“Jane, stop. You are not manipulative. I’ll hear no more of it.” He squeezed her thigh and she winced.
“You are hurt! My doctor will meet us at home, unless you want to go to the hospital.”
“No, please no hospital, no doctor.” Jane rolled her eyes, “I’m fine. I just want a shower.”
He stared stonily ahead, finally pulling into his driveway and parking her Jetta in his garage behind his Audi.
“Just wait, I’ll come around and get you,” he said bossily. She unbuckled ignoring him, opened her door and stood up to his glaring form.
“I’m fine.” She sighed, “Can I shower, please?”
He rolled his eyes, “It’s this way. I’ll get you some sweats.” He sighed, “It’s three flights of stairs, are you sure?”
She nodded, “Yes,” she leaned forward gently touching his arm, “Thank you Gray. I’m sorry you are involved in this.”
He pulled her into a hug, “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how spiteful he is, I blame myself.”
“No, you can’t, I never thought he was capable of this. I thought Ben was being overprotective.” She trudged up behind him, barely noticing the first floor before beginning the stairs to the second floor. She was enveloped by creams and whites with touches of blue. He led her to his bedroom, rummaging through drawers before pulling out a t shirt and sweats and directing her to the bathroom and handing her clean towels.
“I’ll make some tea. I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen, but call me if you need anything.” He kissed her forehead and hugged her close once more. It was a comforting gesture, and it helped her relax.
The bathroom was beautiful, bright hand painted tiles interspersed the plain white tiles making the room cheerful. She showered quickly, washing her hair and trying not to notice the pink water at her feet. There was a sensitive lump on the back of her head from when Richard attacked her with the knife. When she stepped out and dried off she could see bruises on her back imprinted from the steps. What disturbed her was the bite mark on her shoulder, a clear impression of Richard’s teeth, and she hadn’t remembered it happening.
She arrived downstairs with her wet hair brushed out and swimming in a pair of the softest grey sweats she had ever felt. This floor was more colorful, although the colors were still light, reminding her of the beach. Grey, turquoise, blue, green, light wood all blended together harmoniously.
Gray met her at the bottom of the stairs, “Dr. Wilcox is here.” He led her through the kitchen and sitting at a table in front of a bay window was a man, probably in his thirties, dressed in khaki pants and a button down shirt, no tie. He had black doctor’s bag beside him.
He stood up when she entered, “Steve Wilcox, Ms. Austen, how are you doing?”
“I have a few bruises but other than that I’m perfectly well.”
He gestured to a seat and took her wrist, getting her pulse. “Bruises? Where?”
She touched the back of her head, “I fell against the stairs, they’re on my back, and here.”
“Can you turn slightly?” He gently examined her head and pulled her t-shirt up and ran his fingers over her spine. He dropped the shirt, pulled out a stethoscope and had her breathe.
“Are you on any medications?”
“No sir.”
He looked at her directly, “Birth control? Allergy? Tylenol?”
“No, nothing.” She could feel her cheeks warm slightly at the mention of birth control. She had quit taking it after graduation because first there really was no need, and second, she didn’t have medical insurance.
“I’d like to photograph your back for my files. It’s normal procedure, evidence, the police will probably prefer to do it themselves, but I’m sure Mr. Poole won’t allow it. Your face won’t be in the picture, it will just be your back. Would you mind taking your shirt off?”
Her eyes opened in alarm and she shot Gray a plaintive look. He coughed, “I’ll give you a moment,” and thankfully left.
She felt awkward, having a man photograph her back when she was just wearing a bra. He took a picture of the back of her head and neck, and then noticed her shoulder.
“This bite mark, is it related to the attack.”
“Yes.” She said a little too tartly.
He hunted through his bag for a ruler and had her hold it up while he took a picture of it. “You can put your shirt on now.” When her head popped through the neck hole he was leaning on the table in front of her. He had a penlight and had her follow his finger and asked other routine questions.
