A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

by Meli Raine

  His thumb begins to stroke the soft skin of my hands. My pulse flutters in my throat. As he touches me, all of my pain fades. It doesn’t disappear completely. The pain quiets. What has been white noise this entire time turns into a soft chant that matches my heartbeat.

  “Lindsay. I swear to you, no one will hurt you again. Those bastards won’t get to you. I swear on my own life.”

  I feel so inadequate. If I weren’t trapped in this bed, still reeling from the brake failure and all of the events of less than forty-eight hours that have plagued me, I would spill my heart right now.

  “You really think it’s them. You’re sure?” If I stick to the very safe topic of my very unsafe life, then I won’t veer into the dangerous emotional minefield between us.

  He nods, intense and protective. I can’t keep my eyes open now because if he keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to start crying.

  One of the muscles in my arms starts to spasm. I cry out, the charlie horse making my position impossible. Drew stands up quickly, and helps lift my arm as I turn on my side. He steps back, watching me, his hands on his hips, as I settle into a new position that hurts less.

  His very presence is the best medicine. While the doctors can help heal my body, only Drew can help heal my heart.

  “I mean it,” Drew insists. “I’ve got a team of professional hackers working on your phone right now. The car is being analyzed for evidence. Within hours we will know exactly what happened to you. And once we know more information, we can act.”

  “Is that what Daddy wants?” I don’t actually care what my father wants. But I know if I start to ask questions that aren’t related to the accident, that we will quickly slip into dangerous emotional territory.

  “I don’t give a shit with what your father wants,” Drew growls. His words are provocative. Daddy hired him. Daddy’s goal was to be the most powerful political person in the world. You don’t go against a man like Senator Bosworth without having an agenda.

  What’s Drew’s true agenda?

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why don’t you give a shit?”

  “Because four years ago, nobody bothered to investigate. Nobody bothered to ask you what happened. It was all covered up. Hushed up. Someone has to right that wrong. Your mother and father thought that they were doing the right thing for years. Your best friends turned on you. I shipped off to Afghanistan and tried to forget everything that happened.” His eyes bore into mine and he leans toward me, his fingers light on my hand.

  “I won’t make that mistake again. And besides, forgetting you was impossible.” He shakes his head slowly. “I failed.”

  “Failed at what?”

  “Failed at forgetting you.”

  My skin buzzes. My heart cries out his name in the rhythm that pumps my blood through my body. His fingers flutter against my knuckles and all I can think about is having him touch me. As if he reads my mind, he reaches down and wipes one finger against the corner of my eye, down my cheek almost to the edge of my lips.

  “You’re crying.”

  “I am?”

  Without asking, and without saying another word, he lets go of my hand and walks around to the other side of the bed. I feel the weight of the mattress shift, and my hips groan in protest, but then an enormous wall of heat is behind me.

  Drew’s aftershave and sweat and the sweet scent of him envelop me, pulling me back to a better time. One of his arms wraps around my waist, careful to navigate tubes and sensors. Suddenly, this insanely dangerous development becomes an afterthought. I relax. Drew does that. He knows exactly what I need.

  Curled up behind me in this tiny hospital bed, his mouth inches from my ear, he holds me. I could live in his arms forever. I’m so tired, though. I want to say so much to him. The pain comes back, and I can’t think. My head hurts. A painful pulse takes over the left side of my head, and I want to explain, but I can’t. I want to tell Drew all of the thoughts and feelings and reactions and all of the everything that I feel for him.

  “Shhhhh,” he says. “You sleep. Later, we can talk.” The hand that surrounds my waist comes up and gently brushes a few stray strands of hair away from my cheek. It’s a soft touch. It’s a caring touch. Drew cares. I don’t know what any of this means, but I do know this.

  Drew cares about me.

  And not just as a client.

  In the quiet, amidst the beeps and background noise, the shuffle of feet in the hallway and murmured voices in this building filled with injured people like me, I melt. I relent. Every muscle that has spent the past four years on alert, tense and ready to fight or flee, gives in.

