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

by Emerson Rose

  He grips my ass and tilts me up fractionally, knowing I can’t take one more magic sweep of his tongue without losing control. He brings me to climax with his entire mouth, and fireworks with colors I’ve never experienced explode behind my eyelids as I lose control.

  “Oh God, Marcus…,” I gasp. My body convulses, pulsing violently with the first orgasm ever given to me by a man.

  Ten years of unrealized pent-up need, lust, and passion is released at the hands of a man who is an expert with not only my body but also my heart and mind.

  I relax my grip on his hair and float slowly down from an ecstasy I’ve never experienced before. Marcus props his forearms on my thighs looking up at me through his beautiful long eyelashes.

  “I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I heard your voice in the darkness of my coma.”

  “Well, I think you waited too long. Where did you learn how to do that? No, wait, I don’t want to know. Just make sure you don’t forget.”

  “Repetition is the best way to stay skilled.”

  “I like the sound of that. Hey, what if I had been an ugly three-hundred-pound ogre with a big hairy wart on my chin who happened to have a sexy voice?”

  “I knew you weren’t; no one with a voice like yours could be anything less than angelic.”

  He sets about helping me back into my clothes when goosebumps break out over my skin. “You’re cold,” he says, more to himself than to me. I watch him dress me. He is tender and meticulous and he swats my hands away gently when I try to help. I follow his hands as he buttons, clasps, and zips me into my clothes. When he slips each of my shoes on, he sits back to check his work.

  “That’s what you were, you know; an angel pulling me out of the dark. I was ready to check out; there was nothing holding me here. I’d done all I had set out to do in my life. I had honored my aunt with my success and I was ready to die.”

  I stare at his beautiful face, stunned. How could such a vital, successful, loving man be finished living?

  “Oh, Marcus,” I say, and pull his head against my belly. I wrap my arms around him and rest my cheek on the top of his head molding my body around his as if I could protect him from his demons.

  “Why? How could you consider giving up? You’re young and strong; you have more than most people could ever imagine.” I can feel him frown against me.

  “My life has been one dark, fucked up disaster after another. The car accident was just another disaster, another death, another tragic ending. You don’t know me, Imani. I don’t even know everything about me since the accident, but I’m sure if you did you’d run. You’re everything I’ve ever secretly yearned for, everything I’ve ever dreamed of having but knew I would never be blessed with because of my wretched past.”

  These are serious feelings he’s expressing. I knew we had a physical attraction, but I didn’t dare allow myself to consider that something real was happening between us.

  I wanted it, deep down I always have. I daydream about having an honest beautiful relationship with a man. A partner to share the ups and downs of life with, a best friend I can devote my life to.

  Just like Marcus, I have secret wishes that I believed would never come true. Wishes that I gave up on long ago. I never imagined meeting someone who would dissolve my fears like sugar in water.

  We share pasts that are dark and painful and rare, we are damaged but we are damaged together.

  “Stay with me, Imani. Don’t leave, don’t test Black’s theory.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

  Nineteen

  Marcus is quiet on the drive to the hospital; maybe he’s tired, maybe he’s thinking about what happened at Dominus and the things he said to me. Maybe he regrets it.

  Worrying is a skill that I unfortunately perfected a long time ago. Lately, however, I seem to have the urge to give myself a crash course.

  This relationship seems to be going in the right direction, but there’s still that nagging little voice in the back of my head telling me that a man like Marcus could never have real feelings for me. I never considered myself a woman with self-esteem problems, but then again I’ve never had it tested by a man. I was a nose-to-the-grindstone kind of girl in college. I worked hard on my studies and I never went to parties or social functions. All I wanted was to stay clear of trouble, graduate, and get a job, nothing else. And that’s what I did.

  Now I’ve gone and fallen for a man who might not even exist. I have no idea who he was before the accident, and what little I do know is complicated. What if this personality is temporary? What if this kind, attentive man isn’t real? All of this could be part of a brain injury.

  What if the man deemed the beast by his employees comes back and swallows my Marcus up?

  The admission of his feelings, his need to always be together, the way he makes me feel special and beautiful and cherished, all of that could be a mistake. A cruel trick played on me by the Universe. According to every romance novel I’ve ever read and the loving example my parents have been all my life, we have jumped right past the first and maybe the second stages of a normal relationship. That’s not normal.

  I’ve witnessed a few traits that I imagine are the old Marcus’s, and that is a man I don’t ever want to know.

  His abrupt dismissals and blackouts, the way his employees shake in their boots at the sight of him, the way people fall all over themselves to please him, all are big red flags waving in my face, but I keep hiding my eyes.

  We pull up in front of the outpatient testing entrance of the hospital, and I file my concerns away for later.

  “How about a wheelchair?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  The look of horror and insult on his face is borderline hilarious. The need to release some of my pent-up emotions rushes forward in the form of laughter.

  “I didn’t know you could be funny,” I say, between fits of giggles.

  “You have a lot to learn about me, lady.”

