Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1)

by Unknown

He pulls my hand away with tenderness. “Ariana, I thought I made myself clear earlier. Stop worrying, we’re big boys.”

  I stand up, feeling a bit shaky. “Let me. Security doesn’t know you.”

  “True.” He follows me to the intercom located in the kitchen near the pantry. I lose my balance, and he catches me. “Ariana, damn.” A harsh curse seethes through his lips. “Are you okay?” He asks with a frustrated growl.

  “I’m fine, just a little unsteady,” I say softly, and tap the button to answer the intercom. I turn my head, and find Michael leaning his forearm up against the wall, staring over me with a concerned look on his face.

  “Miss DiMarco?”

  “Yes, Ryan.”

  “Miss DiMarco, a gentleman by the name of Josh Grayson, is here to see you and Mr. Michael Grayson.”

  “Thanks, Ryan. Send him up, and we’re also expecting Trent Grayson. Direct him up as well, please.”

  “Yes, of course. He’ll be up in a few. He had to run back to his car for something.”

  “Thank you, Ryan.”

  “You’re welcome. Enjoy your evening.”

  “You as well.” All of a sudden, fear begins to surface, weighing over me like a cinder block, not for myself, but for Michael and his brothers. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to them in their pursuit to catch this asshole. The mere thought of either of them getting hurt because some psychopath is out to get me makes me sick.

  I place my hand over my stomach feeling nauseous and dizzier than before. I turn to Michael, who’s standing over me like a protective lion safeguarding his mate, and I sigh. He is going to be a handful.

  “Ariana, you should go lie down. You seem rather pale, and your eyes are glazed.”

  “I’m okay, Michael,” I say, waving a hand dismissively.

  “No, you’re not. I’m concerned about the substance you ingested. You don’t look well,” he replies with a sharp tone. He releases a heavy sigh and brushes the long bangs away from my face, causing my breath to hitch.

  “I’m fine. Now stop fussing.” I turn away from Michael to get some distance and trip over my own two feet. He grabs me by the waist, and pulls me hard into his arms before I could hit the floor. I freeze except for my heart, which is pounding within my chest as I feel his strong, warm body pressed to mine. It’s . . . intoxicating.

  “Ariana, let me help you. You’re a bit unstable,” he murmurs into my ear and all I want to do is melt into his skin. I shake my head to rid these erotic thoughts, but it’s useless.

  “Enough, Michael.” I push my hands against his chest and walk toward the bedroom. An embarrassing and a misfortunate moment for me, the wall decides to relocate, causing me to walk right into the barrier. Ouch! Damn him, I knew he was a health hazard.

  He huffs out, coating me with his warm breath, and in one swift move, my feet are off the ground and I’m in his arms, too disoriented to fight him.

  “Where is your bedroom?” His voice grows harsher.

  I groan and for a moment, I am lost in his scent as his fresh out-of-the-shower smell lingers beneath my nostrils inebriating me to the point that it takes me a few seconds to process what he just asked me.

  “Through the library you’ll see a set of double doors,” I explain pointing toward an entrance joined to the living room.

  He pushes through the entryway into an oval-shaped room enclosed in ceiling-to-floor windows, bestowing a view of Central Park and Lincoln Center.

  Most of my furnishings are decorated with hand-painted flowers over mahogany. Although I didn’t need window treatments for my bedroom, I felt adding elegant, pale yellow sheer drapes, which pool at the polished parquet floor, gave it a romantic ambiance. The two sets of French doors encased with thick cherry wood lead to a wraparound terrace. In the center of the room stands a king-sized bed I purchased in Thailand along with a navy blue silk duvet and an array of white and canary floral-printed pillows.

  With pristine care, Michael settles me over the bed. He stands looming over me, shaking his head. “You’re a very stubborn woman, Ariana.”

  “I could say the same for you,” I say with sarcasm, and he tilts his head to the side with a raised eyebrow glaring at me as if he’s entertaining the thought to say something to me and sure enough he does.

