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

by Emerson Rose

  He holds up a pair of fuzzy, warm lavender socks. Lavender. Of course.

  “I must have kicked them off.”

  He pads toward me and crouches down at my feet. I look down at the top of his head and feel him tap one ankle and then the other. He slides the warm socks onto my feet while I hold his shoulder for balance.

  “Why’s this house so cold?”

  “I’ve only done minimal updates and not much remodeling. The only heat comes from the fireplaces.”

  “I’m surprised you wanted to come here, it doesn’t seem much like your style.”

  He turns me around and guides me toward the door of the bedroom by my waist.

  “My style? What exactly is my style?”

  “Big for one thing… swanky, elaborate, showy, obnoxious…”

  “That is enough,” he whispers in my ear. He places his hand around my mouth from behind to quiet me.

  I try to hold back, and I shouldn't, but I giggle into his hand as he guides me down the short hallway. We turn into a slightly larger bathroom with both a shower and a tub. It’s still very modest in comparison to Marcus’s usual grandiose style but classy.

  “If you weren’t undernourished and sick, I’d spank you for sassing me with that smart mouth of yours,” he says, reaching in to start the shower. He glances over his shoulder at me with an “I dare you” look on his face.

  “If I weren't undernourished and sick, I might like it.”

  He shakes his head and tests the water temperature.

  “In,” he says, pointing to the shower.

  I push off my socks with my feet and wiggle out of the flannel pajama pants and tank top he provided me with. I haven’t seen any of my own clothes or belongings yet. Before I step in, I catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink and stagger to a stop.

  It’s as if I’m seeing myself for the first time in weeks. I look emaciated and my skin is ashen. Marcus follows my gaze and moves me away from the mirror into the shower.

  “You’re going to be fine, baby. We will have you back to your old self in no time.”

  I’m appalled at how disgusting I look and even more so because Marcus has seen me this way.

  “You look beautiful to me no matter what.”

  How the hell does he do that? I swear he has ESP, or ESIP - Extrasensory Imani Perception. I stand under the spray of hot water and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. He remembered I like the water almost scalding hot.

  I unbraid my sweaty hair and his hand appears through the curtain with a bottle of shampoo. When his hand disappears, he pulls the curtain tight against the wall to keep the heat in.

  I wash and, magically, when I’m ready to condition, his hand appears with another bottle. When I’m clean and warm, I peek out of the curtain and find Marcus waiting to dry me with a big towel spread open.

  Some things never change. I hesitate; it’s fucking cold out there and I’m not keen on traipsing around in my birthday suit looking like a skeleton.

  He rolls his eyes and steps into the shower only wearing his black briefs.

  He pats me dry from head to toe and wraps the towel around me twice. I turn to step out but he holds one finger up.

  I raise my eyebrow and he gently turns me by my shoulders to face away from him. He gathers my hair in both hands and squeezes it wringing the water from it before skillfully braiding it with his long fingers. When he’s finished, he drapes the braid over my shoulder and begins to massage my neck. My legs already feel like rubber bands from the heat, I can’t take much more. At this rate, I’ll melt into his arms and he will have to pour me back into bed.

  I lean my forehead against the tile and feel his breath in my ear when he presses up against my back.

  “I love you, lady. You do things to me that no woman ever has. I know you think you’re unattractive right now but you will never be anything less than perfect to me.”

  He turns me around, supporting me so I don’t fall and presses me against the wall.

  He moves in close and holds me up, pressing his body against mine. His forearms are on either side of my head against the tile caging me in.

  His eyes fall to my mouth where they stay for a long time. I can see the struggle all over his face. I can feel it in his tense muscles and his throbbing cock against my belly. My pulse pounds and whooshes in my ears when he moves in to slowly press his lips against mine.

  My God, I’ve missed his mouth on mine, his hands touching my skin, his green eyes flashing ‘I love you’ every time he looks at me.

