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

by Emerson Rose

  I’ve started feeling comfortable here in his home. And last night Marcus awakened my dormant sexuality for the first time. I know deep down that I’ll never be the same. No man can ever compare to him. God, what if he’s gotten what he wanted and now he’s done with me?

  “I didn’t say you weren’t needed, but I can certainly wipe my own ass and dress myself.”

  He sounds pissed. If he can do those things for himself and he continues to refuse medication and further testing at the hospital, professionally I am not needed.

  Is that what he’s saying, he only wants me here as a plaything? Now I’m back to the prostitution thing. I have to set my mind at ease before I leave.

  “Marcus, are you upset with me about something?”

  I don’t want to look insecure by asking, but I’m trying hard to sort all of this out when realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

  A personality change, is that what’s happening? Could this be the beast’s personality returning? God, I hope not. Please, please, this can’t be happening.

  “No, I just want to do some things for myself. I don’t like feeling like an invalid, but I do need you to keep an eye on me.” There is still coldness about him, and I suddenly feel uncomfortable being naked in his bed. Without a word, I gather the sheet around me and make my way to the room next door. I lock the door and press my back against it, dropping my head back to blink away my tears before they fall.

  The sense of relief I have knowing there are two doors and a lock between us is disheartening. Until a few minutes ago I couldn’t stand to be separated from him at all.

  I shower and dress and, after thirty minutes of procrastinating, I unlock my door and leave my room to find him. It was stupid to think the lock on that door was keeping me safe anyway. It’s his house, and I’m sure if he wanted to get into a room he would use a master key or break down the door.

  I peek in his bedroom; his bed is made, all of his pillows have been stowed away somewhere and the drapes are open. If I weren’t still feeling tender from the first sex I’ve had in ten years, I might think I imagined it all.

  I don’t know if I should leave without saying goodbye or look for him in the dining room. If I go without a word he might not welcome me back, but if he’s being an asshole do I even want to come back?

  Yes.

  I find him where I expected, in the dining room with his laptop on his right and his breakfast on his left.

  I enter and take the seat next to him. He looks up briefly and returns to eating with one hand and scrolling through something on the computer with the other. Maria serves me breakfast, and neither Marcus nor I say much to each other.

  “I had your car brought around,” he says, taking the last bite of his egg white omelet.

  “Oh, okay, thanks.” I’m still wary of his flippant attitude.

  “Will you be ok for a while? I just have to check on things at home and stop in to see my sister.”

  “Yes, I have work to do.”

  I feel awkward now that I’m actually leaving. Should I kiss him goodbye in front of Maria? Should I kiss him goodbye at all?

  She bustles around, removing our dishes as soon as the last bite has been taken. When she is gone, I stand and push my chair under the table.

  “Ok, so I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  And that’s it. No goodbye, nothing. I feel awkward standing there while he is so engrossed in his work, so I leave.

  That was too easy for him, and too hard for me. I feel the disconnect as soon as I’m out the door. Leaving him feels like I’m leaving an important part of me behind. In a microscopic amount of time Marcus has become my home. Not his house, but him… and I don’t want to know what it feels like to be homeless.

  Twenty-Two

  It feels like a lifetime since I’ve driven myself anywhere. I crank the radio and use the music as a distraction. I miss the constant presence of music in my life.

  Imagine Dragon’s Radioactive fills the car, and I sing along until I’m home. The moment I turn the key in the lock of my apartment and step inside, it’s different. I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. I’m surrounded by pictures of my family, my furniture, and even the throw on the back of the couch, but none of it feels like home.

  How can one man encompass my whole life in a few short weeks? Surely this isn’t how love is supposed to be: unbalanced, desperate, and tenacious.

  I shuffle into my room and grab an overnight bag out from under my bed. I stuff it with enough clothes, shoes, and toiletries to last two weeks at Marcus’s because that’s what our contract states. Two weeks of twelve-hour shifts, or less if he keeps up the way he is now.

  The light fixture I made for him is wrapped in a cocoon of bubble wrap on my bed, along with the vase that Dax gave me.

  I wrap the vase in some of the clothes I’m packing and place it safely inside my duffle bag. I dial my sister’s number, and she answers on the first ring.

  “Imani!” she yells in my ear. Damn, it’s good to be loved.

  “Hey, sis, you home? I thought I’d stop by. I’m missing my niece and nephew.” “Oh, yeah? How ‘bout your ol’ sister, no love for me?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure, I miss her, too.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I see how ya are. Come on over, they’re messin’ round in the play room, and, girl, you know they always wanna see their Aunty Imani!”

  “Ok, be there in a bit.”

  “Imani?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You alright? With the job and stuff?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”

  “Ok, see ya,” she says. I hear the concern in her voice. She doesn’t like that I’ve left my safe job at the hospital.

  If she only knew.

  When I have the car packed up, I set out to spend time with my family.

  I pull up in front of Latoya’s house and shut off my car. My two favorite angels come barreling out the front door with no shoes or coats.

  “Imani, Imani, Imani!” Kimie yells as they both attack me and wrap their arms around my legs. They almost knock me to the ground with their bear hugs to my knees.

