Rescued Heart (Titan World)

by Tarina Deaton

  She was dead and this was heaven. That was the only explanation. The opulence of the bedroom carried over to the spa-like bathroom. A large, deep soaking tub and steam shower took up the back half of the bathroom. Shiny marble topped the his and hers vanities. Maybe there was an extra toothbrush. Of course there would be. This was heaven. Although she probably wouldn’t have fuzzy teeth in heaven or have to pee.

  She sat on the toilet and looked to her right at the bidet. Europe? Rubbing at her ears, she tried to make them pop. She didn’t feel any pain, so her eardrum was probably fine. She’d ask whoever had wrapped her shoulder to look at them, just to be sure.

  Someone knocked on the door and she jumped. “Miss France?” a woman asked.

  Wide-eyed, she stared at the door. Was she supposed to have stayed in bed? “Yes?”

  “Are you all right? Do you need assistance?”

  She could hear a slight British accent in the woman’s voice. “No. I’m just using the facilities.” She cringed at having to tell a stranger she was peeing.

  “All right. I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

  “Uh. Okay. Thank you.” What was she supposed to need? Other than answers. She flushed, shuffled to the vanity, and washed her hands. Searching through the drawers, she found an unopened travel toothbrush and toothpaste. I am in heaven. She stared down at the vanity while scrubbing the fuzz off her teeth, an awkward thing to do left-handed. Using one of the glasses on the vanity, she rinsed then drank two full glasses.

  A blissful sigh escaped. Water had never tasted so good.

  She’d kept her eyes averted the entire time, but the urge became overwhelming. Pressing her lips together, she looked at her face in the mirror. No longer swollen shut, the area under her eye was still discolored. The fading yellow and brown bruises on her cheekbone looked like she suffered from jaundice. She lightly touched the bruised areas, testing for underlying damage to the bone. It hurt, but didn’t feel like anything was crushed.

  Someone had braided her hair, but fuzzies stuck up everywhere and her scalp itched. She pulled the band from the tail of the braid and slid it on her wrist. Undoing the braid, she realized she wouldn’t be able to put it back up with only one arm. Oh well, she could ask whoever braided it the first time to put it back up for her.

  Another knock. “Miss France?”

  Jeez, she was impatient. “I’m coming.” Maybe this woman, whoever she was, could fill in some of the gaps. Her stomach growled. And provide food.

  Emme opened the door and was greeted by an older woman wearing a hijab loosely wrapped around her head an neck.

  The Middle East then. Or still Europe, but someone of the Muslim faith.

  She stood with her hands clasped in front of her and a pleasant smile. “Good afternoon, Miss France. I’m Fatima, your nurse. How are you feeling?”

  Good question. She didn’t really hurt. Achy, maybe. “Weak. Hungry. Dirty. Confused.”

  Fatima’s wide smile displayed a tiny dimple under the corner of her bottom lip. “I believe I can help with some of those things.” She angled her body and indicated a padded bench at the foot of the bed. “If you would care to sit, I can pull your hair back for you.”

  Emme ducked her head and ran a hand over her hair. “Sorry. It was sticking up all over the place.”

  “That’s quite all right. I’ll pull it back in a bun. I can help you wash it after you eat.”

  A bath would be heaven. Maybe two. One to wash the funk off and another to soak in. “Thank you.” She eased onto the end of the bench and Fatima pulled her hair away from her face.

  “Where am I?”

  “Abu Dhabi.”

  One correct guess. “How did I get here?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know that. Dr. Tuska hired me after you were already here.”

  Her fingers on her scalp felt wonderful. “Who is Dr. Tuska?”

  Fatima finished her hair and stepped in front of her. “I don’t think I can answer all the questions you have. If you will settle back in bed, I will order room service and let Major Grant know you are awake.”

  Major Grant? Her brow wrinkled, but she nodded. “We’re in a hotel?”

  “Yes.” Fatima straightened the bed covers and fluffed the pillows. “What would you like to eat?”