  “I should place you over my knee and slap that hide of yours.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” I gasp, not just at his comment but also at the picture that I just painted in my mind of me laying across his lap with his hands on my ass. Ah! I have to control these x-rated scenes whipping through my head.

  “Try me. I’m always up for the challenge, Ariana, and you, with-out-a-doubt are challenging.”

  “Big bully,” I say loud enough for his ears to hear.

  He chuckles. “Do you need help?” he inquires, pointing toward my attire with a sexy curve to his lips.

  “No, I am perfectly capable of changing myself. Thank you very much,” I answer with a cynical tone. I stand, and I lose my balance. He pulls me hard up against his heated chest and I dissolve into his arms.

  I stare into his white shirt, and my eyes follow the trail of buttons up to his face. His vivid, green eyes glisten under the dim lights. His facial features are strong, masculine, and sculpted to perfection with lips full and moist. I aspirate and turn the other way when he catches me gaping at him. I sense his smug expression. Shit!

  “Do you like what you see, Ariana?” He asks with a low and seductive tone that has my heart racing.

  “Umm . . . brain malfunction?” I say with a shrug, wishing I could crawl beneath the bed from embarrassment.

  He chuckles. “Are you sure you won’t need my assistance?” He asks with a grin. He can be such a smart-ass.

  “Positive, but if you don’t mind, would you just get my tank top and yoga pants? They’re hanging on the inside of my closet door. Thanks.”

  Michael disappears and I clutch my hands against my beating heart, which hasn’t stopped burning the pavement from the moment I laid eyes on him. I feel light-headed and off balance and it’s not from the drugged induced truffles I ate earlier, but the man that walks back into my bedroom with my nightwear.

  “I’ll leave you to get dressed. I’ll return in ten minutes.”

  “Thank you again,” I express with sincerity.

  He awards me with one of his hypnotic smiles and strides out of the room. I undress and change. I hold up the little black dress admiring the style. “So much for the opera,” I say out loud.

  I take several steps toward the dresser. Without warning, I lose my balance and sway, causing me to knock the books and two vases off the bureau. The alarming sound of glass shattering pierces through me as the room begins to spin, and I find myself falling. I let out a bloodcurdling scream as my head kisses the side of the metal bed frame and hit the hardwood floor with a loud thump.

  Michael rushes in stepping over the pulverized crystal. “Ariana!” He bends over to wrap his arms around my waist and behind my knees, scooping me up against his firm chest, his heart and harsh breathing increasing alongside my ear. “Ariana, what happened?” He flusters, cuddling me like a small child against his body, resting his head over mine with worry.

  I whimper from the intense pain as little jackhammers pound away at my skull and stars begin to circle around my head. I feel staggered and confused. For a split second, I didn’t know what hit me.

  With care, he lays me on the bed. “Oh, shit, Ariana, you have some bump on your head,” he growls out and sprints toward the kitchen, rushing back with an ice pack from my freezer.

  “Jesus, Ariana, I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he says scowling and sits beside me. His features attentive as he places the ice pack above my right temple causing me to flinch from the pain.

  “Damn, Ariana, you may have a concussion. I guess you’ll be paying a visit to the emergency room after all,” he says with a sarcastic tone.

  “I’m not going,” I protest sounding childish
.

  He glares at me with an irritated expression. “The hell you aren’t,” he snaps. “I refuse to discuss this with you any further until Josh gets here. No sense in arguing.” He reapplies the ice pack over the temple with tenderness. “How do you feel?” His eyes are intense, filled with worry.

  “Pain,” I sigh out.

  “I’ll let Josh survey the damage and let him be the deciding factor on whether or not you should pay a visit to the hospital,” he says with a frown, shaking his head.

  He stares at the fragments of the vases. “Here, hold this to your head,” he orders, rushing out, and soon he is back picking up the shattered mess with a brush and dustpan and places the books back on the bureau. I’m impressed he knew where to find them.

  The bell chimes alerting us to a visitor and I hear the whoosh of the elevator doors as they open and close. “Your brother is here,” I inform him, hearing his footsteps across the marble floor.

  “Michael, are you here?” Josh calls out.

  Michael responds directing him to the bedroom.