  I try to intensify the kiss but he murmurs, “No.” He’s setting the pace; as usual, he wants control.

  He tortures me with baby kisses on the corners of my mouth, the way he did the first time we kissed. Then he moves to the center, just like the first time, and down my neck… oh God, exactly like the first time.

  I slide my hands up the flexing muscles of his back and twist my fingers through his hair pulling him closer. He gives me what I want, for a moment.

  I press my tongue against his lips asking for entry but he scoops me up in his arms and yanks open the shower curtain. The cold air blasts our damp, hot bodies abruptly halting the intimate passionate stirrings going on between us like a cold shower.

  I’m disappointed but at the same time relieved. As much as I want him I know I’m not well enough to handle what he’s capable of giving me.

  In fact, now that I think about it, we haven’t been together since his cast was removed. He made a point of reminding me that he wasn’t giving it to me at full force when his cast hampered him. The thought of him at peak strength excited me then but now it makes me nervous.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and nuzzle into his chest. His trademark eucalyptus and spearmint scent fills my head. He carries me back to the bedroom stopping at the dresser to grab a clean pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a tank top.

  He helps me dress and tucks me back into bed on his side where it’s dry and sweat free. He tucks me in so tight I wonder if his subconscious is trying to keep me from leaving him again.

  He loads several logs onto the dying embers from a pile next to the fireplace and stuffs kindling under the wood. The flames take hold, I feel the heat from across the room.

  It’s late and dark, the only light in the room is from the fire. Marcus looks majestic; the gold and orange light play on his lean chiseled body making my heart flutter in my chest.

  I want him, and I can see from the way his cock strains against his briefs that he feels the same way. When he’s satisfied with the fire, he saunters back to the bed and slips in behind me keeping us both on his dry side. One sudden move and we will both be on the floor.

  He presses his length against my ass and I nudge against him.

  “What are we going do about this?” I ask.

  “Nothing, baby.”

  “Put that lip back in.” Seriously?

  “How do you know I’m pouting?”

  His grip on me tightens and he slides his leg between mine. I can feel him smile against my back. He knows his mind reading drives me crazy but he can’t help it; he’s Marcus Castillo, he knows everything.

  “Sleep.”

  I sigh and he chuckles, his warm breath puffing against my neck. I lie still and quiet. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep. It’s almost five a.m. Too late for sleeping pills, and, as difficult as it is, Marcus is right; I need to purge my body of medication for a while.

  An hour later, I watch a slit of light stream through the curtains and across the floor. I listen to his soft breathing and enjoy the feel of him around me while I wait for day two of my Italian kidnapping adventure to begin.

  Technically what he’s done could be constituted as kidnapping but after what I’ve been through I know it’s not. Abducted? Not so much. Stolen maybe. Whatever you call it, he saved my life.

  Forty-One

  “So, this is your aunt’s house,” I say after we have finished lunch the following afternoon. We are sitting
across from each other at a small kitchen table. A small fireplace is snapping softly behind me, sending a shiver of goosebumps through my body.

  “Are you cold? I thought I put you close enough to the fire.” A frown line deepens between his concerned eyes.

  “No, no, just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Your aunt and everything you went through as a child. Why would you want to come here? Why would you even want to keep this house or return to this town?”

  When he doesn’t reply, I lift my eyes and stare at one of the reasons I ran out of Marcus’s life.

  Void, empty, dilated eyes.

  Panic floods my body and my blood turns to ice. I can’t do this, what am I doing here? Why didn’t I go home when I found out what was going on? I should have fought harder. I should have been stronger.

  For once in my life I actually want to pass out, but of course my body chooses this particular moment to remain acutely alert.

  I’m frozen in my chair staring at a stranger. He has blacked out before but this time feels different. This time I feel like I should stay still and wait it out.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, something is very wrong here. He continues to stare straight through with cold, hard eyes.

