Touch Me In The Morning Page 9

  “But…”

  “Please!”

  He quieted down, but she could feel his trembling inside. “My d-damn head – I think – I think I may be sick.” He rolled to his side and vomited.

  She stroked his damp hair, carefully avoiding the rising welt on the side of his head. “We’ll take you to the hospital,” she managed, her tears raining on top of him.

  “No!” The word roared, then he clutched at his head and nose, as if not sure where the pain came from.

  “Calm down!” She watched Damon helplessly, wishing, inanely, that she could steal his pain and discomfort to make it her own. She hated watching him suffer.

  Damon moaned as he became sick again. Heaven, as she held his shoulders tenderly, suddenly understood how somebody could see another person vomit and not feel repelled. As he rolled back slightly, he brought his hands to his swelling, bloody nose and closed his eyes. Under his breath, he mumbled every four-letter word imaginable.

  Francesca came back with two ice packs and handed them to Heaven. She took them and gently applied one to his head and the other to the bridge of his nose, holding both for him. He tried to turn his head, but she spoke softly to him and he cooperated.

  Soon the paramedics arrived and, as the door to the truck shut, Heaven covered her face

  A hand lightly pressed her forearm. “I’ll drive you to the hospital, Heaven. I know you want to be with him.”

  Heaven took in a shuddering breath. “Thank you, Francesca. Yes, I have to see him. I have to be with him. Let’s go right away.”

  Two hours later, Heaven dropped her gaze to the warm face buried in her lap.

  In the back seat of Francesca’s van, Damon rested his head on her thighs, his long body sprawled half on the seat and half on the floor. He’d climbed in that way, after being wheeled out of the hospital, and Heaven hadn’t even had time to gasp before he’d snuggled against her and fallen asleep.

  After the shock, awe and disbelief had sunk in that he’d wanted her, like a small boy, seeking comfort. She gently stroked his damp hair, regretting with all her heart that she’d caused his pain. Yet even bruised, even with distorted features, he looked beautiful to her. Their contact felt magical, as if it were right.

  “Are you ok back there?” Francesca asked as she drove to Damon’s house.

  “Yes.” She answered in a soft voice. “He’s resting.”

  “Interesting that he went straight to you,” Francesca said.

  She focused on the sweep of his dark lashes. “Yes.”

  “I called Dave,” Francesca said, “and he’ll be at the house with some of the other guys to help get Damon into the house and to his room.”

  Heaven gently pushed some of his hair behind an ear. “Good.” She was barely paying attention. With Damon cuddled up to her, she couldn’t focus on anything but him.

  Damon’s friends dragged him upstairs and helped him change into clean clothes. Standing outside his door, she’d listened to him swearing at them. When they finally emerged from his room, Dave said, “Finally got him to bed. He’s so out of it and so stubborn.”

  Later, Heaven peeked inside the bedroom and, with alarm, saw him struggling to get up.

  “No!” Surprising everybody, she ran inside before he even made it to a sitting position and gently pushed him back down. She sighed as he raked over his large form. He looked better now that his bloody uniform no longer clung to his body. In a clean white t-shirt and navy boxers, he looked almost human.

  “Don’t try to get up,” she told him.

  His brow furrowed. “What day is it?”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “Try to sleep, all right?”

  She pulled a blue quilt up to his chin and he snuggled to his side and closed his eyes. Good, she thought. He’ll sleep for a while.

  Heaven saw Damon’s friends to the door. All had offered to stay overnight to help her, but she sensed he wouldn’t want too much of a fuss made, and felt she could nurse him herself. Once they left, she turned to go back upstairs, in no particular hurry. She took two steps towards the staircase when she heard a loud thump coming from Damon’s room.

  “Dear God!” she mumbled and flew up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. She barged in and found him on the floor on his elbows and knees.

  She fell beside him. “What happened?” she asked, alarmed. “Are you all right?”

  “Who pushed me?”

  “Let me help you up,” she said. “Put your hands on my shoulders and I’ll get you back to bed.”

