When the door to the bedroom shuts softly, I glance across the room. In my mind’s eye I can see him on the other side, probably forcing his fist back from smashing a hole in the wall. And then I close my eyes, and I see me. I’m unconscious like Penny.
* * *
Hours pass. I’m up and down from the chair like a yo-yo, checking Penny’s pulse, blood pressure, and temperature at least every twenty minutes. I don’t need to do it so often, but if I remain unmoving in the chair then I’m likely to doze off. I wonder constantly if I’m missing something—something important. She’s not come round, her temperature hasn’t changed, and her pupils are still dilated.
At eleven o’clock, I check her over again, beginning to doubt my judgment and diagnoses. I pull her eyelid up, looking closely into her eye. I’m so focused on my task, searching for more signs, I jump a foot off the bed when she jerks.
“I’m going to throw up,” she chokes, rolling over to the side of the bed and heaving uncontrollably. “Oh God.”
I dash for the bowl and round the bed, making it just in time for her to spill her guts. Wisps of her hair dangle down, skimming the contents of the bowl, and I pull them back with my spare hand, holding her hair out of her face as she continues to throw up, her retches loud, the stench wicked. But while it’s unpleasant, I can’t help but be grateful. She’s with it, and evacuating any crap from her stomach is a good thing.
It’s a long five minutes until she stops, and I lower the bowl to the floor before properly securing her hair with a tie. “Better?” I ask as she heaves herself back onto the pillow, her brow shimmering with sweat.
She turns slightly dazed eyes on me, her expression blank. “You must feel like my private doctor.”
I smile, my ease growing. She recognizes me. “Actually, I’m a nurse.” I start tucking her back under the covers. “How are you feeling?”
“My head’s pounding.” She places a palm across her brow. “Did I get steaming drunk and not remember?”
I bite my lip, wondering how best to break it to her. I take some painkillers from the side table, handing them to her with a glass of water. “I think you were drugged, Penny.” There’s no easy way. It is what it is, and she has to know.
Her face falls into thought; the mental battle she’s having to try to recollect is almost painful to see. “Drugged,” she murmurs, looking down at the two pills in her hand. “I don’t remember.”
“Take them,” I insist, applying a little pressure to the underside of her hand for her to lift the pills to her mouth.
“Are they safe?” She gives me the eye as she tips them in and swallows them down with some water.
I’m biting my lip, liking her joke, but wondering if she’s fully grasped the gravity of what I’ve told her. “Penny, do you remember anything?”
“I remember getting a glass of water.” She looks past me, squinting. “And I remember heading for the dressing room to get ready for my set.”
“And then?”
“Nothing.” She smiles faintly at me, gripping her glass of water with both hands, resting it on her tummy. “But I’m guessing that’s a good thing, right?”
I place a hand on her arm and squeeze. After everything she’s been through, this woman, who’s barely even an adult, is still so strong. “I’ve arranged for you to take the morning-after pill. It’s just a precaution.”
“Thank you.” Already her eyelids are becoming heavy.
“You should sleep. I’ll go tell Theo that we talked. He’ll be anxious to hear you are okay.” I back up toward the door, and she sighs, sinking into her pillow, her eyes closing.
“Thank you for looking after me again, Izzy.” Her words get quieter toward the end, her grogginess and exhaustion carrying her quickly back into sleep.
I watch her for a few moments before I slip out, closing the door gently behind me. “Jefferson!” I jump, nearly colliding with him as I turn.
“Miss White.” He smiles, though it’s tinged with worry.
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I didn’t want to leave until I’d checked up on the young girl. How is she?”
“She’s okay…I mean fine.…Well, she woke but drifted off to sleep again.” I thumb behind me to the door. “Someone should sit with her. I was on my way to tell Theo that she came round.”
“Ah, Mr. Kane has left the grounds.”
I feel my forehead become heavy. Where would he go at this time of night, other than the Playground? Left the grounds? “Where’s he gone?”