As he put everything back in his bag he quietly asked, “Are you sexually active?”
“No.” she whispered back.
“You should be fine, there’s no evidence of a concussion, but if you get a headache, experience sensitivity to light, please call me immediately. Do you want something for the pain?”
“Tea and Tylenol.” She answered quietly. “Thank you for coming, I appreciate not having to go to the police station.”
“Of course, let me know who the detective in charge is and I’ll send copies of your medical records including pictures.” He held out his hand, “Good luck Ms. Austen.”
“Thank you Dr. Wilcox.”
Gray appeared in the doorway and held up a finger to Jane, “I’ll just show him out.” While they left she made herself a cup of tea and settled on a stool at the kitchen island.
“Thanks for coming Steve.”
“Any time Gray, uh,” he reached in his bag and brought out a strip of condoms, “Take these, and call me if she gets a headache or anything.”
Gray looked at the strip of condoms, “No thank you, Steve.”
“She’s not using anything Gray, and unless you’ve got a stash in there, don’t be stupid, just take them.”
Gray raised an eyebrow in warning, said nothing and closed the door. He found her in the kitchen sipping tea. “Can I get you anything?”
“Tylenol, please.”
He grinned, “Sure.” He opened up a cabinet door, pulled out a bottle and gave her two pills. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head and regretted it, “No, just a little achy.” She took the pills and looked at him, “so what now? We just wait? What about my Mom?”
“Ben’s coming by with clothes; your mother’s companion has agreed to move in for a few days. James and Susannah are watching her right now. You should rest. Do you want to lie down? Watch TV?”
“Has he found Richard yet?”
Gray walked over to her, pulling her hands toward him, “He’s at the hospital. Ben will tell you everything when he gets here.” She stood up and melted into him. He gently ran his hands over her back, not wanting to touch her bruises.
The doorbell rang followed by an insistent knock she recognized as Ben’s. “Speak of the devil.” Gray released his grasp, opened the front door and let Ben in. She had followed him to the front door and Ben scooped her up and hugged her tightly.
“Oh, ouch, too much, stop.” She muttered and he dropped her gently.
“Sorry baby,” he kissed her cheek, “God, it’s good to see you. Patrick is going nuts; you have to call him after I leave.”
She smiled and hugged him gently, “It’s good to see you too. Where’s Richard?”
She stepped back and watched his face change rapidly, “You should have gone for the jugular Janie. Fucker’s probably going to survive.” He turned to Gray, “Did you see the video yet?”
Gray shook his head, “No, the doctor just left.”
Without being invited, Ben moved into the living room, dropped her bag by a large mahogany desk and sat down in the desk chair, pulling up the internet. He managed to open Gray’s emails and started the video. The video was from a camera placed on the landing, giving a view from below and above, but it was a fish eye camera. It only lasted 27 seconds, but it captured the entire event. She saw that she stabbed his back while he bit her shoulder.
Ben sat back, “Nice move stopping on the stairs kiddo. You actually d
idn’t stab him that deeply, but when you kicked him off you, he managed to impale his kidney in the fall. He’s in surgery now, they’re taking it out. The police have this video and he’s officially under arrest for breaking and entering, trespassing, attempted murder, attempted kidnapping, and I got a friend who’ll come up with a bunch more before he’s out of surgery. His career is screwed. I’ve already “leaked” the video to YouTube and sent a link to every contact in his address book. He’s done Janie, it’s over.”
She looked over at her bag, “So I can go home?”
Ben scoffed, “No, you smacked your head, you’re in shock. Unless you want to explain why there’s a man in your bed to your mom, you’re spending the night here or in the hospital under observation.”
“Ben, the doctor said I’m fine,” she replied.
“Yeah, well tough shit. This is the way it is.” Ben glared.
She turned around, waved her hand and called out, “I’m calling Patrick.”
Ben stood up, shook Gray’s hand and whispered, “Remember what I told you when I first met you Poole?”
“Yes, I do.” Gray remembered his comment about not hurting ‘his’ Jane.
“It’s still true. Richard has business partners; I don’t know how involved they were with this. She’s not to go home until I say so.”
Gray rolled his eyes, “Why does she tolerate you?”
Ben smiled, “I’m like nail fungus, I grow on you after a while and then you can’t get rid of me.” He opened the front door and called out, “Love ya Janie, I’ll call you later.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
He found Jane in his kitchen, familiarizing herself with things while talking on the phone with Patrick.
“I promise you I’m ok, I’m worried about him though. He’s totally gone Rambo. He seriously needs some estrogen.” She listened and then said quietly, “Don’t let him do anything illegal, please. Yes you can, he will do anything for you… How’s Mom?”
Gray ambled up, leaned against his oven with his arms crossed until he caught her eye. He saw her stop, and then said breathily, “I should go, thanks, keep him out of trouble. Love ya, bye.” The room crackled with sexual tension. Her breath turned shallow, and she licked her bottom lip.
“I think I’ll see what Patrick packed me; he said he’s left me a surprise.” She pulled up on the pant legs so they didn’t drag on the floor and looked back, “Although I have to say, these are the softest sweats I’ve ever felt.”
He smirked, “They are my favorite too. I like you in my t-shirt.”
She sat down on the floor in front of her bag and opened it, picked out a pair of black yoga pants, fuzzy socks, and a silk cable knit cream sweater she made years ago.
“What’s that look for?” Gray asked, amused by her angelic expression.
“He knows me; he’s packed my favorite clothes.”
“What’s the surprise?”
Jane peered in the box and then gasped and closed the bag tight, “Well, it appears you’ve passed the best friend’s test.”
Gray motioned toward the bag; he asked drily, “What’s that, exactly?”
“My best friend approves of you. That’s all you need to know.” She zipped the bag up, grabbed the pants and sweater and hurried to the bathroom to change.
When she returned, Gray and her bag were missing from the living room. “Gray?”
“Up here.” She wandered upstairs and moved into the sitting room, it was situated between the master bedroom and two more bedrooms at the back of the house. There was a fireplace in the sitting room, with bookshelves on either side. Above the fireplace was a large framed Seurat painting.
“Hi,” he said wearing that lopsided grin, black sweats that hung below his waist and a grey t-shirt that accentuated his broad chest nicely. He smirked, “I put your bag in here, since you know, I passed the best friend’s test and Ben insists.”
She raised an eyebrow, “Ben is over-protective, a character flaw, in my opinion.” She handed him his sweats and t-shirt. “Thanks for loaning these.”
He grinned, “You look adorable, but I really hope I get to see you in this.” He held up a powder blue thong.
She snatched it out of his hand, and he laughed. “Should I be jealous, Ms. Eyre, that another man knows which lingerie you prefer?”
“No, you don’t need to be jealous. I can’t believe you looked in my bag.”
“My curiosity was piqued, and my imagination was running wild making me insanely jealous.”
“Insane and jealous. That is not a good combination, Mr. Poole.” She said lightly.
“I agree, and yet it’s how I feel.” He looked at her closely, “And how do you feel, Ms. Eyre?”
“What can I say to alleviate your insecurities?” She shook her head, “I don’t need more insanity in my life.” She looked up shyly at him, “Gray, I like what we have.”
She looked at him and softly said, “I could not be jealous of your love for your wife, think of Patrick in that manner. He was my first boyfriend and remains my best friend.” His face changed from amused to suspicious.
She looked at him carefully and teased, “You are jealous, Mr. Poole.”
He nodded and added in a serious tone, “I wish to have you to myself Ms. Eyre, and cannot bear to think of you with another.”
She cocked a brow, wanting to bring him back to a lighter tone, “How am I to feel, Mr. Poole, it is not just for you to wish me a virgin, when you yourself are a widower?”
He groaned, “Perhaps we should agree that today we begin anew?”