  A few seconds ago, I was warm and relaxed, enjoying lunch with the man I love. Now, I’m trembling like a flower in a spring storm.

  He’s scaring the shit out of me and then he begins to move, but not in the natural fluid way he usually moves.

  He pushes away from the table and stands slowly. He takes a step toward me and my heart leaps into my throat. A spark of recognition passes over his face briefly and vanishes as quickly as it arrived.

  My heart is pounding and my breath is coming in shallow pants. I break into a cold sweat like I do when I have a nightmare.

  I hold my breath when he turns away from me and takes short hesitant steps toward the front door. He makes his way through the small living room to the front door, but then he stops with his hand on the doorknob.

  Something in my mind clicks and I have the overwhelming urge to jump up and run, so I do. I slip from my chair and bolt down the hall sliding on the stone floor in my socks.

  He yells, “NO!” and before I reach the safety of another room, he’s across the living room grabbing me around my waist. His fingers dig into my thin arms and he slams me against the wall.

  He wraps his big hand around my neck and I feel my feet leave the floor. He’s crushing my larynx. I can’t scream, I can’t breathe, I can’t do anything but struggle.

  Dangling inches off the floor, I kick my feet and claw at his arms leaving deep, bloody gashes from his elbows to his wrists. Stars clutter my vision, and I focus on the blood smeared on my hands.

  Without warning, he releases me so suddenly that he stumbles back and falls over the coffee table. I slither down the wall and crumple on the floor holding my neck and gasping for breath. I scramble to make sense of what the fuck has just happened.

  Marcus is sprawled out on the floor a few feet away from me scanning the room with wild eyes. I’m not waiting around to see what happens next.

  As soon as I can fill my lungs with oxygen, I crawl a few feet down the hall and use the wall to drag myself up. I keep my shoulder against the wall and hurry into the master suite where I slam and lock the door.

  This isn’t far enough, not secure enough. Maybe I can crawl out the window. I cross the room and throw open the heavy curtains. My heart plummets almost as far as the drop I would have to make if I tried to escape out this window. Fuck.

  I hear him coming down the hall and do a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn looking for somewhere to hide. There’s only one place left go. I’ll be backing myself into a corner I can’t get out of but I have no choice.

  It’s the bathroom or Mr. Void Eyes and his choking hand. I panic when I hear him right outside the door.

  Go, go, go. Run, run, run. Hide, hide, hide.

  The bathroom is small, but the door is made of sturdy wood and it locks. When I’m in, I scan the tiny room for weapons. I need to find something to protect myself with. I’m in full-on survival mode now.

  I hear him rattling the bedroom door, not pounding or yelling, just gently rattling the knob. I search the cabinets and under the sink for something sharp, but I come up empty handed. The only thing that could remotely be used for protection is a can of aerosol cleaning spray.

  Not enough to keep a man of Marcus’s size from attacking me. I will not be the victim of that kind of violence again. I’d rather die by my own hand.

  I stare at myself in the mirror over the sink. Bruising has already started on my neck. There are finger marks on either side of my throat and petechiae is popping up under my eyes and across my cheeks. He could have killed me; he still can if he finds me.

  That realization spurs another round of super self-preservation. I grab a hair dryer off the vanity and turn away shielding my eyes with one arm as I smash the mirror. Shards of glass spray everywhere and fall to the floor.

  I whip a towel off the bar next to the tub and wrap it around the bottom half of a large piece of glass. The towel protects my hand making the other jagged edge an effective weapon. If he makes it through both doors, I’ll be ready.

  I take three steps through the glass to the tub and step in smearing blood all over the clean white interior. Then I squat down and wait… and wait.

  The only sound in the house is my heavy breathing and thumping heart. He’s not trying to get into the bedroom anymore as far as I can tell.

  My breath begins to catch with every inhalation as I quietly sob. I try so fucking hard to keep quiet but I don’t even know why. He knows exactly where I am; there was only one place for me to go, but why isn’t he trying? Why isn't he breaking down the doors? What the fuck just happened?