  I’m grateful for the playful moment. I have waited with many patients and their family members for important results, but these results affect me personally, and even more importantly they affect Marcus.

  This afternoon I will find out what’s going on inside that beautiful complicated mind of his. The tarnished side of that coin would be to find out my Marcus, the one I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with, might not be the real Mr. Castillo.

  A normal scan could reassure me, within reason, that what’s happening between us is real and won’t go up in a puff of smoke when his brain has had more time to heal.

  Marcus landed like a meteor in my life bringing an addictive feeling of completeness and passion that I’ve never experienced before.

  Had I not been attacked in high school, I’m sure my life would have taken a totally different path, a normal one with many relationships and learning experiences. I have worked hard for years not to let my attack define my future or me, but when it comes to relationships it always has.

  Marcus unknowingly transcended consciousness and brought me to a new plane in my life. No one else could have done it and no one else ever will.

  In my soul, I know he is my one and only chance at love. Marcus has become an important part of my world almost overnight.

  If something were to happen to him, if he were taken from me, the life I was living two weeks ago wouldn’t be enough. I’ve never been through a breakup, but I know losing Marcus would be devastating beyond belief.

  If the CT scan today finds a serious brain injury, there is no doubt in my mind that I’m in this for the long haul; as his nurse or his something else, it doesn’t matter.

  I am his.

  In a small room outside of radiology, I help Marcus change into a hospital gown enjoying the last moments of the unknown.

  I catch his eye when I lift his shirt over his head; I feel as if he can hear my thoughts.

  It’s the way he looks straight through me as if he hears my brain wave activity. “What are you thinkin
g?” he asks.

  I suck at lying.

  “And don’t lie,” he adds without a beat.

  A shiver runs up my spine, can he really hear me? Stop being silly, Imani. He wouldn’t have to ask if he could.

  “The MRI,” I answer, and it’s not a total lie. I am worried about a possible brain injury. He doesn’t need to know the rest.

  He has to lie in there perfectly still and keep calm. This isn’t the best time to have a deep conversation about who he is or isn’t.

  He covers my hand keeping me from tying it behind his neck.

  “Nice try. Actually, that was a shitty try. You’re an open book, Imani, no sense in trying to keep things from me; you’re worrying and there is no need to.”

  I give him another half-truth, “Yes, I am. I just hope we find out what’s causing your blackouts.”

  “It’s not serious, Imani; no worrying.”

  He has no way of knowing that, but I appreciate his attempt to reassure me.

  “How do I look?” he asks when he has his gown on and tied up in back.

  Really? Marcus Castillo could wear a garbage sack and still be the most gorgeous man for miles.

  “Stunning,” I answer honestly. I hold the door for him and silently pray that nothing abnormal is found today and that my Marcus, the one right here, right now, is the one that I will be spending a long time getting to know.

  Back at the house I climb out of the car and struggle to help him inside. He’s worn out and exhausted but he won’t admit it, and that makes everything more difficult for me.

  Marcus is three times my size so I shoot Mr. Black a frustrated look, but he just stands next to the door, never offering his help. What the fuck is wrong with that man?

  “He knows better, no need to be angry.”

  I frown and turn my face directly into his profile. I uselessly have my arm around his waist trying to help him and I am prepared to give him a dose of sass, but instead I’m completely distracted by the five o'clock shadow covering his chiseled jaw line and the way his perfectly shaped lips part with each breath he takes.

  “See something you like?” He says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye with a raised brow.

  I reply silently with a severe eye roll, “So cocky.”

  “My cock? Well now, I thought you were looking at my handsome face, but if you are more interested in my…”

  “Stop! That’s not what I said and you know it.”

  He chuckles as we enter his bedroom and I consider dumping him on the bed.

  “You know I’m holding you up, don’t you? Feel like being dropped?” I ask.

  Now I’ve done it.

  He surprises the shit out of me when he drops his crutches and wraps his arms around my waist to roll us onto the bed together.

  “Ah! Shit, Marcus, you’re going to hurt yourself,” I yell, as we tumble together onto the mattress.

  “You are asking for trouble, lady. I should bend you over my knee and spank you.”

  I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle.

  “Is that why Mr. Black won’t lift a finger to help you? Do you make it a habit of spanking the help?”

  “Are you challenging me? I have no desire to spank Mr. Black, but you… you are a different story.”

  Nothing could shock me more than the desire that stirs deep in my belly at the thought of his hand reddening my ass.

  Any violent sexual act, even one as mild as spanking, nauseates me.

  Marcus brings out feelings and desires that I never would have considered before. His arms circle my waist to pull me against his chest, and I feel him softly press a kiss on the top of my head.

  “I am teasing, well for the most part. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  I snuggle in, absorbing his warmth. Right now I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather be.

  “I’m not scared of you.”

  “That’s not what your face just told me, Imani. Every muscle in your body locked up just now.”

  “I’m just, I don’t know, curious I guess.”

  “Curious?” He looks up and cocks his head to the side, “Well, I can work with curious. You have to promise to always be honest with me. If something I say or suggest brings up negative feelings or memories, tell me. Got it?”

  I nod in agreement, “Yes, thank you, Marcus, I’m sorry…” He moves so that we are nose-to-nose on our sides “Don’t ever, ever apologize. I understand triggers; just make sure you tell me about yours, and we will be fine.”

  “Ok.” So, he knows about triggers. Now I’m sure we have serious things in common.

  “We are napping now.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes, scoot.” He orders, nudging me to move up the bed onto the pillows.

  “I don’t think nurses nap with their patients.”

  “Well, you are my nurse, and we are napping. I don’t care what other people do.”

  I like bossy Marcus.

  Sometimes.

  Like right now when he sounds all parental and confident. It’s when he’s rude and dismissive that I don’t care for it.

  “What would you like to do for dinner?” He asks like we are an old couple. The lines of this relationship are becoming blurrier by the minute.

  “I’m staying for dinner? I thought my shift ended at seven thirty.”

  “How about some overtime? You have to eat, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have to stay and wait for the hospital to call with the results of the scan, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So does it not make sense to rest with me for a while and eat dinner together?”

  He’s right or he’s manipulative or both, but I’m easily swayed when I’m bathing in this addictive scent, wrapped in his strong arms and staring into his bright crystal green eyes.

  “Pizza?” I say.

  His smile brightens my world. If a nap and dinner make him this happy, then I’m blurring the fucking lines all over the place.

  “Pizza, huh? I think I can make that happen.”

  I have no doubt that he can; in fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if they magically appeared without him even asking. Extra sensory perception runs rampant around here.

  After ten minutes of me arranging pillows for his leg and fussing with blankets, Marcus becomes inpatient and pushes me off of my knees and pulls me against him, my back to his front.

  “You are the most beautiful woman who’s ever plumped my pillows.”

  “Yeah? How many pillow plumping nurses have you had in here?”

  “Just one.” His tone changes from playful to serious, and I lie wondering if I’m the only nurse or the only woman that’s been in here.

  “The only woman.” He answers my unspoken question.

  “I know what you are thinking, and, to be clear, you are the only nurse and the only woman to ever lie in my bed or enter this room for that matter, other than my staff of course.”

  “Not even…” I begin and think better of mentioning his dead friend’s name, but I don’t have to.

  “Not even her.”

  I push back snuggling against him and close my eyes smiling.

  Twenty

  “Imani. Imani, your phone.” I open my eyes to a dark room, wrapped in Marcus’s arms. My phone is vibrating in the pocket of my jeans. How long did we sleep? He releases his hold on me so I can lift my hip and slide my phone from my pocket.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry, it’s the hospital,” I say to Marcus, covering the speaker of the phone with my finger.

  “Yes, this is she.”

  Marcus gave them my name as a contact person. I listen while they tell me the results of the scan; the results I don’t want to hear.

  Possible nerve damage in the frontal lobe, and a large very involved tumor.

  My hearing begins to buzz, and I can’t make out what the physician is saying anymore. I hand the phone to Marcus absentmindedly and scoot to the opposite edge of the bed. Marcus pick
s up the phone, recovering the call.

  Frontal lobe, that’s his personality, behavior, and emotions. Fuck.

  The parts of the brain that are responsible for who he is. I perch on the edge of the couch in front of the roaring fire and try to clear the fog from my brain.

  Ok. So, this may be permanent, and that would be good. I’m falling for the Marcus I know, but what if it’s not? The test has done nothing but confirm my deepest fear. There is no way of anticipating our future; if we even have a future together. Only time will tell, but the longer I expose myself to him, the deeper my feelings for him will grow.

  Marcus approaches, click-clacking on his crutches, interrupting my thoughts. He arranges himself at an angle next to me on the couch while I stare into the fire.

  “I haven’t had a blackout for a while.”

  “No. No, you haven’t.”

  “Maybe it’s over,” he says softly.

  “Maybe.”

  “What are you so afraid of, Imani? Talk to me.”

  I don’t know if I can explain without sounding selfish. He could be facing life-threatening permanent brain damage, and all I can think about is protecting my heart.

  “I was really hoping they wouldn’t find anything, that’s all.” I turn and face him with a weak smile.

  “Forget it, Imani,” he says, shaking his head back and forth.

  “I can see it’s more than that, although I can’t imagine why. I’m fine, so what if they say there is a problem. I feel fine. You wanted the test, now you have it so relax, don’t make me regret giving you what you wanted.”

  I don’t regret it; the test was necessary. It’s the only way to know how to proceed. The problem now is that I don’t like the results.

  “Are you fine? I mean if you have amnesia, how do you know if your personality has changed or if you’ve forgotten things; who is here to remind you? Not me, I barely know you.”

  “I don’t know what you think I’m forgetting. I feel fine, a little stir-crazy being stuck in this damned cast and not having my finger in every aspect of my work. I am a very independent and controlling man, Imani. You seem to believe this accident has made me lose my mind. I assure you I have not.”