“…don’t believe it’s a concussion, but if she starts vomiting, get her to the hospital immediately.
I close my eyes and revel in the feel of the ice pack against the sizeable lump on my forehead as Henry speaks to the doctor just outside the bedroom door.
“Don’t let her sleep too long. An hour at a time at most for tonight. Just as a precaution.”
As if I’m going to be able to sleep tonight, I want to holler.
By the time Henry raced into the penthouse with Dyson in tow, after getting a courtesy call from the head of security about “an altercation” involving his brother, this place was crawling with police and paramedics. Henry’s normally cool and collected façade was replaced by pale-faced panic. He saw me and looked ready to vomit.
Hours of chaos later, the penthouse is finally quiet once again.
Scott was pronounced dead at the hospital.
As much as I couldn’t stand the guy, as much as he deserved a harsh punishment for all the harm he caused Henry, the memory of his dead body sprawled out on the hardwood is firmly emblazoned in my mind, making me tremble each time it creeps into the forefront.
Soft footfalls approach, and a moment later the bed sinks under Henry’s weight. His warm hand settles on my shoulder to caress it. “How are you feeling?”
“Like my head was smashed into the hardwood floor.” It’s a dull ache now, but it’s terrible all the same. At least I didn’t need stitches.
“Let me see?” Ever so gently, he lifts the ice pack from my forehead. His handsome face winces. “Fuck. I’m so sorry—”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” He settles the ice pack back in place and then he’s on his feet again, and pacing, his hands on his hips. “Scott knew I pushed for the investigation, so he went after you to hurt me. He figured you’d be here and I wouldn’t be.”
“But he didn’t figure on Raj being here, thank God.” I sigh. “Either way, it’s over with, and I’m fine.”
“Are you really?” Henry’s eyes drift downward knowingly, to my thin cotton t-shirt. He heard me give the police my statement. He knows exactly where Scott touched me.
I fight the urge to shudder. “It’s no big deal. He didn’t get too far.”
Silence hangs in the bedroom.
Finally, Henry asks, “Do you want me to call your family?”
“God, no.” The very idea of my mother’s voice in my ear right now makes me wince. “They can’t find out about this.”
“It’s going to be impossible to—”
“They can’t know that he tried to—” My voice catches on the word. Mama will never accept Henry if she hears what his brother—blood-related or not—almost succeeded at doing to me.
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do to keep it out of the news. Just….” Henry sighs heavily, and his hands push through his thick mane of dark hair. “Tell me what to do to fix this, Abbi, so you don’t….” His words stop as he clenches his jaw.
“Don’t what?”
It’s a moment before he answers. “So you don’t decide this isn’t worth it anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” I attempt to sit up, but the pain in my hip and shoulder from where I hit the hardwood floor when Scott took me down is too much, and I finally give up on that idea. “What isn’t worth it?”
“This.” He gestures between us.
I study his face and, for the first time, see the fear in it. Still, I feel like laughing at the idea. “Why would I ever do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Abbi!” He throws his hands in the air. “Maybe because my brother just tried to rape you! Maybe because my brother conspired to kill my father! Why the fuck would you want anything to do with me after this?”
“You aren’t Scott. You didn’t do anything to deserve what happened today, any more than I did.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” There’s something in his tone….
I frown. “Why would you think that?”
With a second heavy sigh, he sits down beside me again, his gaze on the soft ice pack that’s molded to my hip, helping to soothe the bruising. “Scott used to be married.”
“Right.” I remember Tillie saying something about it.
“And he’d probably still be married, if it weren’t for me.”
My mouth drops open. “You slept with your brother’s wife!”
“No! I mean, she probably would have been willing if I’d expressed interest, but….” When Henry sees my disapproving glare, he quickly continues. “He was cheating on her. He thought he was being covert about it, but I found out. I could have left it alone, but instead I made sure compromising pictures landed in her hands. Pictures that she could use to nullify the prenup they signed when they got married. Because of me, he had to pay out a shit ton of money. He accused me of stabbing him in the back. That was six years ago. We’d never been on good terms, but that’s when things really turned sour between us.”
“So you protected the poor woman from her cheating husband. I don’t think you did anything wrong.”
Henry’s face turns sheepish. “Yeah… except she wasn’t a poor woman. She was a bitch. I hated her. I didn’t do it to protect her. I did it to fuck him over because he was a bastard and he made Belinda’s life hell after she turned his advances down.”
I’ll never understand their relationship, but now’s not the time to try. “Regardless, none of what’s happened is anyone’s fault but Scott’s.” And he has paid the ultimate price for it.
Once again, heavy silence lingers in the bedroom. From downstairs, the clang of pots and pans carries.
“Raj. He’s cleaning up,” Henry says by way of explanation.
“Seriously? You didn’t tell him to go home?” The poor man killed someone while on shift tonight!
“He said he didn’t want to go home to an empty house yet. He begged me to let him stay and clean up.”
I sigh. “Is he going to be okay? I mean, legally?”
“Dyson’s talking to the DA but he’s pretty sure they’ll rule it was in defense and completely unintended. Either way, I’ll make sure he has the best lawyers money has to buy.”
“He definitely deserves a huge raise,” I joke. “I doubt ‘clubbing employer’s rapist brother to death with pot’ is in his job description.” The man was shaking while being questioned by the police.
Henry says nothing though, his piercing stare shifting from my face to my body and back again. His fists are balled up in his lap and his jaw is rigid.
“What is it?”
“I fucking hate that his hands were on you,” he admits through gritted teeth. “It’s making me sick.”
My stomach tightens. “That’s what he wanted. He wanted to….” My words drift. I don’t want to repeat his exact words again. Once to the police was enough. “He said you wouldn’t want to touch me again. Is that true? That you don’t want to touch me?”
Henry’s heavy gaze lifts to meet my eyes. “No. That’s not true,” he says evenly.
I swallow my doubt. “Then do it. Touch me. Please. I need to erase those other memories.”
He opens his mouth, but hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I need you to touch me.”
Henry doesn’t waste any more time, slipping his hand beneath my t-shirt, grazing over my abdomen on the way up to settle on my breast. “This one, right?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
Where Scott’s fingers were like thorns, Henry’s are like the ocean, a soft caress over my skin. He quickly abandons the idea of sliding aside the lace cup for altogether unfastening my bra. Cool air kisses my sensitive skin as he lifts my t-shirt up and exposes my breasts.
Leaning in, he takes my left nipple into his mouth. I stroke my fingers through his soft hair and watch quietly as he spends the next few moments focused there, his hand and tongue reverent in their ministrations.
“What about here?” His mouth shifts to my bruised shoulder, pushing aside the cotton sleeve and the ice pack to feather my skin with kisses. “Does that help?”
“Yes.” My chest swells with love for this man, and the rare doting side he’s showing me. It almost makes everything I went through tonight worthwhile, just to see that he’s capable of this kind of tenderness.
Henry shifts and, hovering carefully over me so as not to put weight anywhere, he presses his mouth against my lips. “No one—not Scott, not anyone else—could ever make me not desire you,” he says in a low, even tone. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe me?”
I reach up to smooth my palm over his cheek, now prickly with evening stubble. “I believe you.”
He sighs. “When they called me to tell me what had happened….” I feel his jaw clench beneath my touch. “I was so sure I would lose you.”
“No.”
“I can’t lose you. Ever.” Rare emotion pours from his voice.
“You won’t. Ever.”
Piercing blue eyes bore into me as a swirl of unreadable thoughts pass through them. His chest rises with a deep inhale. And then the ends of his mouth curve upward ever so slightly.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just….” His fingers skate over my cheek, pushing a wayward strand of my hair back in their study of the shape. “Never in a million years did I expect to fall in love with that virgin farm girl from Greenbank, Pennsylvania, in the interview video.”
My breath catches in my throat. Did I just hear that correctly?
Did Henry finally say….
“I’m in love with you, Abigail Mitchell.”
My eyes brim with tears as I commit this moment—his words, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes—to memory. “I love you, too. So much, it hurts.”
He takes another deep breath, as if he’s absorbing this moment, too, and then his lips drift over mine. “Where exactly does that hurt you?” he whispers.
“Everywhere.”
“Everywhere?”
“Yes. Right down into my soul.”
“Here?” He lays kisses along my jawline, down toward my collarbone, his lips barely a whisper against my skin.
I shiver. “Yes.”
“What about here?” He shifts down.
I sigh against the feel of Henry’s tongue dragging over one nipple first, and then the other. His stubble scratches across my skin as he moves farther, over my stomach, to the elastic band of my leggings, leaving a wet trail of kisses, sending shivers everywhere. “Here?”
Anticipation stirs between my legs. “Definitely there.”
He sits up. With a gentle hand, he moves away the ice pack that’s comforting my bruised hip. His fingers curl beneath the top of my leggings. He pauses to peer questioningly at me.