  She bit her lip. She’d dreamed of a huge stack of buttermilk pancakes smothered in syrup while she’d been counting grains of rice, but her stomach probably wouldn’t handle that so well. “A cheese omelet? And fruit, please.”

  “Of course.” She gestured toward the bed and Emme climbed in. Fatima pulled the sheets up to her waist.

  Settling against the pillows, exhaustion pressed down on her.

  “I’ll let Major Grant know you are awake.”

  “Thank you.” She might not be for much longer. Her eyelids grew heavy. That little bit of activity had drained her. The door pushed open.

  Jordan. “I thought I dreamed you.” Her gaze roamed his face. She hadn’t seen him in more than a decade, but she would have recognized him anywhere. There was no mistaking those green eyes and dimpled chin. She’d called it his face butt when they’d been kids. No way she’d call him that now. He was even better looking now than he’d been when she was a teenager with a crush. The plain blue t-shirt fit tight across his shoulders and chest, showing off his muscles.

  Oh my god. Jordan Grant is in a bedroom with me and I’m disgusting.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “No dream, slugger. How’re you feeling?”

  Embarrassed! “Sore. Hungry.”

  He smiled, showing off his perfect white teeth. A bath was going to be the first order of business. “Fatima was ordering from room service when I came in.”

  She nodded. “What happened?”

  He shifted on the bed and pressed his hip into hers. “How much do you remember?”

  “Everything up to the explosion.”

  He nodded. His gaze moved to her cheek and his face grew tight, but he explained how her father had hired Jared Westin and Titan. She smiled. He probably hadn’t found them in the back of Soldier of Fortune.

  “What about Abu Dhabi? How did we get here?”

  “Airplane,” he said, straight-faced.

  “Jackass.” She forgotten how dry his sense of humor was. “Why here and not back home?”

  “Ah. See, that question makes more sense. Jared and your father—”

  “I have your food, Miss France,” Fatima said from the door.

  She tried to push up with her good arm, but struggled, unable to get her nightgown from under her enough to scoot upright.

  Jordan stood. “Lean forward.” He grabbed a bolster from the chair beside the bed and put it behind her lower back.

  “Thank you.” God, she hated feeling helpless. She needed her arm unwrapped so she could take care of herself.

  “No problem.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts and stepped to the side. “Do you want me to leave while you eat?

  Fatima set the tray on her lap. “No, finish explaining how we got here.” She picked up the fork with her left hand and tried to cut the omelet, but it tore into large chunk. She didn’t have the dexterity to hold the fork properly. Maybe she could spear the fruit since it was already sliced. Biting a piece of mango, she closed her eyes as the fresh flavor exploded on her tongue. So good.

  She opened her eyes to find Jordan staring and Fatima smiling at her. “What?”

  “It’s good to see you have an appetite,” Fatima said. “Can I bring you anything else?”

  Emme looked at her tray. “No, thank you. This is perfect.”

  Fatima bowed her head and left. Jordan remained standing, the same strange look on his face. Why were his eyes pinchy?

  “Sit.” She pointed her fork at the chair. “You’re making me nervous.”

  He dragged the chair closer to the bed and propped one foot over the other knee.

  “Finish what you were saying,” she said around a piece of pineapp
le.

  “Right. Your dad and Jared decided you should recuperate here for a couple of weeks before traveling back to the States.”

  “Why?

  He sighed and ran a hand over his head. “The media got wind of your rescue and has been spinning up a storm. They’re camped out at your parents’ and brother’s houses. It was expected. This way you can heal and give the media time to get distracted with the next celebrity divorce.”

  She nodded. “Are my parents coming here?”

  “No,” he said, slowly. He took a small breath. “I’m staying with you until it’s time to go back.”

  Swallowing hard around the lump that formed in her throat, she looked at the tray. “Can I call them?” She hated that her voice was small, but she wanted her mom and dad.

  He leaned forward and put his hand on her leg. “Hey. Of course, as soon as you’re finished eating. Jared has a VTC set up, so you can see and talk to them. Okay?”

  She nodded. “How long have we been here?” She missed the comforting weight of his hand when he leaned back in the chair.

  “We landed early this morning. Why aren’t you eating your omelet?”

  Her cheeks warmed and she turned the fork in her fingers. “I can’t cut it without making a mess, so I’m waiting until you’re gone.”

  He reached over and took the fork from her. She watched his long fingers as they maneuvered the fork, cutting the omelet into bite-sized pieces. She’d always had a thing for hands. What would they feel like on her skin?

  Holy cow, she needed to get a grip. She was an invalid, for crying out loud. A dirty one at that. Not that he would ever look at her as anything more than Doug’s little sister anyway.

  He handed her the fork.

  “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.” He sat back and propped his foot up again.

  She shoveled some egg onto her fork, but paused with it halfway to her mouth. “How are you here? I thought you were still in the Army.” The egg fell off the fork. Frick.

  “I am.”

  Managing to get some egg in her mouth, she made a ‘continue’ motion with the fork.

  “Jared Westin has a lot of connections and he pulled some strings to get me on the mission.”

  “But why you?”

  He ran his hand over his head. Did he always do that when he was uncomfortable with something? “Your mom wanted someone you’d know when you were rescued.”

  That sounded exactly like her mom. All of a sudden her appetite was gone and she set her fork down. “I’ve had enough. Can we call them now?”

  “Of course. Let me go get the laptop.” He was halfway across the room before he returned to the bed. “Are you really finished eating, or do you just want to talk to your parents.”

  She stared at her half-eaten food. “I’m done.”

  He picked up the tray and left the room, leaving the door open behind him. The murmur of deep male voices reached her, but she couldn’t see who was talking.

  One blink. Two. Her eyes fell closed. Images flashed through her mind, discordant and out of sequence. Except the last one. The fist swinging toward her face. “No!” Her eyes flew open and she threw up her good arm to protect herself from the figure looming over her.

  “Emme. Emme. It’s me. You’re safe.” He set the laptop on the bedside table. “You’re safe, Emme. No one is hurting you.”

  Her breaths came in gasps, her chest heaving with each inhale as she struggled to separate the memory from reality.

  Jordan. Rescue. Abu Dhabi. She’d only dozed off for a minute, maybe two.

  He sat back in the chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, brows pinched together. “Do you want to wait to call your parents?” His voice was low and soft, his concern evident.

  She wiped away the tears on her cheeks and took several bracing breaths. “No. I want to talk to them now. I need to talk to them.”

  “Okay.” He picked up the laptop, flipping open the top.

  Electronic ringing came from the speakers and then her father’s voice. “Jordan. How is she?”

  “She’s awake, sir. She’s waiting to speak to you.”

  “Lori!” her father yelled. She smiled. Her mom was probably in the next room.

  “For goodness sakes, Emmard. Stop yelling. What is it? Oh, hello, Jordan. Is there any update?

  “Yes, ma’am. Just a minute.” He turned the laptop and placed in on her lap.

  She adjusted the screen to get rid of the reflection. Not that she could see through her tears. “Hi, Daddy. Hi, Mama.” A sob escaped. She clapped her hand over her mouth. At that moment, she wasn’t an independent thirty-something woman. She was little girl who wanted to be wrapped in the safe arms of her parents.

  Her mom cried. “Oh, baby. Look at your face.”

  Her dad wrapped his arm around her mother and pulled her into the pocket of his shoulder.

  She never realized how much that simple move, one she’d seen them do throughout her life, summed up her parents and everything she wanted for herself. To feel safe, protected, and loved.

  Her father kept his military bearing, but she could see the shimmer in his eyes. “Baby girl, you holding up?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she whispered. She could be eighty years old and he would still be her daddy.

  “Those Titan boys taking care of you?” Her mom turned her head so she was looking at the camera again.

  Emme smiled at Jordan and a group of special forces guys being called boys. “Yes. They’re taking care of me.” Jordan stood and walked into the bathroom, returning with a box of tissues. She took them with a smile.

  “Good. Good. You’ll be home soon, Emme,” her dad said.

  She wiped at her eyes. “I know. I just wish I was there now.”

  “We do too, sweetie,” her mom said. “But it’s better this way. You can recover without all the reporters banging on your door at all hours of the day.”

  “Is that really happening?”

  “Freaking leeches, every single one of them,” her dad said. “We gave ‘em a freaking statement. No freaking comment.”

  “It’ll die down soon and they’ll move on to the next big story.”

  “Doesn’t help that doctor friend of yours keeps talking to every two-bit hack with a microphone,” her dad said.

  Emme shook her head. “What doctor friend?”

  Her mom patted her dad on the chest. “The British one, sweetie.”

  “Bennedict?”

  “Yes, that one.”

  “Fancy-pants, prissy name if you ask me.”

  Jordan coughed into his hand and she glared at him. “Why is he talking to the press?”

  Her mom tried to speak, but her father was on a roll. “Who the hell knows. Looking to cash in on his fifteen-minutes of fame. Not that he should be cashing in on anything. He wasn’t the one who was kidnapped and beaten.”

  “Emmard,” her mom admonished.

  “Jackass,” he mumbled.

  Emme smiled. “It’ll blow over, Dad. How’re Doug and Gilly?”

  “They’re good.” Her mom beamed. “They’re going to have a baby!”

  She gasped. “I’m going to be an aunt?”

  “I’m going to be a grandmother!” Her mom bounced and her dad dropped his arm. “We can go shopping for the baby stuff when you get home.”

  “Jeez, you have months to get things for the baby,” her dad said.

  “We’re not buying everything at once, Emmard. We can get some of the basics now.”

  She smiled as her parents bickered, then let out a huge yawn.

  “Oh, honey. We’re sorry.” Concern played across her mom’s face. “You need your rest. We’ll let you go. We can talk again tomorrow. Doug and Gilly are coming over for lunch, so we’ll see if we can get the time right and call when they’re here.”

  She yawned again. “Okay. I have no idea what the time difference is. Or what day it is.”

  “It’s Saturday evening here,” Jordan said. He raised his voi
ce. “Just let us know what time.”

  “We’ll tell them to come a little early so we can call before it gets too late there,” her mom said. “We love you, Emme.”

  Another tear fell. “Love you too, Mama.”

  “Same here, baby girl.”

  “Love you, Daddy.”

  Her mom blew kisses while her dad reached toward the camera. The screen went dark and she dropped back onto the pillows.

  Jordan took the laptop, closed it, and set it on the table. “You okay?”

  She shook her head. She’d never missed home so bad in her life. Not since her first semester at college. The bed moved and she raised her head. Jordan took the bolster from behind her neck and slid his arm under her head. He pulled her into his arms and the floodgates opened. She soaked his shirt.

  His hand smoothed up and down her back. For the first time in weeks she was safe and protected. Maybe if she didn’t think about it too hard, she could pretend the person holding her did it out of love as well.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She’d fallen asleep almost an hour ago and he stayed right where he was. Damn, she felt right in his arms. What the fuck was he doing? He’d known almost to the moment she fell asleep, her head tucked under his chin. Her tears had nearly killed him. Fuck. He’d wanted to go back to Mali and kill those fuckers all over again.

  No family should ever have to go through that. She’d put on a brave face for her parents, as if she hadn’t been living through her own personal hell. He couldn’t help but admire her strength.

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Fuck. He needed to get out of her bed.

  Loosening his hold, he slid his arm out from under her neck and eased from the bed. He grabbed the laptop and left the door cracked behind him.

  “How’s your girl?” Westin asked. He shoved a piece of steak into this mouth.