“I don’t make it a habit to question his movements, Miss White. I simply serve him.” He moves past me to the door. “I’ll arrange for someone to come up and sit with the girl.”
“Jefferson,” I call, making him stop midstride into the room.
“Yes, Miss White?” He doesn’t turn around, and I sense it’s because he knows I’m going to ask him something he won’t answer.
“How long have you been Theo’s butler?”
I can’t see his face, but I expect he’s smiling. “I’ve served Mr. Kane since he was a babe in arms, though he was rather less demanding of me then.”
“So you knew his father?” The interest in my voice is so obvious, I could kick my own arse. I should be ashamed of myself for trying to get Theo’s secrets from his staff, especially when I’ve cut off Theo so curtly. But, damn it, I can’t shake off the curiosity.
This time, Jefferson does turn around. “Why, of course I knew his father. This was his house before it was Theo’s.”
“And the club, was that his, too?”
“Yes, and the country estate on the south side of the city, where Theo’s mother now resides.”
“And Theo’s father made all of his fortunes to buy these magnificent properties through running a strip club and organizing illegal prize fights?”
Jefferson smiles, backing into Penny’s room. “Good night, Miss White.”
“Good night, Jefferson.” He shuts the door and leaves me contemplating what I should do with myself. Theo’s out. I can’t face Judy, or anyone else for that matter. So I head for Theo’s private quarters, pulling my phone from my bag on the way to call Jess. “Shit,” I curse, discovering a dead battery.
Recalling a charging station on the sideboard in the lounge, I head straight there and hook up my phone, then go to get changed. I enter Theo’s dressing room and pull down a shirt to sleep in, quickly changing into it and tugging my hair back as I make my way to his bathroom. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and head back to my phone. Five percent. It’s enough. I pull it free and fire it up, the notifications of a few missed calls from Jess popping up when it comes to life. I dial her and slump onto the couch.
“Finally,” she blurts down the line. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“My phone died,” I explain. “Sorry. Things have been—”
“Yes, I heard.”
I look down at my phone. “You did? How?”
“Callum turned up a few hours ago.”
My spine uncurls quickly, bringing me up into a pretty prim seated position. “What for?” I’m thinking of too many potential reasons why Callum would go to see Jess.
“The morning-after pill.”
But not that. “Huh?”
“He explained the situation. Figured me being a midwife, I’d have what you’d instructed him to source. I told him I deliver babies, not prevent them.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. “Bless him.”
“The man is a fucking mystery, Izzy.” She sounds exhausted by it all. “He left on a grunt and that was that.”
“He left?”
“Yes! I was standing there in a T-shirt and knickers, and he fucking left. I give up.”
“Was there—”
“God, yes. I could have exploded, and very nearly did when he wiped a bit of toothpaste from the corner of my mouth.”
“And he left.”
“He fucking left.”
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about it. He looks at me like he wants to ravage me and talks to me like he wants to strangle me. I’m done. It’s exhausting trying to figure him out.” She blows out a tired puff of air. “But forget about my frustrating shenanigans with Mr. Cold. What the fuck is going on?”
“She’s come round, and she doesn’t remember anything.”
“Wow. I bet Theo’s pissed off.”
I nod my agreement, though I’d use a far stronger word than that. “Slightly.”
“The poor girl. Who the hell would have the balls to walk into Theo’s club and do that? They must have a death wish.”
I look across the room to the door, pondering Jess’s statement. A death wish. “Indeed,” I say quietly, thoughtfully. Theo’s impenetrable club has been penetrated. The Playground isn’t untouchable. Theo isn’t untouchable. The irony of my silent thought doesn’t escape me. The untouchable man isn’t untouchable. My conclusion just makes me worry all the more, because how long can Theo go under the radar? How long before he’s cut by the sword? “What shift are you on tomorrow?” I ask on a sigh.
“Early. I should really get to bed.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hang up and tap the side of my phone on my cheek, unable to shake off my thoughts. Untouchable. And I wonder, as Theo lets down his defenses to me, is he exposing himself in other aspects of his lifestyle? Instead of his strength, am I really a weakness?
Chapter 23
There’s that moment between sleep and consciousness—the moment when you’re waking up, you’re warm and cozy in your bed, and your brain is empty of everything, except the delicious stretch you’re building up to or the sigh of contentment as you snuggle back down, drifting off into the peaceful quiet of sleep. It’s the moment before you’ve had the opportunity to remind yourself of who you are and what’s happening in your life. And then it all registers, drip by drip, and you spend a few moments, your eyes closed, keeping the darkness, hoping that it’s a dream and you’re still in it. But you’re not. Your eyes open and the drips are replaced with a gush of reminders.
As I stare up at the ceiling, I remember that I’m jobless and absolutely nuts over a man who should be totally unlovable. Except he’s not. Far from it. At least, for me. My head begins to ache, and my heart weighs down in my chest. Is it wrong to love Theo so deeply, to stay and fight for it when I fear it could ruin me? And worse still, ruin him. To push him over the line he so delicately balances on. He told me he felt I needed a warning that he’s fallen in love with me. He gave me that warning too late. I’m in now. And I fear there is no getting out.
My head drops to the side and my despondency multiplies at the sight of the empty space where Theo should be. Not content with seeing the vacant place in his bed where he should be, I reach across and feel his absence, stroking the cold sheets next to me as I turn onto my side. The notion that I might never get to wake up and lay beside him, just watching him in his slumber, brings tears of desolation to my eyes. It’s ironic that of all the things burdening me at the moment, the lack of his closeness is the worst.
I should have gone home last night. Then I would have one less thing to be miserable about this morning—namely, Theo not joining me in bed. He didn’t come to me, cuddle me, comfort me. It’s not very fair for me to be slighted, since I gave him every reason to believe that I held him accountable for Penny’s attack. And it’s not very fair that I blamed him in the first place. I could see his remorse, as plain as the nose on my face. He won’t rest until whoever’s responsible is dealt with. But that simply adds to my growing list of concerns. How far can he push his apparent immunity with the police before everything catches up with him and he’s thrown into prison? Taken away from me?
Sighing heavily, I slide out of bed and slip one of Theo’s shirts on, fastening the buttons as I make my way to the lounge in search of him. Something tells me not to hold out too much hope of finding him, that he’ll probably be going out of his way to avoid my spiteful tongue again. I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Nine a.m. My heart sinks. He either didn’t come back at all last night, or he’s left already.
I turn on my heels to go take a shower, trying to find the will I need to get on with my day. But I take no more than two paces, the couch across the room catching my eye. Or not so much the couch, but the sight of a long, seminaked body stretched the length of it. His arm is curled around the back of his head, his face turned into his bicep, and his other palm rests lightly on his stomach, rising and falling steadily with his calm breathing.
The black material of his boxer shorts is pulled taut across his thighs, and his face has a thousand lines of torment etched across it, even as he sleeps. Though he’s still unfathomably handsome. He’s a picture. Like the finest piece of art that has you staring in fascination, a million words of wonder tickling your lips. Or like something so gorgeous that you feel compelled to share with others, because everyone should experience the sight of it at least once. Once is enough to leave a lasting image imprinted on anyone’s mind. But I won’t share. I’ll keep this vision to myself. Selfishly, I want Theo Kane to be my own personal exhibit.
And on top of his visual appeal, I want him as my own personal refuge. I could never walk away from him, not only because I need that refuge, have come to crave it. But because I love him with every fiber of my lost being. And he loves me. Without love, we are nothing. Without him, I feel like nothing. I’m just a woman content with hiding in the shadows of life. Or in the shadows of a place that she’s told herself was safe. I allowed my inner demons to dictate where I went and what I did. And it’s only since I met Theo that I’ve successfully fought their hold. I need to make peace with him. It hurts too much just knowing that the world shaking around us is beginning to penetrate our serenity. I can’t allow it.