  As he stood on unsteady legs, he asked, “H-how did a p-petite girl like you get me up?”

  She lowered him to the bed and he fell backwards, an arm over his eyes.

  “Tell me I’m not strong now,” she said, almost viciously, but she felt bad that she’d been the one who’d hurt him. Gently, she pulled a quilt over his shivering body and ruffled his hair. “Relax,” she said, softly.

  He groaned again in response.

  The doctor had explained that the medicine could disorient him so she hushed him and stroked his hair. “Just go to sleep, Damon.”

  He closed his eyes. “Hurts – all over my face.”

  Tears filmed her eyes. “I know. You’ll feel better after you rest.” Guilt overtook her. If she hadn’t been so damn adamant about proving herself strong…

  In a few moments, his head lolled towards her and she heard quiet snoring.

  Sitting on the edge of his bed, she looked down at him, inhaling soap, spice and sweat…a masculine, wild combination. He lay on his back, one arm under his head and the other over his blanketed abdomen.

  His formidable shape showed beneath the blanket and she ran a hand across his torso and boldly touched his covered thigh, amazed that a man’s leg could feel so solid and hard. She was sorry, in a naughty way, that the blanket covered him…oh, why would she think about that now? Why did she always think sensual thoughts around this man? She cleared her mind of everything. Almost.

  Heaven stared at his peaceful face for timeless moments…or hours. Suddenly, he stirred and she jumped. “Damon?”

  “D-did Dad do this?” he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

  She caught her breath.

  “I-is the bastard out of jail?” He punched the air.

  “No!” Heaven’s gut twisted. “Your father is still in jail.” True or not, and she didn’t know the answer, she just wanted to calm him down.

  “K-kendra?” he asked.

  “Heaven,” she corrected, gently.

  “The one who l-looks like an angel.”

  She inhaled sharply. Automatically, she smoothed back his dark, sweaty hair.

  He silenced for several minutes and her gaze didn’t leave his face. Just as she relaxed, he spoke. “Dad – and my mother,” he mumbled. “The g-gun.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Heaven froze and quickly grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly as he had done for her. “Don’t talk about that now, Damon. It’s a bad memory.” She could feel a wave of nausea as she pictured the boy Damon watching his father with his gun…

  “Aiden saw.”

  Her heart lurched. Through his obvious devastation, he worried for Aiden, his little brother.

  “That’s too bad. Poor child.” She tried to calm this renewed agitation and ran her fingers across his tightened cheek.

  “I c-came home from school. He had a gun t-to her head.” He spoke with a hoarse voice. “My f-father – a gun – to Mom--” Heaven wanted to burst into tears, but what good would that do? She continued to caress his face. “That was long ago, Damon. This isn’t a good time to think about it.”

  “S-so I ran up to Dad t-to stop him…”

  “Please, Damon.”

  “And I grabbed the gun fr-from him, and we struggled.” He kicked off the blanket as he fought his demons.

  “Yes. You were very brave, but don’t talk about it now…” She didn’t want to hear the rest.

  “The g-gun went off. It w-was an accident –
my fault. Sh-should have stopped…”

  “Damon.” She felt her heart breaking with his pain.

  “D-do you understand me?” His anguish rang through the room, followed by a deadly silence. “It’s my fault because…” he coughed and groaned and she quickly stroked his cheek.

  “Calm down, Damon. Please.” The brave young boy, trying with gallantry to save his mother somehow blamed himself because – what? He couldn’t stop his father? At age thirteen? She ached for him in a way that choked her. She’d pretend he hadn’t spoken of this, since it tortured him.