  I give in to Drew’s touch. I give in to the idea that I have held for so long, deep inside my core, that this moment, this truth, is greater than my fear.

  All these years, I’ve held on to the fear that Drew did nothing. As I fade off to sleep his warm breath tickling my neck, his hands secure around my ribs, his chest steady against my back, a new truth emerges. And truth always defeats fear.

  But on its own timeline.

  Chapter 37

  I wake up to an empty hospital bed and a thermometer.

  “Lindsay?” Someone wearing scrubs is holding a plastic-covered thermometer over my mouth. “We need to take your temp.”

  I open my mouth like a good girl, let her slide the thermometer under my tongue, and close my lips. A tooth aches in my mouth.

  Where’s Drew?

  The medical assistant finishes taking my temperature, blood pressure, and checking my oxygen. All normal.

  “When can I go home?” I ask.

  “The doctor will be in later to talk to you,” she replies, leaving quickly.

  Sunlight peeks in around the edges of the curtains. The door closes behind her. I hear men’s voices in the hallway, and then the door opens.

  Drew.

  And he’s carrying to-go cups of coffee.

  “I hope one of those is for me,” I say.

  He laughs.

  “I don’t ever joke about coffee.”

  He goes serious and looks down. He shrugs. “Here. Have mine.”

  I grimace. He didn’t bring me any. My lip hurts. I must have split it. “You drink yours black. I hate black coffee.”

  “Someone’s feeling feisty today.”

  Our eyes meet and we grin like idiots at each other.

  Drew walks to me and hands me a coffee. “Just kidding. I got you one in case.”

  “You’re a god.”

  “You finally noticed.”

  Something between us has changed. Shifted. Morphed. Was it the cuddling last night? I fell asleep in his arms and slept for the first time in ages. Real sleep. Dreamless sleep.

  Healing sleep. A part of me wants to call Stacia and tell her that four years of medications, yoga, group therapy, one-on-one therapy, that one electroshock treatment, and all the meditation doesn’t compare to one solid night in Drew’s arms.

  But I can’t.

  I lick my lip. Yep. Split. Gingerly, I navigate the coffee cup to my mouth and take a small sip.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I let out a shaky sigh. The fluorescent lights in the tiny room filled with machines and plastic gives me a mild case of claustrophobia.

  “You’re more than welcome. It’s good to see you smile, Lindsay.”

  “It feels good.”

  Drew sits on the edge of my bed, near my feet, and drinks his coffee. I take a good look at him. He’s wearing a different suit. There’s a small bandage on his eyebrow.

  “You okay?” I tip my chin up.

  “This? It’s nothing.”

  “Having my car crash into the back of yours must have hurt.”

  He stands and stretches. “Nothing a little blood in the muscles can’t fix.” I watch as he reaches up, powerful arm muscles pushing against the fine fabric of his suit. His shirt tail pulls out from his waistband, giving me glimpse of his belly.

  My mouth goes dry. My pulse speeds up
. I feel my face light on fire and I feel a flimmering, like a butterfly trapped in my stomach.

  Except much lower.

  Wet heat fills my body below my belly.

  I cannot be feeling this.

  Not now.

  Not—

  Drew captures my eyes.

  Oh, God.

  He’s feeling it, too.

  Every beat of my heart matches his. I can’t look away. Some wound inside me begins to recover. A part of me that was broken is now unbroken.

  I know that a few hours in Drew’s arms can’t solve all my pain.

  But it certainly made a difference.

  He’s drawn to me. I feel it. We can’t stop looking at each other. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out, those eyes captivating me. As he sits next to me, I can’t help myself. I reach for his hand.

  Just like old times.

  The kiss is expected and so, so wanted. His lips are soft and warm, his hand reaching up to hold my shoulder, his other hand on my waist. I have so many tubes and wires coming out of me that I’m afraid to move any part of me but my lips. Then tongue.

