Page 74 of A Touch of Dark
Apparently, he’s not interested in receiving permission, because the car comes to a stop a heartbeat later. While the driver circles around to his side, Damien tightens his grip as if he’s expecting me to resist.
But I don’t. I allow him to steer me from the car and then through the halls of what I assume is a modest hotel, so unlike the posh, luxury high-rises we both frequent.
Julio enters our room first. He prowls the area, spitting out simple phrases all the while. “Bed at twelve o’clock, sir. Bathroom at three o’clock. Ten paces each way.”
“Thank you,” Damien says. Only now does he guide me inside, and I realize that this must be one of the many ways he navigates without his cane. “You can leave for the moment, Julio. See if you can have clothing brought for Ms. Thorne.”
“Right away.” Julio embarks on his mission while I’m marched into a modest bathroom.
Damien feels along the wall until he finds the light switch—for my benefit. Then he keeps going until his fingers brush the cool tile above the tub and then continue to the water fixture. “Remove your clothing,” he commands as he switches the faucet on.
“I’m late,” I realize as—of all things—my commitment to Daddy enters my mind. “My father’s press conference. I’ve missed it—”
“It’s been rescheduled,” Damien says calmly. “Arrangements have been made. You don’t need to worry about that now. What you do need to worry about is your internal body temperature.” He gestures toward the tub. “Now, take off your clothing.”
Memories of Simon must have stripped me of my free will. I’m an obedient little girl again, jumping to the rasp of a monster’s growl. This one doesn’t rest until I’m standing naked before him as he fills the tub to his preference.
Taking a step back, he nods to the water. “In.”
My body rebels once I’m submerged in the deliciously warm bath. I can’t move. I’m so damn tired—to the point where someone has to assist me when seconds pass without my cleaning myself. They hand me a washcloth, and then they wet it for me and drag it along my back and my shoulders. They work their fingers into my hair and lather it with shampoo. Finally, they dry me off into a towel and perch me on the ledge of the tub, apparently while waiting for Julio to bring me fresh clothing.
They stay. All without reminding me to smile, or hush, or be brave, charming Juliana.
I know they hear me crying, and they say nothing.
Ithought Daddy overreacted to the smallest crisis. Damien puts him to shame.
Heyworth Thorne could have found me neck-deep in a snowdrift, but I doubt he’d have his driver speed across state lines and all but drag me into my suite, where I find a private doctor waiting to examine me. It’s a concern that borders upon…obsessive: a collector ensuring the objects in his possession remain unharmed—by anythingbuthim.
I should resist.
Fight him off.
I shouldn’t let him stay.
Damn Damien.
He waits in silence as the doctor pokes and prods me before declaring me healthy, though sleep-deprived and dehydrated.
“Primarily, you should get some rest,” the man suggests, gathering up his supplies.
He’s barely out the door before I find myself being manually steered into my room by a more formidable opponent.
“Wait…” I sway on my feet as Damien drags his fingers over my duvet and folds it back. “You don’t have to stay—”
“You need to rest. At least for an hour. Especially if you are attending the briefing tonight. It will be starting soon.”
“My father…” I groan, bracing my hand against my forehead. “He’s probably called the FBI by now.”
“Not quite.” With a knowing tilt of his head, Damien proves he’s outsmarted me yet again. “I had your building manager distract him with some lie about you losing your phone to explain why you’re running late. You can arrive at his media blitz on time and he’ll be none the wiser. Now, rest.” He sounds so damn stern.
Not that I’m helping my case any; I can barely stay upright. I’ve never felt so drained. So exhausted. So vulnerable.
I can’t ignore the subtle disgust tainting his tone—or the fact that he’s trying his best to disguise it. For me.
“You want to tell me something,” I blurt, sensing the truth in his tense posture. “About my father? Just say it. Please…”
“You need to rest.”