  It didn’t matter. He needed her now and she wouldn’t let him down. Tomorrow would take care of itself. With new insight, she glanced at the strong, beautiful young man who hated himself for his childhood bravery. His distorted nose, covered with gauze, and the purple lump on the side of his head would eventually disappear. Would his inner wounds heal? As he slept, she bent down and, with a twinge of guilt, kissed him on his cheek. “Stop blaming yourself,” she whispered, and he stirred and spoke gibberish. The only word she made out was her name

  For the remainder of the night, he had a restless sleep. She tried to quiet him with soft caresses, but he complained about his headache. Still, she stayed, remembering how he’d remained with her through her night terrors. As morning approached, Heaven decided to lie beside him. Bone tired and emotionally depleted, she needed to rest, and his bed offered plenty of room. She didn’t intend to fall asleep, but, if she did, so what? She trusted Damon, and he could hardly do anything in his condition anyways. Lying beside him, feeling a pleasant sensation at their closeness, she kept at least two feet from him. Her eyes closed against her will and she couldn’t help smiling as she took in his powerful, strong body and inhaled his slightly sweaty, spicy scent. Flames radiated off him and scorched her. A woman could get used to resting beside Damon Steele

  She fell asleep and had the most delightful dream.

  Before Damon even opened his eyes, the pain knifed through his skull. A hangover, he thought, but he didn’t have any taste of stale alcohol in his mouth. He groaned and raised his hands to the sides of his head. Why the massive headache?

  Then it came back to him. Heaven…the dare…the softball…bits and pieces of the hospital and last night. His head pounded harder and he slid a hand to the bump near his ear. He remembered, as if in a dream, Heaven applying cold compresses. Everything seemed vague. Had she touched him? Had they spoken? Had she stayed up all night with him as he’d done with her?

  He cracked open an eye…

  And saw Heaven beside him, fast asleep, her mouth curved in a soft smile.

  He closed his eyes again as his head burst anew. What the hell? What had he done last night? No, he couldn’t have done anything in his sorry condition. She still wore her clothes from the previous day.

  His eyes and nose throbbed and he fingered the packing on his nose. He couldn’t smell anything. If he could, he’d smell the scent of Heaven…

  Why the hell was Heaven sleeping in his bed, just a few feet away from him?

  One eye seemed swollen shut so he only opened the good one. He still got a good look at Heaven. The woman took his breath away. With dark waves of hair sprawled over her cheek and her breasts poking near his face…could he have an erection while he felt so lousy? Yes, definitely. One of her slender golden arms tucked under her cheek and the other reached out towards him, her fingers inches away.

  Why was she sleeping next to him?

  Worse, why, even in his misery, did it feel so good to wake up to her in his bed?

  As if on cue, her eyes fluttered open and rested on his. She looked confused.

  “Good morning,” he mumbled, and the two words sounded hoarse and rusty.

  Heaven instantly rose, pushing hair off her face. “Oh, Damon!” Her cheeks stained red. “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep. See, I wanted to stay with you since I hurt you, but I had to lie down.”

  “S’ok.” He felt his lips curling up a little. “Surprised, b-but kind of n-nice.”

  To his delight, he felt her hand on his shoulder, her touch a gentle caress. “How do you feel?”

  “Like a truck ran me over.”

  “I – I didn’t mean…”

  “I know.”

  He could feel her guilt as if it touched him. To make her smile, he forced himself to tease her and put aside his pain.

  “Was I a gentleman last night?”

  With sleepy eyes, she smiled. “We made love over and over again.”

  He willed himself not to laugh, knowing his head would explode. “I see. Was it g-good because I missed it?”

  Her grin widened.

  His head throbbed. His fingers reached for her, touching her palm. “You certainly showed me you’re no weak g-girl.”

  “Woman.”

  “Pregnant woman.”

  “Not very pregnant.”

  “A l-little bit pregnant.”

  “Sort of.”

  She laughed and he wanted to laugh, but spared himself.

  “How b-bad do I look?” he asked, suddenly serious.

  She assessed him, and the lines on her face creased downwards. “Not good.”

  “Shit.” He spat out other, softer curses. “You’ll have t-to get be out of bed and help me d-dress. Aiden and Kendra c-can’t see me in bed, looking like shit.”

  “You’d rather they see you staggering around looking like shit?” she asked. Grimly she added, “And I can tell them I’m responsible.”

  “I won’t t-tell them. I do have t-to get up or Kendra will really worry.”

  Heaven shook her head. “You have a concussion.”