  Josh rushes in wearing blue scrubs. He has the same built as Michael, with matching hair, except Josh appears to be an inch or two shorter with blue eyes.

  “Thanks for coming. I hope you weren’t on your way to the hospital,” Michael asks, pointing at Josh’s attire, and they hug one another. “Josh, this is Ariana DiMarco, Ariana this is my brother Josh,” Michael introduces.

  “Nice to meet you Josh, I’m so sorry that Michael had you rush over. I appreciate you taking the time to come,” I say graciously with a smile.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Ariana, and it wasn’t out of my way. I’m always happy to help,” he says with warmth and then he turns to Michael.

  “I just finished seeing my last patient, so what happened?” Josh questions with a worried look on his face, and for a split second, his expression resembles Michael’s.

  “She fell moments ago, hitting her head on God knows what. She may have a concussion, and the stubborn woman is refusing to go to the hospital. I have a good mind to tie her up and bring her there myself. Nevertheless, this isn’t the reason why I had you rush over. She received truffles from a demented fu— admirer,” he rushes out, attempting to control his flamboyant language. “She consumed about eleven of them,” he huffs out and starts pacing around my bedroom.

  Josh places his bag on the end of the bed. “I’ll examine her and take a sample of her saliva. Can you give me more details?” Josh inquires with a sweet, angelic voice.

  Michael gives him a quick rundown of the e-mails, truffles, the note, and my heartwarming phone call at the restaurant.

  Josh is nodding his head as Michael goes into specifics. He gives me an empathetic smile.

  The elevator door chimes again.

  “Michael, Trent, is here,” I murmur and for a brief moment the room begins to spin and my vision blurs. Whoa, this stuff is strong. I should be scared for my life, rushing to the hospital to find out what the hell were in those bite size chocolates. Instead, I lie here like I’ve had one too many glasses of wine and a desperate need of a long nap.

  “Trent is here?” Josh asks.

  “Yes, I want him to track this bastard down,” he hisses out, letting out a loud sigh.

  “Michael, I’ll exam her while you go speak with Trent,” Josh says, shaking his head with a frown.

  “Fine.” He nods and rushes out. I stare at his beautiful back, wide like a linebacker running out onto the field. Yummy. Ahhh! God, he brings out a side of me I’ve never seen.

  Josh reaches into his bag and pulls out a stethoscope, a pressure cuff, and a small flashlight.

  “Would you mind if I examine you?” His voice is smoother and more composed than Michael’s. This is why he’s a doctor and not Mr. Bulldozer. Josh may have similar features to Michael, but his personality is milder, gentler, and he’s more soft-spoken with a warm bedside manner, yet he has a powerful aura about him.

  “Not at all,” I answer.

  Josh flips the switch on the flashlight, and I flinch from the sting as he examines my eyes.

  “Sorry,” he murmurs. His eyes are warm and amiable.

  He takes my blood pressure. He assesses my breathing and places the cold stethoscope against my chest, making me wince.

  “Can you sit up, please?” He asks with compassion.

  I let out a loud gasp as I sit up and sway toward the edge of the bed. Josh takes hold of my shoulders with gentle hands to steady me.

  “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispers.

  I freeze when he lifts the back of my top and places the icy instrument over my warm skin. I grow tense praying he won’t question me. If I were in my right mind, I would have protested, but I’m drained, weary, and tired. His facial expression changes from impassive to alarming.

  I gaze into his eyes and smile. “Patient-doctor confidentiality,” I murmur.

  He exhales a long breath and frowns. Then he nods in agreement.

  I’m grateful for his discretion. The thick permanent scars on my back aren’t something I want to disclose to anyone. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “You’re welcome. Have you discussed this with doctor?” He asks with genuine sincerity.

  “No, and what you saw doesn’t leave this room. Understand?”

  He nods. “Yes, of course.” He felt my head, neck, and shoulders. “Does it hurt anywhere else besides the nice size bump you have on your head?” He asks.

  “No,” I answer.

  “Did you experience any vomiting, dizziness or confusion?”