I take the few paces over to the sofa where he’s lying and drop to my knees, fighting my desire to touch him. In time, I tell myself. He’s worth enduring the wait for that ultimate prize.
“Theo?” I whisper, being careful not to get too close in case my voice rouses him too suddenly and he startles. “Theo, wake up.”
I smile when he murmurs softly, his face turning out from his bicep, his eyes still closed. He’s in that place between sleep and consciousness, that place where I’ve just been. A frown is marring his forehead, deep lines stretching from one side to the other. I want him to see me when he opens his eyes, see that I’m here and I want to put things right.
“Theo, wake up.” I hold my breath when his lids start to flicker. I need him to see me, register me, and brace himself for my touch. His eyes don’t slowly draw open. They spring open, making me withdraw a tad. Then he blinks a few times, rubbing deeply into the sockets before finding me again. I smile, resting back on my haunches and placing my hands in my lap.
“I thought I was dreaming.” His voice is gruff and thick with sleep. “What’s up?”
“Why are you out here?” I ask, looking down the length of his body. “Why didn’t you come to bed?”
He clears his throat and pushes himself up, swinging his long legs off the side of the couch and relaxing against the back cushion. “I needed to sleep.” He rests his head back and stares up at the ceiling. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Or risk clobbering me if I tried to cuddle you.”
His head remains back, but his eyes lower and a few beats of silence fall. “I never want to hurt you,” he says, meaning so much more than physically.
I nod as I lift my hand and reach for him. “I’m sorry for blaming you. I know it’s not your fault. It’s just—”
He catches my hand and places it back on my lap, rejecting me. “You had every right.” His palms push into the couch and he lifts, rising to tower above me. “It was my fault.” He moves carefully past me so as not to touch me and heads for his bedroom, leaving me on my knees, watching him walk away. Pain slices off a sliver of my heart.
“But Penny’s okay,” I call to his back as
I scramble to my feet. I don’t like his detachment or the guilt emanating from every pore of his body. I was so determined that he should feel it last night. I took comfort in the signs of it. Now…now I’m scared by it. I let my personal hang-ups consume me and dictate how I handled it, and I so regret it. “Theo, it’s not your fault. I was mad. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all my fault, Izzy,” he interrupts me flatly, not bothering to turn around. The continued snub, combined with his robotic words, has me in pursuit, moving fast to catch up with him before he makes it to the bathroom and shuts me out.
I manage to consider in the fleeting time it takes me to reach him what I’ll do when I get there. Grab him? Intercept him? I don’t get the chance to make my choice. He swings around and seizes the tops of my arms, jolting me to a stop. My breath catches at the back of my throat, and I snap my mouth closed as he brings his face close to mine. It’s tight with lines of frustration, yet his eyes are softly searching mine. I wait for him to speak, to say anything that will settle my growing apprehension. I feel like he’s purposely distancing himself from me.
It’s a long few seconds before he talks, and when he finds his words, my fear soars. “I’ll be busy most of the day.”
I swallow hard, searching his eyes. They’re clear, but I sense a deadly tinge, and I don’t like it in the least. “Doing what?”
He drops me and steps back. “I have some business to tend to.” Another step back.
“Tell me.”
“You don’t need to know.”
Anger simmers in my gut, quickly turning into boiling rage. He expects me to accept that? “Tell me!”
“No.” He backs away, unperturbed by my fury.
His dismissiveness astounds me, and before I can stop to tell myself it’s a bad move, my hand flies out, aiming for his big shoulder. He moves like a gazelle, fast and gracefully, catching my flailing limb with ease. He saw it coming before I did. His palm encircles my wrist, holding it exactly where he stopped it, a few inches from his shoulder. I gasp and yank myself free. “Do you know who attacked Penny?” I ask.
Gentleman Sinner Page 27