“It’s fine.” I do my best to stifle my wince of pain as Henry slides my leggings down over my hips and farther, until he’s slipping them off my ankles and tossing them to the floor.
My panties follow immediately after, giving Henry a better look at the angry purple bruising along my side. His jaw tenses.
“It’s not your fault,” I remind him, stroking his hair back.
He settles his forehead against my abdomen. “At least he can never hurt you again.” His warm breath skates over my skin with his heavy sigh. Over my womb. Exactly where our baby would grow.
I play with the ends of his hair as I digest that crazy thought, wondering exactly how crazy it is anymore. Henry told me that he loves me. I know him enough to know that wasn’t flippant or ill-considered. Henry wouldn’t have said it if he wasn’t absolutely sure.
Henry loves me.
I have to keep telling myself that, over and over again, until this dream feels like reality.
He readjusts the ice pack so my hip is once again covered. “Does it hurt to move your hip?”
“A little.”
He settles a knowing gaze on me.
“A lot.”
His hand slips gently under my thigh of my uninjured leg. “What about this side?”
“I think it’s okay.”
He watches my face as he carefully lifts that leg up and out, opening me up for him. “And this?”
Heat begins to pool at my core. “Yes. It’s okay.”
He hooks my leg over his shoulder. “Good?” With his face positioned between my legs, the promise of what’s to come is quickly overshadowing everything else, including the painful throb in my forehead.
“Yes.”
Henry studies me carefully for another long moment, as if waiting for my façade to break, for me to crumble. Finally buying my words, he leans forward.
I gasp with the first swipe of his tongue, flat against me.
He smirks, excitement dancing in those beautiful eyes of his. “I know how I’m going to wake you up every hour tonight.”
~ ~ ~
“Murder, Abigail! Murder!”
I cringe against Mama’s voice booming in my ear.
“Do you see now? Do you see what kind of family he has been raised in? The kind that would kill their own kind for a few bucks!”
A gold mine, Mama. Hardly a few bucks.
“And do you realize what kind of relations this William Wolf had with a twenty-five-year-old girl, Abigail?”
I think everyone has figured out what kind of relations they had, Mama.
“He was old enough to be her father! Maybe even her grandfather! And have you done the math! She’s only four years older than you!”
I take a sip of my coffee and quietly curse the news for releasing the sordid details behind William Wolf’s death, because there’s nothing else I can do while Mama rages.
“Did you know all this was goin’ on, Abigail?”
“We suspected it a few days ago, so Henry got the police involved,” I say calmly.
“And were you there when this murdering brother of his showed up at the penthouse?”
Her words bring a dull throb to my forehead and the sizeable bruise. The bump has gone down, but it still aches to the touch.
“I was, but I’m fine. I can’t talk about what happened right now. Not while the investigation is still open.” Henry was able to keep Scott’s attack on me out of the papers. For now. I’m sure it’ll eventually come out, but I’ll happily avoid dealing with Mama cursing Henry for it until then.
“Well, your father and I expect you to come home, where you’re surrounded by good people. Today, Abigail, where it’s safe.”
We’re back to this. She still thinks she can control me. And she’s invoking Daddy’s name in this. I wonder if it’s true, if his support of me being with Henry is wavering due to the latest news.
I sigh and look around Henry’s spacious kitchen. Oddly enough, this place is quickly beginning to feel more like home than the farm. “Mama, I am happy and safe here, with Henry. I will come back to Greenbank when he leaves on business again. I’m not going to fight about this with you, but I’m an adult, and I’m living my life. And no amount of huffing and puffing or sulkiness from you will change my mind, so please stop trying to tell me what to do.” I say it as calmly but firmly as I can.
Henry’s voice carries from somewhere within the penthouse, growing louder by the second. “I have to go now. I’m elbow-deep in making soaps for a friend, and they have to be finished this week. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Mama. Love you.” I hang up before she has a chance to retort.
“…I need quarterly reports in by this afternoon, at the latest,” Henry demands, strolling into the kitchen in a t-shirt and track pants, his hair still damp from his shower. Miles scrambles behind him, notebook and pen in hand to jot down notes. “And set up a call with Belinda. I want a status update from her by three, our time.”
“Our time? But in Spain that’s like—”
“It’s fine. She’s found a Spanish guy to fuck until the sun comes up.”
Miles’s eyes flash to me before focusing on his notepad again to make his notes, his cheeks turning bright red. I doubt he’s a virgin, but he seems like the type of guy who would have texted a girl from class for three months about homework assignments before working up the nerve to ask her out for a coffee.