  Damon slowly forced himself up on one elbow. The room spun. His stomach threatened to revolt.

  “Damon! You look green!”

  He stilled until the sickness passed, then managed to say, “Green matches my eyes. Help me up. My sibs can’t see me too hurt to get up.”

  She averted her eyes. “So you can never be sick or hurt?”

  “Exactly.” He forced himself up again and the room twirled like a merry-go-round. He put his hand over his mouth, seriously afraid he’d vomit and he heard Heaven rushing somewhere. She returned with a bucket, which he bent over for a moment. The nausea passed.

  “Fool. I’ll explain to Kendra and Aiden what happened. I don’t think they’d want you up with a concussion.”

  He put the bucket aside, willing himself to remain strong. “Nobody has ever seen me this way. When I was a k-kid, if I didn’t feel well, I was on my own.”

  “How sad.”

  “I survived. C-can you start a shower for me, and help me get there without f-falling down?”

  “Only if I can wait outside in case you do fall and hit your head while you’re trying to take a shower by yourself.”

  “F-fine.” He’d taken care of himself during worse injuries than this and knew he would stay on his feet. In no way did he want her to see him in his birthday suit; not with all the scars on his chest and back.

  As he leaned on her while standing up, he said, in a rush of unusual spontaneity, “I think you’re one of the nicest p-people I ever met.”

  “Really?” She sounded pleased.

  He didn’t repeat it. He’d said enough.

  She maintained a strong grip on him and managed to lead him to his bathroom.

  When he had to let go, he missed the comfort of her touch.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Heaven sat on the window seat in Kendra’s room. The view was magnificent. She could spend hours just watching the shadows change, listen to the birds sing. Her hand skittered across a sketchpad as she peeked up at the bending willow trees. She hoped to capture their likeness.

  “What are you drawing?” Kendra asked from her computer.

  “The scenery. It’s so beautiful.” Her hand kept moving.

  “Are you making Damon a present?” Kendra asked, the innocent question echoing in Heaven’s head. She twisted to stare at the girl’s profile. “A pr
esent?” she asked. “Why?”

  “Tomorrow’s his birthday. He’s crabby on his birthday so I wouldn’t draw him anything.”

  “Wait. Tomorrow is Damon’s birthday?” She rose and strode towards Kendra.

  Kendra kept typing. “He’ll be thirty,” she said.

  “And there’s no party?”

  Kendra looked up, horror written all over her face. “No!”

  “Parties are a bad thing?”

  “Damon doesn’t like his birthday. Or any holiday.”

  Heaven’s mind had already leaped ahead. Damon may hate his birthday, but he would have a party this year. Perhaps that would help him get over his distaste. “Don’t you even buy a cake and presents?” she asked.

  Kendra’s eyes rounded. “Noooooooooooo. He’d get mad.”

  Heaven felt a mixture of irritation and excitement. She’d worked for Damon several months now and, although they’d formed a reluctant friendship, it was a friendship. Sometimes he irritated her with his dour outlook on life. He needed to see the bright side, and she would show him.

  “We’re going to have a party,” she said, feeling a rush of happiness, remembering the fuss made over her own birthdays.

  “He isn’t going to like this, Heaven,” Kendra said, in a mournful tone.

  “Maybe not at first, but he’ll end up enjoying himself.”

  “I think you’re gonna be sorry,” Kendra whispered.

  “Nonsense. Can I use your cell phone?”

  “Yes, but…”

  Heaven swiped the phone off her desk and called Francesca, Father Michael and finally Aiden, who reacted with the same horror as Kendra.

  Heaven dismissed everybody’s caution and threw herself into the spirit of a surprise thirtieth party. It reminded her of nice family memories from her childhood and she wanted to pass them along to Damon. For the most part, he’d been good to her.

  The following afternoon, Damon came home from the shelters, ready to take a nap. He’d had a hard day and, if that weren’t bad enough, it was his detested birthday, the day his father had whipped him more than even Christmas.

  “This is for being alive, you little shit!” Damon could still feel the whip.