“IREALLY APPRECIATEYOUR HELP springing me from the hospital.” Sophie glanced across the black SUV to study the profile of the man who’d proclaimed himself her bodyguard.
For all she knew, he was a sexy ax murderer. Or not. While he’d been listening to the discharge nurse’s instructions, she’d Googled him and Southerland Security. The firm was legit, and he matched the picture of the owner. There wasn’t a lot more information available but it was enough to convince her to trust him to take her home. She hated hospitals. Hated the smells. You’d think that kind of thing would be different, halfway around the world on a different continent. It wasn’t, and it took her right back to her mother’s illness.
“You really don’t need to stay, though,” she said as he made the turn into the parking lot. She debated making a break for it and running up the steps to her apartment. The low-grade headache that could easily become more stopped her. The last thing she needed was another trip to the ER. Regardless of the fact that she couldn’t remember it, the first one had been bad enough. Knowing someone, presumably her attacker, had been the one to call 911 creeped her out. She planned to spend a lot of energy pushing that little nugget of info out of her mind.
“Don’t be silly. I promised the doctor I’d take care of you. I’m going to take care of you.”
Judging by the set of his jaw, she had a feeling no-nonsense Emerson Southerland made good on his promises. His broad shoulders—Australian footy built not American linebacker big—looked more than capable of carrying the world. But surely he wasn’t expecting to spend the night. She’d let him see her to her apartment. She was wiped out and still a bit unsteady on her feet. The extra attention couldn’t hurt and then he could go on his way and she could go to bed for ten or twelve hours. She’d call Connie and get her to check in every couple of hours to make sure she didn’t slip into a coma or something.
“You can park here.” She pointed to her space on the side of the old Victorian that had been divided into a half dozen efficiency apartments. She’d have to get Connie to give her a ride later to pick up her car from the parking garage by the store, but she didn’t have the energy to think about that now. “I’m on the second floor.”
Emerson parked and hurried around to the passenger side to help her, taking the bag with her belongings so she wouldn’t have to carry anything. Under normal circumstances, the invalid treatment would have bothered her. Given that he was doing all of this as a favor to her, it didn’t seem right to get mad at him. She had to admit having him follow right behind her on the steps was reassuring. He didn’t touch her, but she could feel his presence and knew if she needed him, he wouldn’t let her fall.
Taking mental inventory of the state of her apartment, she paused in front of the locked door. She was pretty sure she’d done the dishes and the living room shouldn’t be too bad. Her bedroom was a disaster but he’d never get past the door. The idea of the handsome man in her bedroom with her made her pulse kick up in a way she was sure couldn’t be good for her.Nope, definitely not getting past the bedroom door.
“Here.” He held her open purse out so she could grab the keys to her apartment.
She’d half expected him to dig around and get them himself, but he simply held the bag and waited until she pulled out the cheap touristy boomerang keychain stamped with tiny kangaroos holding her apartment and car keys, as well as a key to the store. That was another weird thing about the break-in. As far as she could tell, nothing in her bag had been touched. She’d cancel her credit and bank cards just to be sure, but her wallet looked untouched down to the fourteen dollars she’d planned to use to buy her hot dog and fries.What kind of burglar didn’t take cash? The same kind who whacked someone on the head and then called the EMTs obviously.
“What’s wrong?” Emerson stepped into her line of sight, concern etched in his hazel eyes.
“Nothing. Just spaced out for a minute,” she said, pulling herself back to the present and away from the nightmare-inducing parts of her attack.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need me to take you back to the hospital?” He reached for her elbow as if he expected to march her back to the SUV.
She moved out of his grip and jammed the key into the lock. Once she got inside, she’d be okay, and she could send him on his way. “Don’t you dare. I’m fine.”
His expression said he thought the jury was out, but he moved out of the way so she could swing open the door. She breathed in the sandalwood and sage scent of the candles she loved and all the other scents that made the place smell like home. Something in her chest relaxed for the first time since she’d woken up in the hospital. The apartment was small—a postage stamp-sized living room with a galley kitchen, small bathroom, and a single bedroom—but considering some of the other places she’d lived, it was perfect. A bit of space was a small price to pay for working plumbing and meals that didn’t need to be cooked over an open fire.
Emerson followed her into the living room, taking up way too much space next to her antique sofa. With its carved wooden legs and the panel across the back, she’d fallen in love with the Duncan Phyfe piece the moment she saw it in the secondhand store. It looked like doll house furniture next to Emerson.
She watched him for a moment as he took in his surroundings. If she caught any disdain in his expression, she could kick him out of her space with a clear conscience, despite his Good Samaritan routine. Instead of looking down on her things, he gave the barest hint of a smile, as if he were charmed by what he saw.
“Are you hungry? How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
Honestly, it was like the man spoke in nothing but questions.Questions she was getting tired of answering. Except as soon as he mentioned it, her stomach woke up and reminded her it had been hours since her last meal and that had been hospital food she’d barely touched.
“I’m fine,” she said, as her traitorous stomach let out a growl. “I’ll fix myself a sandwich. I’ve taken up too much of your time already.” She grabbed his arm and tried to lead him to the door, but it was like trying to move a wall. She stood as good of a chance urging him out the door as she stood changing the way gravity worked.
“Stop,” he said, slipping free of her grasp without even trying. “I said I’d take care of you and that’s exactly what I intend to do. The doctor said you weren’t supposed to be alone for twenty-four hours, so unless you’ve suddenly sprouted some friends or family you didn’t have earlier, I’m it.”
The fact that he looked at least a little unhappy as he made the statement gave her some comfort. He might have invaded her space, but he wasn’t enjoying it, which was small consolation and made her feel like a bitch. She’d still be in the hospital without him. She thought about calling Connie and begging, but her boss had two kids at home. She’d never be able to leave them overnight and Sophie couldn’t bear the thought of going over there. She loved Connie’s kids but they were noisy and in a constant state of motion. Just thinking about it made her tired.
“Thank you,” she said, sounding anything but grateful.
“You’re welcome.” The curve of his lips made it clear he knew exactly how conflicted she was with his presence. “It’s just twenty-four hours—twenty-three now—and I’ll be out of your hair. Do you want to get a shower?”
Now that he’d said it, there wasn’t anything she wanted more but there was no way on God’s great green earth she was going to get naked with him in her home. She could be in another room and it wouldn’t matter. It was like he was everywhere, taking up all the available oxygen, and she didn’t know him from Adam.
“No,” she said, not missing a beat.
“Okay.” He sounded relieved but she might be projecting. Exhaustion and near-death experiences did that to a person. “Go put on more comfortable clothing and I’ll make us something to eat.”
Theusfinally unstuck her feet. She couldn’t expect him to go hungry when he was trying to help her. That and the fact that she was wearing the clothes she’d had on when she’d been attacked. She planned to burn them. She sure as hell couldn’t wear them again, regardless of how much she loved the charcoal pencil skirt.
Careful to close the door behind her so he wouldn’t see the clothes piled on the chair beside her bed, she dug through her drawers for a pair of yoga pants that didn’t have a hole in them and a T-shirt long enough to cover her butt. Not that she cared what Emerson thought. She didn’t, but that didn’t stop her from taking a few minutes to stuff the scattered clothes into her closet and pull the comforter over the rumpled bed he’d never see.
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