Withstanding the Enemy

Eleven

Emma…

I wipe my tear streaked face with the back of my hand. Why … Why couldn’t he see the scars? My gut rolls as nausea rises and I cover my mouth with a shaking hand. I face the corner of the locker room avoiding my reflection. Breathe, Emma. I try to calm myself.

My mind echoes with Chance’s words. Emma, your skin’s flawless.

How could that be? I have seen them. I remember the pain.

Your skin’s flawless…

I inhale and prepare myself to face the mirror again. Look at them, Emma. Make sure you’re not crazy…

I close my eyes. See yourself through Chance’s eyes.

I feel like a coward and the nausea boils to disgust—disgust with myself. I can’t do this, not now!

With my head hung, I dress and focus on the fact that I have to see Chance again. If I can’t face myself, then face Chance…

Yeah, I can do that.

I feel a bit lighter thinking of Chance. He has this ease about him making everything—better. And my lips curl up as my heart flutters.

I walk out of the locker-room expecting to see Chance waiting for me in the pool area, but he isn’t there. I must have scared him off. I turn and start walking toward the main entrance. Okay, I guess I’m by myself.

“Hold up,” Chance says from behind me—startling me.

I briskly turn around to find him jogging to catch up to me.

“I thought you left when I didn’t see you. I was just going to head back to the penthouse.”

“No, I was in the men’s locker room. You should be more patient,” he teases.

“Or maybe you should stick to me like glue. Then I wouldn’t lose you,” I tease and he bumps me with his hip almost knocking me over. “Geez…” I laugh light-heartedly.

“You said I should stick to you like glue.” He winks.

My heart flutters. God he is handsome, I think as we walk through the doors.

Chance’s cell starts ringing as we step into the private elevator.

“Hello,” He answers. “Yes, Sir… Yes, I understand…” He hangs up the phone. “Change of plans, Emma,” he says as he pushes the button for the fourteenth floor.

My chest squeezes.

“That was Rick, he won’t be coming home tonight and expects me to stay in the guest room. I need to grab a change of clothes for the night.”

We are going to his place…

Memories flood my mind the second the elevator doors open. The hallway was still the same dark colorless grey. My heart thumps loudly in my ears as I watch Chance pull out his keys and turn the lock to my old apartment. Is all my stuff here? Is Rick playing a game with my head?

My hands shake and I feel light-headed, Rick took all my belongings away when he moved me into the penthouse—dismissing it all as garbage. But it was mine and it was all I had!

“This … this is your place?” I gasp between breaths.

“Yes” he says swinging the door open and walking in.

I peek in, imagining the space with all my belongings. Blinking a few times, I clear my mind—it’s all gone.

“Sorry it's a bit of a mess. I don't usually have anyone over. I just have to grab a few things,” he says as he walks to the table and picks up some files and sets them in a crate under the table.

“You can come in. I promise there is nothing hiding that will bite you.”

“Hiding,” I repeat.

Flashes of living in foster homes and having to hide anything sentimental—in fear of it being stolen—come crashing down on me. s**t, how did I forget!

I run to his bed which is set against the far wall and grab the corner. I start shoving at the impossibly heavy object trying to get to the place where I’d hid my belongings.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. “I’ve never had a woman want to move my bed… What are you doing?” Chance chuckles.

“I … I … USE to…” I say breathing heavily.

Suddenly, the bed moves with ease, and I see Chance gliding it effortlessly. I climb onto the bed and lay on my stomach, squeezing between the bed and the wall to reach for the brick that is wedged into the opening of my hiding space.

“Emma, what are you doing?”

“I use to live here,” I say reaching the brick.

My fingers grip the brick and I try to wiggle it from its place—it won’t budge. “Ugh.” I say in frustration.

I feel the bed shift as Chance lays down next to me.

“Can I help you with something?”

“No,” I say moving away.

His weight shifts and I feel his body heat as he moves closer. I hear the sound of the brick drop to the floor.