Henry grabs an apple from the bowl on the counter. “Abbi, why are you out of bed?”
“Because I need to finish these for Margo.” I wave a hand over the cluttered countertop of molds and wrapping.
“No, you don’t. Margo knows what happened to you and has insisted that you not do this.”
“No! This is a good opportunity! I’m not letting Scott fuck that up for me!”
“Fine. Hire someone to finish. You need to take it easy.” His eyes graze my forehead.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not hiring anyone to do this. And stop mothering me.”
Henry’s eyebrow arches knowingly. “Is that what you call what I’ve been doing to you? Mothering you?”
My cheeks flush as I watch him take a bite of apple with the mouth that’s been attached to me—to my lips, to my breasts, between my legs—since Monday night, helping to ease my discomfort.
It’s been absolute heaven, and ironically I owe it all to Scott.
“Miles, when do the engineers need me on site?” he asks, still staring at me.
The sudden switch of gears throws Miles off for a few beats. “Uh… Wednesday.”
“Okay. Make the arrangements. And get an ETA on when they think the mine can be up and running. You can leave for the office now. Call me if anything important comes up, but I’ll be taking the next few days off.”
Miles’s eyes widen with shock at that news, but he’s smart enough to not comment. He nods to me on his way past as he scurries out of the kitchen.
I focus on the simmering pot on the stove and try not to sound disappointed—because I’ve had Henry to myself for longer than I could have hoped for—when I ask, “So, you’re leaving on Friday?”
“I have to meet the engineers about the ski runs,” he says over the running tap as he washes his hands.
Ski runs. There’s only one place that I know of where he’s putting in ski runs. My heart skips a beat. “Wait… do you mean Wolf Cove?”
“Why?” He looks over his shoulder at me. “Did you want to come with me?”
“Yes! Of course I do!” I’ve been dying to go back.
A knowing smirk touches his lips. “Shouldn’t you check with your family first to—”
“No. They’re fine. I mean, they’ll be fine. Besides, I’m not stepping foot in Greenbank until my forehead has fully healed.”
“And what about all this?” He nods to the island. “Didn’t you just finish saying you have to do it?”
“Well, it has to be done by tomorrow night anyway, to make it in time for her party on Friday night.” I heave a sigh, suddenly overwhelmed. How am I going to do all this and get ready for Alaska?
“Rethinking that hired help?”
“Maybe… but who? They need to know what they’re doing. It can’t just be anyone.”
Henry’s gaze follows mine. “It can’t be that hard to wrap these.”
“I guess not.” I reach for a sheet of lavender paper and a matching soap bar. My fingers work quickly, folding the paper around the bar, and then securing it with twine. I’ve already wrapped a hundred of them. I could do these in my sleep. “The trick is not creasing the paper, and making sure the twine is centered. See?”
Henry reaches for a bar and sheet of paper and, at a much slower pace, follows the steps with precision.
“Of course you’re a natural,” I mutter. An idea hits me. “You know, if you helped me, we could easily get this all done by tomorrow.”
“You’re asking me to do manual labor?”
“I thought you liked manual labor. You know… swinging axes and helping sweet old ladies…,” I tease.
He sighs heavily. And reaches for another bar and paper. “I don’t work for free, Abigail,” he says smoothly, while wrapping it. “My rates are high.”
I school my expression and say innocently, “But I don’t have any money.”
“Luckily for you, you have a very skilled mouth.” His intense eyes settle on my lips. He hasn’t let me use them on him since the attack.
I glance over my shoulder toward the penthouse foyer, where three workers hammer away, erecting a wall. Henry had the security guard who allowed Scott in fired immediately, but he’s still not satisfied, so he’s closing off the penthouse from the elevator and putting in a door with a state-of-the-art lock for additional security.
They can’t hear us from way over here, but still….
I edge up behind Henry and reach around him to settle my hand on the front of his track pants to firmly cup his length. “If you do a good job with these, I’ll see what I can do about that payment,” I whisper.
“When have you ever known me to not do a good job.” He’s growing hard against my palm. I’ll never get bored of the feel of that.
It’s so tempting to slip my hand inside his track pants, to grasp his velvety smooth skin in my fist and stroke him languidly until he comes, but that will inevitably lead to losing hours of valuable working time. So I pull away and move back to the gas range to stir my pot of glycerin, trying to ignore the mild groan of discontent that comes from him.
“What’s that grin for?”
I am grinning. Stupidly, no doubt. And I don’t care. “For going back to Alaska with you.”