She smiled ruefully, “Are you capable of believing such a romantic idea? I cannot imagine it. I am too concrete, I fear, and yet I find solace in that the making of the man before me today is molded by his past. That is where I find my acceptance, reluctant as it may be.”
He could not hold her eyes, “I fear my heart is too invidious. I cannot find peace in the creation of the woman before me as a result of her past experiences.”
She touched his arm, gently caressing it, “You were concerned that I so am young, and now you wish me an infant?”
He looked at her, apologetic, “Yes, I wish to have it all.” He placed his hand over hers, “Jane, I cannot stand to think of you with another man, and yet I cannot stand to think that I would steal your virtue.”
She laughed, “You are in a pickle sir.” She grinned up at him, “Is it like that for all men?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know.” He held her gaze for a moment, “Jealousy is my vice Jane, that and my need to possess you.” Jane’s breath hitched, but she said nothing.
After carefully consideration, she leaned toward him, whispering, “I do not wish to be an object of possession. As for jealousy, I offer myself to you and you alone.”
He placed his hand over hers, “Thank you Jane. Possession has many meanings my dear Jane, I do not wish to dominate or control, although…” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “That has some merit.”
“Stop right there Gray. I do not want to be dominated, ever. I enjoy our time together because we challenge each other.” She stepped back, “You’re a little intense, you know.”
He rubbed his hand threw his hair and sighed, “I’ve heard that, yeah.” He looked at her carefully, “Too intense?”
Her stomach flipped, “Uh, I can’t think when you look at me like that.”
“No?” his eyes darkened and he closed the distance between them. He grabbed her head, hands on either side, careful to avoid the lump on the back of her head. He kissed her gently on her forehead, her nose, her cheek and trailed kisses to her lips.
“So I may challenge you?” he asked between kisses.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly, wrapping her hands around his biceps and pulling him closer.
“And I may control your tongue?” his hands wrapped around her waist, trailing down and cupping her buttocks. She gasped and released his arms. He didn’t relent, until he realized her hands were now on his chest, pushing
him back.
“Yes, you may control my tongue and more, but right now my bottom is bruised.”
He chuckled, “I’m sorry Jane. I got carried away.”
“Really sir, you lost control?” She asked teasing.
“Yes, Jane. I find myself lost when you are not with me, and wanting to lose myself in you.” His hand gently cupped her face, and he kissed her forehead, “Come, I am hungry. Feed me wench.”
In the kitchen she turned and asked him “And what does my lord like for supper?”
He rubbed his stomach, and opened the refrigerator door, “How about pasta? I think I have some ravioli in here?” He opened up a drawer and pulled out a package of fresh spinach and feta ravioli.
“Oh, yes please.” She took the package and then nudged him away, “We need tomatoes, garlic, oh my, fresh basil.” She stood up and kissed him on the nose, “You sir, are a pleasing mystery.”
“A pleasing mystery? Because I have fresh basil?”
“Do you cook for yourself?”
He grinned, “Yes Jane, I cook.”
“And do you enjoy cooking?”
“Sometimes, and sometimes I would rather just eat peanut butter on a spoon.”
She giggled, “With red wine or white?”
He pulled her close, “Beer Jane. I believe you are mocking me.”
“No sir, I would never mock Mr. Poole.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, “I am intrigued by all things Grayson Poole.”
“I suggest you start our supper before I start something else Jane.” His eyes had darkened and she recognized he was not threatening, but promising.
She nodded, “Ok food first.” She turned back to the refrigerator, pulled out romaine, bacon, cream, and finally closed the door.
He was grinning stupidly, “First? What do you have planned second, Ms. Eyre?”
She looked at him, and groaned, “Quit, or you will not be fed. Do you have olive oil?”
“Of course.” He went to the pantry and set it on the counter. “What else does my lady require?”
“Pot for the ravioli, and a pan for the sauce, also a bowl for salad, if you please.” She washed her hands in the sink.
Jane Eyre Austen Page 12