Without even thinking, I jump over to reach inside, trying to reunite with my beloved items. My hand feels around and bumps the solid box. I grab it and pull my hand back exposing the old wooden box which is not much bigger than a deck of cards. I let out a squeal of joy.

In a heartbeat, two strong arms enclose around my waist—encircling me.

“Sweetheart, you are playing with fire right now and if you don't want to get burned, it would be best if you get off of me.” His breath tickles my left ear.

I realized then that I’d jumped over Chance during my eagerness to find my missing treasures and landed chest to chest with him. I gasp and his body heat warms my skin. Oh s**t!

My n*****s stand at attention against his hard chest. With each ragged breath he takes, they ache with need. The image of his thumbs rubbing against them floods my head. Oh my…

I look at his face; his eyes are squeezed tight as if he is in pain. Am I hurting him?

I shift and an electrifying desire courses to my center. I bite my lip, trying desperately to hold back a moan. The overwhelming feeling like I am made to be in this space—in his arms—causes my body to tremble.

“Umm … I'm sorry … I…”

He lightens his hold and slides his arms down my back in a light caress. A charge of energy soothes my trembling and replaces it with a vibrating need. His long fingers wrap around my waist nearly completely encircling it as he lifts me up. A spark of heat jolts my s*x causing it to swell in arousal. Oh GOD!

“Emma,” he growls. “I am trying my damnedest to be a gentleman, but you are not helping me out here.”

I instantly position myself and lift off of him feeling his own arousal against my thigh. Does he want me?

He opens his eyes avoiding looking at me and quickly stands before making his way to the bathroom. I sit back on the bed and fold myself onto my lap—hugging my wooden box to my chest.

I open the box slowly and pull out the golden comb that was my mother’s. The painful memory of my dying mother rattles in my head, Mom… I set it down on my knee and pull out my dad’s pocketknife> I run my thumb across his name. How can one little kid lose both parents so quickly—?

“So that was what you were after.” Chance’s voice makes me jump.

I look up to him as he exits the bathroom. “Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

His eyes flicker with heat. “No, how can you hurt me?”

I feel my cheeks flush. “I just thought … well how you reacted … I thought I hurt you somehow.”

“OH… Emma, haven’t you ever been with a man?” He stops abruptly.

His eyes divert from mine and I watch as he balls his fist. His face flashes with … hatred? Did I see that right? Or was it disgust? Does it disgust him that I am damaged? Does he realize what Rick has done to me?

I watch as his face turns grey with realization and my heart throbs deep in my chest. Yes, he does but how could he know about my stolen innocence? Did Rick tell him…? It’s my secret! It’s my pain—pain I locked away years ago. Pain I promised myself to never relive.

My vision blurs and I force tears away before bringing my focus back to the pocketknife. Let it go, Emma, push the pain away, like you always do … to survive... I rub the hard metal of the knife and the image of the man that once held it comes to mind. My daddy; a man—the last man I felt protected by. A man who I know would have laid his own life down to save mine. A man—who died… His knife has always been representative of my sad life. The safety and protection a knife can bring is overshadowed by the cold, hard metal that feels lifeless and unwanted.

Chance drops to his knees in front of me. “What is it about the knife that makes it so important to you?”

“It was my dad’s and Rick has rules about staff not being allowed any weapons and if they find any they are confiscated. So I hid it.” I rub the knife between my forefinger and thumb, mimicking the way my dad used to.

“And the hair comb?”

I feel my lips curl up with the memory of it in my mother’s hair. “It’s my mom’s. She wore it on her wedding day and every year on their anniversary.” I run my thumb over the rhinestones. “Now that I found them, I don't know what I am going to do with them. I can’t take them back to the penthouse,” I say as grief fills my chest.

“What if you leave them here? I will hold onto them for you,” he says walking over to the safe which he uses as a nightstand. He pulls it open with a key. “I can put them in here—till you are ready for them.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Yes, it’s obvious they mean a lot to you.” He reaches out his hand for the box.