Fuck, I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve just called Selix. I didn’t need food. Merely someone to gather things to help.
Oh, well. She’ll do.
“Please arrange some tea, a hot water bottle, and painkillers to be brought to my room. Better bring a robe from the spa deck, too.”
“No problem. Did you want food?”
No, yes, I don’t fucking know.
“Bring something that would be suitable for someone who’s fainted.”
There was no pause or questions. “Sure. On its way.”
Hanging up, I sucked in a breath and rubbed my face. What the hell was I thinking stealing this girl? She needed help. More than what I was qualified or able to deliver. I’d been a selfish bastard once again, thinking only of himself.
Leaning forward, I cupped her cheek, ignoring the cool sweat and fear still coating her skin. “You have my word; nothing and no one will hurt you. You’re safe here.”
She didn’t stir.
Not able to sit still, I stood and paced at the bottom of the bed. My room was at the front of the ship with glass on every wall. Effectively, it was a gold fish bowl welcoming sea and sky rather than walls and ceiling. Each pane was quadruple thick and strong enough to withstand pounding squalls. And with one flick of a button, the see-through crystal became shaded with a chemical reaction, blocking the sun but negating the need for curtains.
I looked at my cello.
Up until the night we left Morocco, I hadn’t played since Pim came on board. The itch had been there, the drive in my fingers and need in my heart hounded me to become a prisoner to the notes. But Pim had been a fascination worthy of distracting me from my passion. Until I’d shut her out, of course.
The first night we left port, I’d played softly for only a few minutes. The next slightly louder and longer. The next longer and louder again.
Tonight was the first time I let myself go and poured myself into a song; mixing heavy metal with classical, I blended genres and lullabies to create my own.
I was tempted to put the large instrument back in its case. But as I stepped toward it, a rustle sounded from the bed.
Pim thrashed, her lips wide with silent screams.
Forgetting the cello, I dashed back to her and sat on the mattress. Tucking wild hair behind her ear, I murmured, “You’re safe. I’m here.”
Her thrashing turned worse.
I grunted as her leg connected with my side, but I never moved. My fingers wrapped around her cheek, holding her steady. “It’s me. He’s not here. Trust me.”
Her eyes flew open. In a microsecond, she tore herself away from my touch, ripped off the sheet, and shot to the head of the bed. Wedging herself against the flocked grey headboard, she hoisted her knees up and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking.
She didn’t look at me, though. Her fear wasn’t directed at me.
I followed her line of sight.
Her terror was toward my cello.
I stood, placing myself between them as if they were two lovers meeting for the first time. “It’s just an instrument. It won’t bite.”
She bared her teeth like a wild cat, a silent hiss on her tongue. Walking backward, I had an odd feeling she would like nothing more than to attack my prized possession and throw it overboard.
I wouldn’t let that happen. Under any circumstance.
Widening my stance, I blocked the cello with my body as best I could. “It’s just an object. It can’t hurt you.”
Her eyes flickered from me and back to the thing I prized most in the world. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, a thread of insanity clouded her gaze only for her to shake her head and snap back into the poised and incredibly strong woman I recognised.
Her arms slowly unwound, letting her legs fall to the side. