The Cowboy's City Girl - An Enemies To Lovers Romance

by Emerson Rose

  I do as I’m told with no sass this time. He moves the head of the hospital bed down with his controls until his face is level with me and reaches over to tug on my thick braid.

  When I look up at him, his eyebrows are raised as he wiggles his fingers of his other hand impatiently. I slowly thread my fingers with his. “I won’t bite you,” he says, “Unless of course, you want me to.”

  He needs to not talk to me that way. I’m appalled at my urge to give in to the undeniable magnetic force humming between us and climb into bed with him to see about this biting.

  The mere thought of sharing a bed with a man has always caused bile to rise into my throat. I haven’t had one passionate thought about another human being since being attacked. The therapist I saw for years worked hard to get me past this hurdle to no avail, and, in two weeks, Marcus has become my cure, he has me considering things I never thought possible.

  Holding hands is such a sweet and gentle gesture, something tells me he doesn’t do this often. He doesn’t seem to be one who would share himself with others.

  “You should rest, you’ve been awake since six a.m. It’s not OK for you to overexert so soon.” I’m trying to put my nurse hat back on, but my suggestion sounds pathetic in comparison to my usual authority.

  He surprises me yet again by agreeing with me, “Ok, you are right, I am tired. Wake me when Elijah gets here.” He’s back to ordering me around again, I’m getting used to his high-handedness, so I let it go again without a smart-ass comment. When it gets right down to it, he does need to sleep, and I love to watch him do it.

  Twelve

  Every time I attempt to move my hand, Marcus's grip tightens. Eventually, I give up and scoot my chair even closer so that my arm isn’t overextended.

  Since I’m stuck, I open up one of the hundreds of romance eBooks on my iPad with my one free hand and settle in to wait for Elijah.

  Ten minutes later, Marcus begins to stir in his sleep. I’ve never seen him dream, all of his sleeping up to this point has been comatose ‘sleep,' which isn’t actual sleep.

  His arms twitch, and he mumbles something I can’t understand. The more he struggles, the more uncomfortable I am listening to him. I feel like I’m eavesdropping on something private, but he has a death grip on my hand, so there’s no getting away from him without waking him up.

  Mumbling soon turns into actual talking and the more he speaks, the more irritated he becomes. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead, every muscle in his body is tense, and his face contorts into a painful grimace.

  “No, no, no, don’t touch her. It was me; it was me!” he shouts.

  I shake him and risk having my arm taken off or getting punched in the face, but it's clear he's having a nightmare, and being the victim of them myself, I can't sit by and watch. I quickly turn my face away from him and duck my head down to protect myself. He’s a massive man, and I’ve seen him in action when he’s crazed.

  If he comes out of this dream swinging, I don’t want to be in his path. His eyes snap open, and his back arches off the bed for a second before he relaxes and stares up at the ceiling. He is panting and frozen in place.

  When he looks down at our hands clasped together, he knows he’s been talking in his sleep.

  “What did I say?” he says, almost barking at me. I jump in my seat, surprised that he’s angry, seemingly at me.

  “Nothing I could decipher.” Lie. Shit, what does he usually say in his sleep? And why is he so worried about it?

  “I know I was talking. I was dreaming, and I talk in my sleep. Not to mention you’re a shitty liar. What did I say?”

  I’m not lying to him twice. “You didn’t want someone to touch someone and then you said it wasn’t you.”

  His bronze skin turns an ashy gray before he turns his face from me and releases my hand to scrub his face up and down.

  “Are you ok?” I ask.

  “Fine, it was just a dream. Where’s Elijah?”

  “You’ve only been sleeping about thirty minutes.”

  “I need to get out of here. Who is the physician in charge?”

  Crappy nap equals grumpy Marcus.

  “Dr. Krane, but, Marcus, you can’t go home; it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you regained consciousness. You were in a serious accident.”

  “I don’t care. I’m leaving.”

  Okay, this isn’t good. I need to come up with a good excuse to keep him here, and quick.

  “You can’t go home until I can go with you, and nothing has been settled with my job here. If you want me to work for you, I need to know I can come back when you’re back on your feet again.”

  There, that ought to detour him for a little while. I know he wants me to be his private nurse, and I pray for the sake of his health that he falls for my excuse.

  “Work for me, doing what?” he asks.

  His sparkling green eyes glaze over. We just talked about this, and he’s forgotten already. What if he has a short-term memory problem? His fucking doctor needs to see him, pronto.

  “Marcus, do you know where you are?” I ask gently watching him as he assesses his surroundings. Confusion clouds his face as I continue to question him. “Marcus, do you know what day it is?”

  Still nothing, his face is void of all expression. He stares at me, past me, through me. A knock at the door jolts my attention to where Elijah is poking his head in.

  “Sir, I have lunch for you, and, Imani, is it ok to come in?”

  “Lunch.” He pauses, thinking and sorting things in his mind. “Yes, of course, it’s about time. Set it up here, between us on that table,” he says to Elijah as if he hadn't visited planet Mars a couple of seconds ago.

  I wonder if Elijah triggered something that brought him back to the here and now. Maybe seeing me wasn’t helpful because I’m not familiar, who knows? But what I do know is that I need to talk to Dr. Krane, now.

  “I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom.” Surely he can’t object to that. I’m right. He nods as if to give me permission to leave. Whatever, as long as he thinks he’s in control and I can get out of the room for a minute, he can think whatever he wants.

  Outside the room, I scan the hall for his day nurse, Traci. Where in the hell has she been all day anyway? No one has come into his room all morning. I shouldn’t be complaining. I could have gotten into a lot of trouble had she caught us in the middle of that kiss.

  After a quick walk around our small horseshoe-shaped unit, I find her outside another patient’s room.

  “Hey, Traci, I wanted to talk to you about Marcus Castillo in bed eight. He’s having some problems, and I think Dr. Krane needs to come and see him.”

  “Is he ok? Does he need anything? You were with him, so I saved his assessment for last. I’m so sorry, Imani.”

  “No, no, that’s ok. I’ve been taking care of him. He’s having trouble with his memory, and he had a sudden onset of confusion. He’s threatening to leave the hospital. Dr. Krane needs to come and see him.”

  “Oh, ok, I’ll call him right away.” She leaves me to make the phone call, and I return to Marcus’s bedside where he’s arranging our lunch on his hospital table. It smells wonderful. More food from Dominus, I’m sure. I hate to cook. I could get used to this. After an intricate display of organization, he looks up and beckons for me to come closer with a twinkle in his eye and one side of his mouth lifted in a sexy smirk.

  “Let’s eat.”

  “Marcus, do you know who I am?”

  Now he’s looking at me like I’m nuts. “Yes, you’re my special nurse, Imani. What’s going on with you?” He thinks I’m losing it, not him. That’s rich.

  “You had a blackout, just a few minutes ago; you didn’t know who I was or where you were. I think it’s better for you to stay here for a couple more days, at least,” I say.

  He waves his hand in the air, dismissing my concern.

  “Stop worrying, I'm alright. Let’s eat, so I can talk to the doctor and get o
ut of here.”

  Coming from the man who says he always gets what he wants, this is disturbing. He might want to go home, but he needs to stay here, for a while anyway.

  Elijah stands idly by, gauging the situation. From what I’ve seen of their relationship, his next words are not typical.

  “Marcus, sir, I think you should listen to Miss Jefferson. If she thinks it’s best you stay, maybe you should.”

  Marcus shoots poor Elijah a death glare, and a very long, very uncomfortable silence falls over the room.

  “I’ll talk to the doctor, but I am going home today no matter what he says, so make the arrangements, Elijah. I can get the same care at home that I can here, and with Imani, I will be fine. If I need a test, I can come and do it as an outpatient.”

  He’s trying very hard to make this seem like a compromise, but Elijah knows the truth, and I am quickly learning that Marcus is a master manipulator.

  “What about my contract with the hospital?” I ask.

