The Wolf's Choice

by Inge Saunders

  He had changed since then. She took in his naked chest again and found his dark gaze still trained on her.

  Yes, he’d obviously changed from the time of his first movie. Hadn’t he been on some hundred hunkiest-men-alive list or something to the effect?

  Self-realization hit her like a freight train. She was standing half-naked in front of one of Hollywood’s heartthrobs. A blush spread over her whole body, even more intense than the previous six hundred flushes she had already lived through in mere seconds.

  He looked her up and down with a sardonic smile on his lips. “So, if I may ask? Who are you? And why would my brother rent out my beach house to you?” Accusation laced his voice.

  Her ire rose in spite of her embarrassment. Gosh but he’s a rude son of a gun!

  “I don’t owe you any apologies or explanations,” she started. “But seeing as how your brother married my sister, it kind of makes him family. And, according to my knowledge, this beach house belongs to Mark.”

  He raised his eyebrow and folded his arms. She couldn’t help but take in his bulging muscles.

  To refrain from staring at his biceps again, she focused on his menacing eyes.

  “Whoever’s name is on the title owns the property, honey.” He accentuated the “honey.”

  She didn’t respond to his provocation.

  “And the name is mine. In my absence, Mark watched over the house. I let him use it whenever he wants.” He gave her a meaningful look. “I never gave him permission to let others use it though.”

  “Well, technically, I haven’t used it yet,” she replied curtly as his gaze went slowly from feet up to her eyes, her impromptu bathing suit belying her words. “I only…arrived. It’s…hot. I didn’t know anyone was here!”

  “Now you do. So I suggest you get off my property.” His voice turned cold, and he started to walk out of the room. “When I come back, I don’t want to find you here.”

  She couldn’t believe what was happening, too flabbergasted to react to his parting shot. Where am I supposed to go? Most hotels would be booked by now, the national school holidays being in full swing.

  She frantically put on her clothes, almost killing off her circulation when she pulled her top over her head.

  Maybe I could try a B&B. Though it was holiday season. Parents would have carted all their kids into minivans, pets, and all, swarming small beach towns and cities.

  Sinking on one of the sofas, she ran a hand through her hair. So I have no hope of finding anything in Strand, not on such short notice.

  The drive back home to Worcester would take two hours from Strand. She’d arrived at four; it had to have been close to five. There was still time to make it home before dark, to the small apartment she rented and her spacious, welcoming bed. She wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

  She rose from the sofa and peeked in the direction he had disappeared, and then walked over to the still-open front door. Bending down to the floor, she picked up her things she had left in her haste to get to the beach. She would have to carry the weighty carton back to her Volkswagen Beetle. Luckily, it wasn’t a long trek.

  The house had a double garage, and Mark had given her permission to use one of them.

  Obviously, he had been way too generous.

  Emma hunched over with angry and self-pitying tears burning her eyes.

  She had never been so humiliated in her life. Wiping a hand over her face, she steeled herself. This wasn’t the time to cry. She would go home and let herself deal with all of it there.

  Putting each bag over a shoulder, she braced for the load and slowly rose. But before she could take a good step, the contents fell out of the bottom, crashing painfully on her feet.

  “Ouch!” Emma hopped around with the empty box in her arms. “Ah!”

  Sharp pains shot through her feet, and then the throbbing began. Bounding around certainly didn’t stop the ache, but she couldn’t help it. That’s how Damian found her when he came back into the room. Over the top of the now-bookless container, she took in his glare.

  “What the hell is going on now?”

  “The books….” She hopped. “Fell on my feet!”

  Damian glanced toward the hardcovers scattered on the floor right in front of his still-open front door. If his eyes could have shot death rays, those books would have gone up in flames.

  “Ouch! It hurts!” The pain made her gasp for breath.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I hope this isn’t a ploy to stay here.”

  Her mouth gaped. “Are you serious? Why would I drop voluminous hardcover books on my feet? I know you’re famous, but catching a glimpse of the Damian Davidson would not be worth the trouble.”

  He grabbed the cardboard box out of her hands and said, “Go sit on the sofa. I’ll check out the medicine cabinet…that is, if I have such a thing.”

  “No, wait!” But he didn’t listen to her.

  Emma sank into one of the comfortable chairs.

  I need to see a doctor. Both feet throbbed and before her mind could again tell her this wasn’t happening, Damian came back into the living room, a small medical kit in hand.

  “Trust good old Mark not to miss a single detail.” He hunkered down in front of her, as if he did this every day. She noticed he had put on jeans and a white T-shirt, but stayed barefoot.

  She frowned at the crown of his glossy head of hair.

  “Let me know when it hurts.” He picked out some bandages, a bottle of tablets, a small plastic container, and a pair of scissors.

  “It hurts.”

  He glanced up at her, the frown still on his face, but the mocking expression she now associated with him was gone, though he remained on guard. “I haven’t even touched you yet.” “And you’re not going to. I need to see a doctor.”

  He snorted. “It was books. Not bricks.”

  “Tell it to my swelling feet.” She shoved them in his face.

  He backed up a little with a small smile on his lips. “It’s what you get for breaking into someone’s home.”

  “How’s having a key breaking in? And may I add, Mark is my brother-in-law. If you had been at the wedding, you would have known who I was.”

  He didn’t hurt her until he took off one of her shoes and lightly prodded her foot.

  “It’s slightly bruised. Nothing broken.” Sure hands manipulated her foot, put on a salve for the swelling, and then bandaged it lightly.

  “I said—”

  “I heard you the first time. But like I said before, it was books. You’ll survive the ordeal.”

  He carefully took the other shoe off, but she couldn’t help wincing. “See, something is broken!” She failed to hide a note of hysteria. This foot was bruised and swollen like the other. But there was a distinct difference. Her small toe hung limp, clearly broken. Her vision blurred; this was the icing on the cake.

  Placing her hands in front of her eyes, she spoke through them. “Just take me to a doctor or an emergency room.” Her voice hitched, even though she tried to hide it.

  Taking a shaky, deep breath, she pushed the heel of her hands into her eyes and gained control of herself.

  The battle won, she glanced down at the man still kneeling before her. He was holding a syringe. “Where did you get that? What do you thinking you’re doing?”

  She hadn’t even finished the first question when his intent became obvious.

  The last thing she saw was the needle near her foot, and then everything went black.

 

 

 
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