by Riley, Alexa
I stand then, and finally wash myself, making quick work of my morning routine. Once I’m dressed I walk over to my bed and check on her. She lies there peacefully. The bruise on her cheek looks worse, but the cut is better. I place a few pain relievers and a glass of water next to the bed, along with a note in case she wakes up, telling her to come downstairs if she feels like it. If not, I’ll be back soon to check on her. I hope to be back before she wakes. I don’t want her waking alone in a strange bed.
I need to go look in her car. Otherwise I’d stay until she woke up. I want to see if I can find something out about her. Even just a name would make me feel better. I hate not knowing anything about her. Then I can try and find out who she is running from. My steps falter when I think how it could be a husband or boyfriend. I grit my teeth. Jealousy slices through me like a hot knife through butter, almost knocking the air right out of my lungs.
I push it back and head out the front door, running towards the detached garage where I house extra vehicles. The rain is still coming down hard, and I wonder how long these storms are going to last. I know they said we’d be hit one after another for the next few days.
When I walk over to the car, I know the thing is totaled. A backpack is sitting in the floorboard of the passenger side, so I grab it and pull everything out of the glovebox, too. The rest of the car is clean. Nothing else but shattered glass. I head back into the house and into my office. I want to go through it now. Marta greets me moments later with a cup of coffee as I drop the stuff down onto my desk.
“Thanks.” I pick up the cup and take a big gulp.
“How is she? Do I need to get her anything?”
I shake my head. “She’s still sleeping. I’ll let you know if she needs anything.” For some reason I don’t want her going up there. I want everyone to stay away from her. If she needs something, I want to be the one to get it for her. Be the first one she sees when she wakes again. A sliver of fears runs down my spine that she might be scared of me when she gets a look at my face. I shake the thought away. There is nothing I can do about it. My face is it what it is, but still I don’t care for the idea of her fearing me.
Marta nods and leaves the room. I unzip the backpack and dump the contents out onto my desk. Clothes slip out. I pick up a blouse and bring it to my nose. The sugar sweet honey smell is there. The top is nice. I can tell from the feel of it. All of the clothes are, too. Even the backpack is a designer one. She comes from money. I’d know. I do, too.
Digging to the bottom, I finally see something that might help. “Fucking hell,” I bark when I see it's a high school ID with her picture on it. My gut clenches as I hit the mouse on the computer and type in her name and school.
I drop back in my seat when I see she graduated a few years ago, likely putting her around twenty. I pause when a picture pops up of her with a man who looks familiar. I rack my brain, but nothing comes.
“Lucy.” Her name rolls easily off my tongue. It’s pretty. Soft. Like her. I grab her things and put them back into her bag then head upstairs. I stop when I get to the top when I realize I haven't checked into my emails for work or anything. It will wait.
When I open the door, I see she’s still asleep. I grab the note I left and throw it away before going into my closet and putting her clothes up. When I walk out of the closet I freeze when I see her sitting up in bed.
She turns to look at me, her dark wavy hair falling all around her. She stares at me and I wait for her to scream, but she doesn't. She cocks her head to the side, studying me.
“Who are you?” she asks. Her voice is soft. I take a few steps closer to her, and her eyes roam over my body. I’m not a small man by any means. Exercise is the only way I clear out my head and extra energy. Add in the scars and I’m surprised she’s not screaming, but she still looks a little bit cautious.
“I’m Orlando,” I tell her, trying to make my deep voice soft for her. I don’t want to spook her. She nods. Then she’s the one to scare me.
“Who am I?”
Chapter Four
Lucy
I stare at the man standing next to the bed. He looks familiar, but I can’t fully place him. A trace of fear runs through me as I rack my brain for my name, but nothing comes.
“Lucy.” He reaches out, touching my cheek. I lean into his touch. A memory of lying on his chest flashes through my mind. Him holding me close while I’m wrapped around him as tightly as possible. Lucy. That's my name. The name doesn't sound familiar, but he does.
“Are you my husband?” I ask. My very handsome husband. He has to be if my memory is real. My cheeks burn at the question. His thumb stills on my cheek. “I’m scared. I can’t remember anything. But I remember you holding me close in the night. You’re my husband,” I push, willing it to be true.
He nods. I relax. “You said you’d keep me safe.” I recall another memory flitting though my mind.
“I will,” he vows, sitting down on the bed next to me. His big body fills all the space next to me. It’s oddly comforting.
“What happened to me?” I ask. When loud thunder cracks, I scream and launch myself at Orlando. He catches me easily and I curl into his lap, burying my face in his neck.
“It’s okay, little one. It’s just the storm. It’s going to be like this for a while. I promise you’re safe here.” He rubs his hand up and down my back. I don’t know why fear gripped me so hard at the sound of the thunder. But it had.
I relax into him as he continues to rub my back soothingly. “You wrecked your car by driving it into the front gate. Banged your head pretty good,” he finally tells me. I try to remember, but nothing comes.
“I don’t remember.” I sigh, breathing him in. His smell is comforting.
“How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Your sides?” I pull back and bring my hand to my head. When I touch the sore spot, I tense, and he curses in frustration.