  And then I just disappear in the sweet luxury of being kissed well.

  Our first reunion kiss feels like a lifetime ago. Four years of yearning was poured into that kiss, and now there’s less of the yearning and more of the future. Each time Drew touches me, it’s a bridge between the terrifying past and the uncertain tomorrow. I want his touches to mean more than I’m sorry. I want his kisses to stand for more than regret. I want to be wanted because I am Lindsay.

  Not because I represent a loss.

  But because we have something left to gain.

  “You taste like coffee,” I whisper, our foreheads touching, breath joining.

  “You taste like Lindsay.”

  “What does Lindsay taste like?” I ask, laughter in my throat.

  “Like everything.” He kisses me again, this time with more urgency. “Everything.”

  Tap tap tap.

  Drew’s on his feet in a nanosecond, wiping his mouth, glaring at the door as if it’s done something wrong.

  “Damn it,” he mutters to me. “I’m sorry. I need to be more careful.”

  “It’s fine,” I urge.

  A terse shake of his head tells me it’s not fine.

  But oh, that kiss sure was fine.

  “If we’re caught, I’ll be kicked off your case.”

  Case. I’m a case.

  “You kiss all your cases?”

  He glowers. “Only the really hot ones.”

  “Hello?” The door opens, and Jane appears.

  I need a fan to cool myself down.

  “Jane,” Drew says with a head nod. “Just don’t open the curtains, and I’ll be in the hall if you need anything.” Without looking at me, Drew leaves.

  How can he leave me hanging like that?

  “Oh, Lindsay,” Jane says. When I don’t answer, she looks at me closely, then back at the door.

  “Oh, Lindsay,” she says again, only in a very different tone. “Did I interrupt something?”

  She always was perceptive.

  “Just, you know...” I pick the first word that comes to mind. “Debriefing.”

  “Whose briefs came off first?”

  “Jane!”

  She smothers her smile with a palm. “He still loves you.”

  “Not that again. You know how it all, well...”

  She pulls a chair over to the bed and hands me a gold foil box.

  “What’s this?”

  “Chocolate. Your favorite.”

  I open the box and smell maple. “You remembered?”

  Jane has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “My mom told me. She has a file about you.”

  “A file?”

  “All your favorites. She said your father made her create one for presents.”

  Daddy’s got the personal touch down.

  “I don’t care. Just—yum! Maple creams! Come pig out with me.”

  Jane giggles. “I feel bad. They’re for you.”

  “If you don’t help me eat them, who will? My mom?”

  She laughs even harder. “Fine.” Plucking one, she chomps on it. “So spill. I hear someone cut your brakes?”

  I give a quick version of the story. Jane is suitably horrified.

  “And that was after running into Tara, Jenna and Mandy at the docks?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any chance they did it?”

  “Can you picture Tara or Mandy on the ground, cutting brake lines?”

  “Definitely not. Never. Never ever in a million years.”

  “Right.”

  “Then who?”

  I shouldn’t tell her. I know I shouldn’t. But you reach a point where the need to share yourself with someone is so important. I’m tired of being isolated. Alone.

  Lonely.

  “Someone texted me a very threatening message last night.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Welcome back, Lindsay. Ready to play with us again?” I say the words like a robot. The text feels like there’s an evil machine after me. Like the text comes from The Terminator and I’m Sara Connor.

  “Oh, God. No, Lindsay. Does your dad know?”

  “Drew does, so I assume Daddy knows.”

  “What does Drew think?”

  “He thinks it’s them.”

  “Them?” Her eyes go wide. “You mean...”

  “Yes.” I don’t even have to say John, Stellan and Blaine’s names.

  “You have to go to the police!”

  “Why? So they can just smear me again and not believe me, like last time? No. Drew’s handling it.”

  “How?”

  “By staying with me at all times.”

  “I don’t think that’s a hardship for him.”

  “He’s protecting me!”

  “In more ways than one.” Her lips twitch with a smile.

  “This is serious, Jane.”

  “I know. I’m sorry for making light of it, but it’s good to see you smile.”

  Funny. Drew said that, too.

  “Did you really push Tara into the water at the docks?” Jane asks with a sly smile.

  “She pushed me.”

  “That was the other rumor I heard. So which was it?”

  “She pushed me.” I repeat, blinking innocently.

  Her eyebrows go up. “That’s your story?”

  “And I’m sticking to it.”

  “Either way, it’s a great story.”

  “I wasn’t the one dressed to the nines, carrying a day’s worth of shopping bags that ended up soaked.”

  “Poor Tara.” Jane’s lips go into a fake pout of sympathy.

  “I know. All that hard work. Drowned. Doesn’t anyone understand how hahhhrd it is to shop all day?”

  We burst into laughter just as a doctor walks into the room.

  “Good to see your spirits are improving, Ms. Bosworth.” It’s the same doctor who almost kicked Mom and Daddy out last night. “I’m ninety-five percent sure we’re sending you home in the next few hours.”

  I sigh with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me. You’re young. You heal fast. And the accident wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.” She scribbles notes. “Follow up with your primary care physician. Any new pain requires an emergency room visit.” A few more sentences of medical details and she finishes.

  “I can go?”

  “We’re waiting on one more test. Then yes.”

  “Should I leave?” Jane asks. Her phone buzzes.

  “No. Stay.” I offer the doctor a maple cream. “Want one?”

  She pats her hip. “I shouldn’t.”

  “Maple cream,” I tease. “Who can resist one?”

  “You’re evil.” The doctor takes one and pops it into her mouth, rolling her eyes with pleasure. “These are so good.”

  “Blame her,” I say, pointing to Jane.

  “The cal
ories are all your fault.” She winks at Jane and leaves.

  Drew comes right in.

  “I heard you have candy.”

  “How did you know?”

  “When three women are in the same room moaning, it has to be from chocolate.”

  Jane punches him.

  “And I saw the gold foil box. Let me guess. Maple creams?”

  He remembers.

  I offer him the box. He takes one and grins. “These were always your favorite.”

  “Still are. Haven’t had any in four years.”

  Guilt covers Jane and Drew’s faces like a dark blanket.

  “It’s okay. I can talk about it. It’s not your fault.”

  Before either one of them can answer, a new nurse comes in.

  “Your paperwork’s been processed faster than expected, Lindsay.”

  Bzzz.

  Drew’s phone. He answers it, eyes going cold.

  Uh oh.

  I listen to the nurse prattle on, my body on alert for Drew. He gets off the phone just as the nurse hands me a bunch of papers and says, “Recover well.”

  She leaves. I look at Drew.

  “Who was that?”

  “Your dad and mother. They’re on a helicopter to a plane back to D.C. Some big meeting.”

  “Right.” D.C. before dear daughter. I’m used to it.

  “You can’t be alone, Lindsay,” Jane says.

  “Have you seen my house?’ I joke. “There are a bazillion workers there. I’m hardly alone.”

  “And I’ll be with you,” Drew adds.

  Something has changed, though. He keeps giving me these side-eye glances. It’s creeping me out. Who was on the other end of that phone call? I don’t think it was just about Mom and Daddy.

  I move the covers so I can crawl out of bed. Jane picks a small bag and holds it, while Drew helps me up.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You want to shower before we go?” he asks.

  “No. I don’t care. I just want to go home and get away from here.”

  He nods. “Safer at the Grove, too.”

  I give him a sharp look. My knees hurt, and I can tell I have bruises everywhere, especially on my head. But step by step, I shuffle into the bathroom, wearing only a hospital gown. Someone undressed me, washed my wounds, and put me in that bed.

  My fingers shake as I untie the hospital gown, but I manage. I’m wearing my bra and panties. With stiff legs, I get my feet in my pants and pull them up. Putting on my shirt is harder, but I do it, even when my neck pinches and my head throbs. I get myself presentable, consciously avoiding looking in the mirror.