lips feathered over mine, and I sighed, reassured. It was too sweet to pull away even though my heart started to hammer and my face flushed.
His lips moved over mine, hesitantly at first then more aggressively, as he held me in his arms. He stole my breath with his passion, and his desperation caught fire in me. I feathered my fingers through his short hair, while I explored the curve of his shoulder and ridges of his arm with my other hand.
I barely noticed when he lay me down on the mattress. I hadn’t even been aware we’d moved. He continued kissing me, forearms braced on either side of me, careful not to hurt me further. With my hands free, I tugged his shirt up to smooth my fingers over his stomach.