  “I became light-headed, with some confusion after I hit my head, which didn’t last long.”

  He frowns, eyes filled with concern, and pulls out a pen. “Just follow the pen,” he instructs. He lets out a long sigh.

  “Did you have any form of alcohol?”

  “Yes, a large glass of red wine? Is everything ok?” I ask.

  “I’m concerned you may have a slight concussion, but we will discuss that later, right now I want to analyze your saliva.” He places the pen back in his pocket. “I’m going to pull out a test cassette and wipe the tip inside your mouth to collect some salvia. This will check the type of drug you ingested. May I?” He asks.

  I nod.

  Josh pulls out a clear blue tube with something resembling a cotton swab and swipes the inside of my mouth several times. He waits until the end part of the cylinder turns blue and caps the top.

  “Now, about the fall you had,” he starts to say.

  “Am I going to need an x-ray?” I ask.

  With an empathic expression, he nods. “I would feel comfortable if you did,” he says with a meaningful look.

  “Well, I’m not going to the hospital, so I suggest you think of another alternative.”

  “Okay.” He chuckles, sounding carefree

  Chapter 5

  The Results

  I start when I hear the sound of Michael’s footsteps echo from the library. I give Josh a warning glance. Josh smiles with understanding.

  He walks into the room with a mystique air to him. His persona vibrates as this rough, strong and sensitive, yet silent, take-charge man. He has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his bow tie is undone, along with the top, two buttons of his shirt. His hair all disheveled. He seems unhinged.

  “How is she?” He asks anxiety seeping through his voice.

  Michael’s softheartedness continues to touch me.

  Josh faces me and winks. We have an understanding. “Michael, her breathing is normal, and her blood pressure is on the low side, but right now I’d like to get the sample analyzed.

  “I’m concerned she may have a slight concussion, and since she doesn’t want to go for x-rays, I suggest someone stay with her for a night or two as a precaution. It’s difficult to tell how hard she hit her head. Signs and symptoms may not appear until hours and days after the injury. If she experiences any nausea, blurred vision, or severe headache, she needs to be brought into the
emergency room immediately,” he says focusing his attention on me.

  “Ariana, I want you to get plenty of rest and for pain, take two acetaminophen. Do not take ibuprofen or aspirin,” Josh explains everything with a firm tone to his voice.

  “I’ll spend the two nights with her,” Michael says, volunteering his services.

  “No, no. You’re not spending the night here,” I object, overthrown by his kind gesture, yet not comfortable with his wanting to spend the night.

  “Why the hell not?” Michael retorts, causing the tension in the room to thicken.

  “Will you be comfortable if we get a nurse to stay with you, Ariana?” Josh asks, playing the mediator. “You said you didn’t want to go to the hospital, but you’d put me at ease if you weren’t alone. Would you do that for me?” He asks, speaking like an archangel. How can I refuse?

  “Why can’t I stay here?” Before Michael can finish, Josh interrupts him.

  “I don’t want to waste time. I took a sample of Ariana’s saliva,” Josh says as he places everything back in his medical bag. “Is there somewhere I can conduct the test?”

  Michael lets out a frustrated breath, threading his fingers through his hair.

  “Yes, of course, follow me. We can go into the kitchen.” He turns to me. “I’ll be back, Ariana. Call me if you need help getting up. Don’t you dare attempt to stand up on your own,” he warns with an eyebrow lifted and a finger pointing at me.

  I smirk and shrug. I blow out a long-awaited breath, feeling the throbbing pain in my head. Josh follows Michael out, heading toward the living room.

  “Where’s Trent?” Josh asks.

  “He’s out on the terrace, talking on his phone.”

  ***

  Several minutes tick by, and there is no sign of the men. I decide to sneak up on the guys. With slow movements, I sit up and slide off the bed. I wobble toward the library and manage to get my balance under control and tiptoe into the living room.

  I hide behind a threefold canvas divider with a picture of Venice, Italy. I peek from behind and observe the men, listening to them converse.

  Josh places a large case on the counter, draws out an unusual machine, and pulls out the swab he used to scrape my inner cheek.