“Here.” He reaches for something on the side table and hands me two pills and a glass of water. I gulp them down.
“I didn't know I was so thirsty.” I hand him the empty glass. He sets it on the nightstand.
“Are you hungry?” I nod, and my stomach growls as if in confirmation.
“Should I be worried? I can’t remember anything but you…a little.” He stands, taking me with him.
“Test your legs,” he tells me as he lowers my feet to the floor. I stand easily. “I’m sure it will come back. You didn't have a concussion. Give it time, little one.” He kisses me on top of my head, making me smile up at him. I instantly feel better for some reason.
“Bathroom?” I ask. He points over toward some double doors. “Is it silly I’m asking for the bathroom in our home?” I laugh, and he tenses for a moment.
“No, sweetheart. Go. I’ll wait for you here,” he tells me. I walk towards the bathroom, somewhat unsteadily, and step inside. I pause when I look in the mirror. I’m not shocked by what I see. I recognize myself. I touch the cut on my forehead. It doesn't hurt as much as it looks. I look a hot mess.
I use the bathroom before I start opening drawers, trying to find my toothbrush and a brush for my hair. What I really need is a shower, but I want food first. There is a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call out. Orlando hesitantly steps in, looking unsure.
“I can’t find my toothbrush. Or my hairbrush.” I sigh, turning to look at him. With the bathroom lights on, I can see him better now. His dark hair is cut short. My fingers itch to rub it. His face is all hard lines and angles. Paired with the scars on one side and his sheer size that doubles mine, he reminds me of a fierce warrior. He’s ruggedly handsome. Maybe that should be scary, but I find it comforting. He wasn't lying. He can keep me safe, and some small nagging part in the back of my head tells me I need that.
“Let me get them for you.” He picks me up by the hips, and my hands go to his shoulders as he sets me down on the bathroom counter. He opens one of the cabinets beside the double sinks and produces a hairbrush and
a toothbrush still in its packaging.
“Why don’t I have a toothbrush already?” I ask as I start to brush my hair out. He takes the brush from me and does it for me. My eyes fall closed at how relaxing it feels.
“We’re newly married. You haven't fully moved in yet.” I open my eyes to look at him. He sets the brush down, grabs the toothbrush and applies some paste to it. I turn to the mirror and start brushing my teeth. When I’m done he puts my toothbrush in a holder, beside his—well, I’m assuming it’s his. I slide off the counter. If we are newly married, maybe that’s why he seems a little hesitant around me. He’s not used to living together.
“Should I change?” I ask, looking down at the big shirt I’m wearing. It says Ranger over the chest. I touch the letters.
“You were a Ranger.” I smile. I’m happy I put something together. Hey, it might have been right there for me, but I’ll take it.
“I was.” He gives me a smile in return, but it looks forced. I wonder if he got the scars from his time in the service. I don’t ask, feeling guilty that I don't know that myself. It’s something I should know. He’s my freaking husband. “And this is fine. Let me get you some socks. The wood floor can get cold.” He grabs my hand, locking his fingers with mine as we enter a giant closet. I look around. It’s as big as a bedroom, maybe bigger, but I notice there is a lot of empty space.
“That side for me?” I ask. He nods.
“Your stuff will be arriving soon. There’s a delay because of the storms.”
He kneels before me. I put my hands on his shoulders as he puts socks on my feet. I bring one hand up and do what I’ve been itching to do. I run my fingers across his buzzed hair. He freezes, and I pull my hand back.
“Sorry. I…” I trail off. Is it weird to touch my husband?
“No, it’s fine.” His voice is gruff when he says it. “I just don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. If you don’t remember and all.”
I smile down at him and shrug. “I feel safe with you. Close, even.” He smiles up at me now. “I mean, you’re my husband, right? I’m sure we’ve done more than that.” Even as I say it I can feel my face heat.
The smile slips from his face a fraction. “I need to feed you.” He stands and cups my face. He turns my head each way, looking at the cut and bruise. Then he leans forward, kissing each. My breath hitches at the sweetness. He’s showing me what kind of husband he is, and I feel even more at ease now.
Yeah, I’m so safe with him. How could I not be?
Chapter Five
Orlando
I lead her down the stairs, her hand locked tight in mine. What the fuck was I thinking? She looked so frightened sitting there in my bed, so when she asked if I was her husband I’d said yes thinking it might put her more at ease.
Lie, my subconscious says. I push it away. I know I’m enjoying her thinking I’m her husband too much. When she’d asked and I confirmed, she took it so easily. She smiled at me and looked to me for everything. Even when she was scared she jumped right on me.
She didn’t notice my scars or ask about them. I’d actually forgotten about them until I stepped into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself.
“What would you like to eat?” I ask her as we enter the kitchen. I lead her over to the island and put her in the chair.
“I’m not sure. Don’t you know what I like?” she asks as her eyes dart around the kitchen, taking it all in. I do the same. The place could use an update. Everything is dark wood and it feels rich and warm. I remember my mom redoing the place when I was young, so I’m sure by modern standards it’s outdated. It’s something I’ve never given thought to before. Until now. I want her to like it here.
“It needs a modern touch. You can change anything you want.” It rolls right off my tongue, catching me off-guard, but I realize it’s the truth. She could change anything she wanted, but she isn't really my wife. When she finds out about my lie she’ll leave me. Leave this life and go back to where it is she came from.
My body tenses. Not just at the thought of her leaving me, but at where she’d be going back to. I know she doesn't want to go back. She’d been running. I tell myself this makes what I’m doing okay. I’m protecting her. Maybe she’ll never remember and she’ll stay here forever. Or maybe I could make her like it here so much she’ll never want to leave once she does remember. Then I won’t be alone anymore. I’ll have her.
“I was just thinking we must be rich,” she laughs, and it’s then I see a deep dimple show in her cheek.
“Something like that.” I shake my head and smile at her. I walk over to the fridge and see what Marta has. She always stocks the fridge with things that are easy to throw together when I pull myself away from my desk.
“How about some soup? Nice and easy on your stomach.” She nods. I grab the container of chicken soup and work on heating it up. When I turn, I see she is watching me.
“So, what is it I do?” she asks me, resting her elbows on the counter. She seems so light and happy, completely at ease with what is happening.
My brain freezes. I have no idea what she does. Maybe she’s in college. That would be the best bet, but I don’t want her worrying about having to be somewhere right now.
“Nothing. We planned on starting a family.” Fucking hell, why does this shit keep coming out of my mouth? Why am I digging myself deeper into this? Her cheeks turn pink and her plump lips form a perfect O shape. “Or like I said, this place needs an update,” I rush to say, trying to change the subject because my cock is all too aware of what something like that would mean.
Her, under me. Bare to my cock while I fill her with my cum. My cock—hard since she crashed into my life—leaks cum. The need I have for her pounds down on me even harder.
“I’m not sure how to decorate.” She looks around the room again, unaware of what she’s doing to me, a man who is always in control of everything. Everything in order and always a plan. Now I’m winging it.
“You can hire someone to help. You just pick things you like. Make it ours.” Her face brightens and she seems to like the idea. Good.
“And what is it that you do?”
“Since I retired from the Rangers I manage stocks and investments. All that can be done from home in my office, where I spend most of my time. To be honest I’m a trust fund kid and I’ve done very well with my investments. My dad taught me well. Other than that, I work out,” I tell her as I pull the soup from the stove and pour it into a bowl. I grab a spoon and put it in front of her. “Careful. It’s hot.”
She picks up the spoon. “Thank you.” She blows on it before taking a sip. I go back to the fridge and get her something to drink, then sit next to her. I want to be close. I watch her eat. Every now and then she peeks over at me and I see a blush darken her cheeks.
I reach out and touch one of her long dark locks, wrapping it around my finger. Brushing her hair this morning felt so natural but still what kept getting me was that she didn't shy away from me at all. The scars didn’t bother her.
She licks her lips. “This is really good.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” She looks over at me, her eyes locking on mine. The warmth of them make me want to be closer to her. It’s a foreign feeling for me. I’ve kept everyone at arm's length since I’ve returned home, but with her, something is different. I’m craving her touch. I lean down and she meets me halfway. Our lips brush.
“Oh, sorry, sir.” We jerk away from each other.
“Marta,” I grunt. My tone is harsher than it should be. The kitchen really is Marta’s domain.
“You’re feeling better?” she says to Lucy, ignoring me.
“Yes, thank you.” Lucy gives her a small smile. My jaw clenches because I want Lucy’s attention back on me. Like I’m a fucking child. I have to get it together before I do something that scares her.
“Marta, a moment,” I tell her. I stand from my chair and lean over next to Lucy. “Eat, little one.” I kiss the top of her head
. Marta stares at me with wide eyes.
“My office.” Marta rushes off. I brush Lucy’s hair away from her bare shoulder. I kiss her there this time, then tug the shirt up again. I don’t want her getting cold. I know I shouldn’t be doing this or getting this close, but I can’t help myself. I brush my nose up along her neck, breathing her in. It must tickle her because she giggles. The sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, and I know I have to get away from her for a moment and get myself together.
“I’ll be right back.” I pull myself away from her. My head is in a fog as I make my way back to my office where Marta is waiting outside. I motion her in.
“I pay you very well, Marta,” I start, going around my desk and sitting down. Her eyes widen a little.
“You do, sir,” she agrees. She’s been with my family for over twenty years. She and her husband live in a cottage on the back side of the east law, and she’s still close with my mom.
“She woke up scared. Thought we were married. I went with it.” I don’t know how she manages it, but her eyes get even bigger. “You won’t tell her otherwise.” I make my tone firm. She doesn't say anything for a moment.
“Of course,” she finally agrees.
“Good.” I stand. I feel some tension leave me. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. The rest of the staff is gone for the long Labor Day weekend, so I won’t have to worry about anyone else.
“Sir. I came to see you for a reason.” She wrings her hands in front of her. “You should see the news.” She walks over to the TV on the wall and switches it on. A picture of Lucy fills the screen.