  With not much reserve to begin with, I’ve worn myself out. I lay my face against the side of the tub and fight to keep my eyes open but the adrenaline rush is over and I’m drained.

  He nearly choked me to death. My throat feels thick and sore the way it does after surgery and the shards of glass stuck in my feet begin to sting.

  Bloody, bruised, and exhausted, I sit for hours waiting. When I can’t take being in the same position anymore, I sit down and stretch my legs out in front of me. It’s not the most defensive stance, but I can’t run if I can’t feel my legs

  I know I’ve been here a long time when the light from under the door shows the sun has gone down. The house is eerily quiet but for my growling stomach. It’s long past dinnertime. Is he ever going to come looking for me? Is he even still here? Why is he doing this to me?

  I draw my knees up and rest my cheek on top of them. I relax and loosen my grip on the shard of mirror in my hand.

  Pain shoots up my arm. I’ve been gripping my home-made weapon so tightly that it has cut me through the towel. The pain anchors me to the moment, forcing body, spirit, and mind to stay connected and work as a team.

  I welcome it squeezing the glass again, this time tighter. I can feel the glass digging into my flesh making me more alert and focused.

  Through the thin walls, I hear someone enter through the front door of the house. My screaming muscles stiffen when I hear footsteps coming down the hall. Quick clicking strides approach and I listen to a soft click of a lock being opened. She’s in the bedroom.

  The small amount of adrenaline that’s left in my fatigued body surges through my bloodstream. I listen to her getting closer to the only barrier separating me from the enemy.

  Another soft click and someone slowly opens the bathroom door. A hand feels around on the wall until the person switches on the light. She gasps when she steps in and covers her mouth with her hand. She takes a step back and presses against the wall holding up one hand as if she wants me to stay back. Yeah, no worries, lady. I’m not moving until you do.

  A standoff begins, and neither of us sure of the other’s intentions. I glance behind her
, expecting Marcus to follow but there is no one there.

  It could be a trick. I don’t have the stamina to deal with a trick. I have one last burst in me at best; after that they can do with me as they want, I’m giving up.

  Forty-Two

  Everything happens in slow motion when I move to exit the bathtub. Shards of glass bite at my feet, but I ignore the pain. My goal is clear in my mind: get past her, avoid Marcus, and get out of the house.

  But when I start to move, I feel like syrup slowly pouring from a bottle. The woman speaks in a warped voice and it’s difficult to grasp the meaning of her words.

  I squint and lean toward her, listening hard. Something about her is familiar, I know her. This isn’t where I’ve seen her before, though. I don’t know anyone other than Marcus in Italy. I must be losing it. Finally, it’s about time I cracked.

  Maybe someone will put me into a nice quiet padded cell in a psych ward where I’m safe from kidnappers, kidnapping ex-boyfriends, and knife wielding intruders.

  No, scratch that, psych ward equals psych patients and I’d rather take my chances out here, thank you very much.

  I take a painful step toward the door where the woman is frozen against the wall. I need to get past her and run like hell until I find someone that will help me call my parents and get the fuck out of this country!

  I’ll stab her if I have to. I’ve been locked up like an animal in this bathroom for hours. She’s calling my name but her voice is warped and stretched out like rubber glue.

  “Mia?” I shake my head and try to rid myself of the sludge that’s slowing my perception.

  “Imani, it’s me, Elena.”

  Elena, what the…? Did I hear her right?

  I take another step toward her, and she pushes off the wall and takes a martial arts stance in front of me.

  “Don’t do it, Imani.” Real time returns and her voice clears. Yes, this is Elena. I recognize her now; long black silky hair pulled into a ponytail, tall leggy and impeccably dressed with those boots that I love. It’s funny that I remember the boots she wore at the hospital when she was visiting Marcus.