  “I called my lawyer this morning. Everything will be final by this evening. You can sign the paperwork before we go, and then you can come home with me.”

  I feel like I’m being sold, or adopted from the local animal shelter. He’s changing my life completely, and it’s all business to him.

  “What if Dr. Krane doesn’t think it’s a good idea for you to go home yet?” I’m grasping at straws, but to no avail. He’s going home, and I’m going with him today. Of that, there is no doubt.

  One thing has become apparent in the short time I’ve known him. No one can deny Marcus Castillo.

  “They can’t hold me prisoner, Imani. I can go home and I will, period.”

  And that’s that.

  Dr. Krane comes by to see Marcus and recommends he stay another forty-eight hours minimum to have a scan of his brain and some neurological monitoring. Marcus refuses and informs the doctor that he’ll come back as an outpatient for testing. Before I know it, he has me packing his things, and Elijah is on the phone arranging a private ambulance to transport us home.

  He also called someone at Marcus’s estate about having things ready for our arrival. My life is about to be flipped upside-down forever. Nothing can prepare me for what’s about to come and, really, it’s probably better this way.

  Thirteen

  A woman from the legal department in the hospital joins us in Marcus’s room before his discharge. I would have preferred to have a lawyer of my own go over this paperwork before I sign anything, but Marcus has sparked a sense of urgency under everyone involved in his discharge. I’m feeling the pressure not to hold up the operation.

  With the paperwork completed, we load into the ambulance and head home. Well, home for him at least. Being packed into the back of a cramped ambulance with Marcus is like being in a microwave, with three-hundred GHz of electromagnetic radiation crackling between us. When the doors close, he reaches out for my hand.

  “Are you afraid, Mr. Castillo?” I ask.

  “No, I am not, but maybe you should be.” One corner of his mouth pulls up in, quite possibly, the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen on any man’s face.

  My core melts from the blazing heat in his eyes, and I squirm on the bench across from him. Why does he do this to me? I can see in his expression that he enjoys toying with me. He purposely says and does things to make me blush red-hot from my toes to the top of my head.

  “Why do you resist me, Imani? Have I not proven myself to you? Not one thing that I have desired has been denied me in the short time we have been acquainted. Surely you know that I want you for much more than your nursing skills. Although, those will come in handy as well. A bonus, if you will.”

  Wait, what? A bonus?

  What is he talking about? My head is spinning, and I feel faint, as in foggy around the edges, hearing fading in and out, ready-to-drop-on-the-floor faint.

  He tugs on my hand, and I watch his face change from smoldering smirk to worry through the halo of sparkles in my vision.

  “Imani?” His brow wrinkles with concern right before he starts saying my name, like he’s trying to shake me from a nightmare. He speaks loudly and with authority, demanding me to focus.

  “Imani, breathe. Fuck me. You’re going to pass out if you don’t take deep breaths, lady.” He drops my hand to reach up and wrap it around the back of my neck, then he pulls me toward him and shoves my head down between my legs.

  “I’m ok. I’m ok. Really, you can let me go. It’s just so close in here that it's making me dizzy.” I try to sit up, unsuccessfully. He continues to hold me captive with one arm. He's not exactly in a position to help me, strapped onto a gurney with a broken leg and a head injury.

  I would have gone ballistic in a full-on panic attack with any other man.

  “Stay down there until you are sure,” he orders, and I do. I inhale deep breaths for a few moments until he’s convinced that I’m alright.

  “I think I’m ok now. Please, let me go,” I say from between my legs, and he releases me immediately.

  “What was that? You’re supposed to be nursing me back to health, not passing out from a little innocent flirting.”

  Could I possibly be any more embarrassed? Yeah, probably.

  “I told you, it’s hot in here, the circulation is terrible. You shouldn’t flirt with the help. You’re my employer, and you’re paying me.”

  “Yes, I certainly am, a lot, and I can’t have you fainting every time I smile at you. I know I’m irresistible, but, really, Imani, you are going to have to toughen up. I happen to favor you, and I wouldn’t want to see that beautiful head of yours injured. In case you haven’t noticed, I am not in any condition to see to it that you land in my arms and not on the metal floor of this ambulance.”

  Well, that was unexpected, infuriating, and flattering all at the same time. Toughen up? I’ll show him tough. I would never expect him to catch me if I fell, what an ass. I know I’m irresistible, ugh really? Screw you, Mr. Conceited. I straighten up and lean away from the unexplainable intoxication surrounding him and gather myself.

  “Mr. Castillo, you are one cocky son of a bitch, and I will never require you to keep me from falling. If you think I’m going down, let me go. And stop flirting with me. We have a professional relationship when I’m on the clock, and you will do well to file that bit of information away for future reference.”

  There, shove that in your pipe and smoke it. I can’t believe that I just told the man, that I am hopelessly affected by, that he is a cocky son of a bitch. I hope I didn’t push him too far. He is taken aback but only for a few seconds before he roars with laughter. When he catches his breath from whatever the hell is so hilarious, he finally speaks.

  “Oh, Imani, your quick, smart mouth slays me. No one has ever spoken to me that way. No one. In fact, I hope the driver didn’t hear that. I have a reputation to uphold as a cocky son of a bitch, you know.”

  I am at a loss for words, what do I do with that remark? I feel the ambulance slow, and I’m more than a little happy when it pulls to a halt. I can’t wait to get out of this hot box. I should have followed in my car.

  The ambulance driver swings open the doors and light floods into the cab. It’s an unusually sunny fall day for Seattle. I relish in the warmth on my face until the crisp breeze flows along the floor of the ambulance cab and up the legs of my jeans.

  The driver offers me his hand to help me out, and I think Marcus growls behind me. I’m about to turn and see what his problem is when I’m stunned into silence by the beauty of the grounds surrounding Marcus’s house. No, ‘house’ doesn’t even come close to describing this place. I can see now why he refers to it as an estate, although it looks more like a castle to me. It figures, King Castillo needs a castle from which to rule his many kingdoms all over the world.

  There are two stone towers on either side of a set of grand double doors that are curiously distressed and painted purple. Those curious purple doors open right away when we begin unloading the stretcher. A m
an probably ten years older than Marcus exits the doors and strides toward us with a tight businesslike expression.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Mr. Black,” he introduces himself curtly, “You must be the nurse.”

  “Yes, that’s me, Imani Jefferson. Pleased to meet you,” I say, extending my hand only to have it ignored. It doesn’t hurt my feelings, though, I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to take care of Marcus. Why do I keep lying to myself? I am here because Marcus has a powerful, otherworldly hold on me, and I can't help but follow him wherever he wants me to go. No matter how hard I fight to be professional and keep my thoughts on the job, I end up failing miserably.

  Mr. Black is intimidating, but not in the same way that Marcus is. It’s more like he is a drill sergeant and this is my first day in boot camp. I’d say he’s no taller than five feet eleven inches tall, and he has stunning crystal blue eyes. What is it with all of these men and their unique eyes? Marcus, Elijah, and now Mr. Black are all blessed with remarkably beautiful eyes.

  His skin is tanned, but it doesn’t look like a natural tan that someone earns from spending a lot of time outdoors, but rather a fake-bake or spray tan. From what I can tell, he’s in pretty good shape, bald, handsome for an older man. The only thing spoiling his good looks is a frightening scar on his cheek that runs the full length of his neck. I can only imagine how he received such a gruesome wound, and I’m surprised he’s alive.

  “Yes, Mr. Black, this is Miss Imani Jefferson. She will be staying with us for a while until I can get around on my own. Open up the bedroom next to mine so she will be close to me.”

  Oh no, he doesn’t! He’s not manipulating me into living here. That wasn’t in the agreement, and he damn well knows it!

  “There will be no need for a bedroom. I’ll be going home at night and returning in the mornings. I have my own home,” I say, looking directly at Marcus to make sure he understands. He isn’t pleased, but he accepts my objection for now. Somehow I know this isn’t the end of the subject.