  “We missed you so much. Why didn’t you come last week?” Dante says, using his best whine.

  “Sorry, babe, I have a new job, and it took up a lot of time.”

  Latoya appears at the door and frowns when she finds both kids hanging on my sides.

  “Kimie, Dante, let her go! It’s cold out here; get inside. Hurry up now!”

  When I’m inside she hugs me, and I hold on a little longer than usual. I bite my lip to keep my tears at bay. When she lets me go, I realize how badly I need to talk to someone about this whole thing with Marcus.

  She takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen without noticing my teary eyes.

  The kids shadow along and chatter endlessly about school, dance lessons, sports, all the things kids are involved in. I listen intently with genuine interest; I love these two so much.

  “Hey, why aren’t you in school today?” I ask when I realize it’s early afternoon on a weekday.

  “No school; we got conferences,” Dante says, smiling an ear-to-ear.

  “Ah, well, I’m glad you’re home so I get to see you. How about you go set up a game while your mommy and I talk for a few minutes?”

  “Oh yes, can we play Chutes and Ladders?” Kimie asks, clasping her hands together over her chest.

  “That’s a baby game. I ain’t playing that,” Dante says with disgust.

  “How about one game of Chutes and Ladders and one of whatever you want, Dante, sound good?”

  “Yeah, come on, Kimie,” he says, pulling her by the arm down the hall. I watch their little heads bob up and down as they walk away to find their respective games.

  “Want some coffee?” Latoya asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Spill.”

  “What?”

  “Girl, you’re a hot mess. I see it; what’s up with you?
” Okay, so maybe she did notice me fighting the tears. I should have known better; she doesn’t miss much.

  “Alright, I’ll go first. How’d this shit start? I know you love workin’ that ICU. Why the hell are you doin’ home care?” She says ‘home care’ like they’re dirty words.

  “What’s wrong with home care? It’s not exactly home care anyway, more like private care.” Ha, that’s funny. No way am I telling her how private.

  “So private care then, whatever. Why does this guy need private care?”

  “I can’t give specifics. You know with HIPPA and all that, but it was a serious accident and he needs help at home.”

  “So why’s it gotta be you? You drop everything in your life and go out in left field doing private care. Somethin’s not right about that,” she says, lifting one eyebrow with suspicion.

  “I can still go back to the hospital. It’s in my contract. And as for why I left, it’s complicated.” I don’t say anymore, unsure of the boundaries I’m able to cross without violating Marcus’s confidentiality.

  “You like him! Oh, good Lord in heaven, you do. Look at you, you’re blushin’, you never blush.” And with that I feel the heat creeping up my neck.

  Why does my body betray me so easily? I nod my head, confirming her claims. “Imani, you never wanted to be with a man. I can’t believe this.”

  “Yeah, me either. I pretty much swore them off for eternity, but… he needs me. And I need him, too.”

  Latoya takes a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds before blowing it out dramatically.

  “Wow. This is it, huh? You found your guy; he was out there just waitin’ for ya after all. Prince Charming, oh no wait, Sleeping Beauty,” she laughs, “You did say he was in a coma, didn’t you?” She’s such a romantic. Leave it to Latoya to make a fairy tale out of a potential nightmare.

  “I wouldn’t go that far; he’s got issues, and some I’m not sure I can handle.”

  “You got issues, Imani, big ones. You can’t live your life like you think it’s supposed to be. People are fucking messy and confusing, but they can also be beautiful and strong. Take the good with the bad, girl.”

  When did she switch to team Marcus?

  “Man, Latoya, what’s your deal? I’ve never heard you talk so passionately about someone you’ve never met.”

  She scoots my coffee across the island, and when I reach for it she covers my hand with hers. “I want you to have somebody. I hate seein’ you alone, married to that job. You were dealt a shitty hand, sis. I know what you went through was horrible, but if you think there’s something with this guy, I say choose love.”

  Love? I’ve never been in love. I don’t know if that’s what I feel for him. Electricity, undeniable physical attraction, yes… but love?

  “Thanks, I never knew you worried about that so much. I figured you were comfortable with my choices.”

  “Aw, Imani, it’s not just me, the whole family worries ‘bout you. Nobody says anything because we don’t wanna bring up the past. We love you, girl, we want you to be happy.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high, sis. I’m not supposed to talk about his medical condition, but since we’re personally involved and I need to talk to somebody I’m going to. He has a head injury from a car accident. I’m worried about the effects.”

  “What kinda effects?”

  “I’ve met a few of his employees, his right-hand man in business, and his sister.” “Yeah, and?”

  “And, they’re all afraid of him. Not the normal respect-for-your-boss kind of fear but fear. And then there’s his sister, something weird is going on there, too. She flew all the way from Maine to sit next to his bed every day before he came out of his coma, but she hasn’t visited him since. No call to check up on him or anything.”

  “Yeah, that’s weird. What about you? What kinda vibe are you gettin’ from him?”

  “He’s cocky and bossy, but he’s also vulnerable and gentle and sexy as hell.”

  “Well, I don’t see a problem then. Go for it. If he treats you good, nothin’ else matters, right?”

  “It’s not that simple; he has blackouts that worry me, and mood swings. I’m so afraid I’ll wake up someday and he won’t be… him. What if the Marcus I know isn’t the real Marcus Castillo? What if he’s really an evil, sadistic bastard?”

  Latoya shakes her head. “Lemme break it down here real simple for ya. That shit can happen with any man, not just your coma boyfriend. There’s no guarantee in life, sis, it might happen, but it might not. But the thing is, ya can’t give up on something before ya even start.”

  “I have all these new feelings, and they scare the shit out of me. He could wake up one day and be a horrible person.”

  “Or he may stay like he is right now; life’s all about risks. It’s a huge one I know, but ya gotta get out there and live. We’re here if you need us, you know that.”

  I smile at her and drink my coffee. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For loving me, and for the advice. I was going bonkers with all this, and it feels good to get someone else’s prospective.”

  “That’s what family’s for, honey, so tell me more ‘bout this hot man.”

  We talk and laugh. Then I Google Marcus so she can see what he looks like, and she freaks out like Lana.

  The kids and I play board games, and after a while I feel myself coming back. The me I know, not the crazy me I’ve become since Marcus arrived in my life.

  My phone chirps in my pocket, and I open up my text messages. There are a few from Lana and one from Mom, but the one I just received is from Marcus.

  I didn’t put his number in my phone, but his rugged face shows up on the screen with the unfamiliar number.

  Are you almost done? I’m missing you. I think I’m in need of some medical attention. M.

  The thought of him sitting around texting that he’s missing me makes me warm all over. That nagging feeling of rejection I had when I left his house dissipates like fog at dawn.

  I feel so stupid. I’m going to drive myself nuts trying to figure him out.

  I’m at my sister’s house. I’ll be there soon. What kind of medical attention are you in need of? T ;)

  His response is immediate.

  An urgent issue that needs immediate attention.

  I smile wide and shoot a return message.

  I’ll be there STAT!

  My sister gives me a suspicious look. “That him?” she asks.

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “Your face lit up like a Christmas tree. You better get your ass back to work.”

  “Yeah, he’s asking when I’ll be back. See you soon?”

  “Course, I’m always here. Just call.”

  I hug everyone goodbye and marvel at what a difference a few hours with family can make. I crank the music and pull away from the curb buzzing with excitement and anticipation.

  Marcus’s medical emergency may be a farce, but my desire to feel his hands on my body again is very real. I can’t wait to get back to him. I think it’s pretty safe to say that Black’s theory has been shot all to hell.

  Nightingale effect, pshaw.

  Twenty-Three

  I pull into Marcus’s driveway and start up the steps, wondering if I’m supposed to knock or let myself in. Mr. Black answers that question when he appears at the front door.

  “May I get your bags, Miss Jefferson?” he says, in his formal stuffy manner. His smug look irritates me. He knew Marcus would end up getting his way about the bedroom and he’s going to make sure I know it.

  I really hate being wrong but this time I’m going to have to roll with it.

  “Sure, just the one bag and a box, and please be careful, there’s glass in both,”

  A tiny frown puckers between his brows.

  “Glass?”

  “Yes, it’s a gift. I made it for Marcus. I blow glass in my spare time.”

  If Marcus were here right now, he would make that
comment into a filthy innuendo.

  “I see. Would you like it in your room?” he asks. He’s definitely trying to make a point. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s doing a bang-up job of ticking me off.

  “Yes, please.”

  He retrieves the box from my car while I wait in the foyer. When we pass the doors to Marcus’s office, he nods in its direction.

  “He’s working, but he asked me to have you wait for him in your room.”

  Oh really, wait in my room, huh? Must not be much of an emergency after all. I head toward my room with Mr. Black on my heels carrying the box.

  The doors are closed; that’s a first. Marcus has a thing about keeping doors open and lights on. Mr. Black sets my box down in the living room, not my bedroom, and leaves without so much as a goodbye. I open one of the double doors, and I’m hit with the heavy, fragrant smell of roses.

  Frozen on the threshold, I blink repeatedly to make sure I’m seeing correctly. Lavender, purple, and white roses occupy every available surface. There are dozens of vases with hundreds of flowers. They’re everywhere, on the dresser, the night tables, even the floor. Each vase holds two or three-dozen roses.

  My mouth pops open when I gasp. I’m so preoccupied I don’t hear Marcus approach me from behind. Even with the clacking of crutches, I’m so focused on the floral explosion that all sounds have been tuned out.

  He slides his hand around my neck from behind to close my mouth from under my chin.

  “My favorite color flowers for my favorite woman,” he whispers in my ear.

  He rests his chin on my shoulder and snakes his hands around my waist while leaning on the crutches. He places one palm flat on my belly to hold me flush against him while the other wanders lower between my legs.

  Even through my jeans his touch is like an electric jolt shooting from my chest directly to my core. His warm breath on my neck gives me goosebumps. His skilled mouth is working his way up to my ear, nibbling, licking. When a nibble turns into a bite, I gasp and he sucks it to soothe the pain.

  Marcus moans softly in my ear as he shifts his weight on the crutches to press his solid arousal against my backside.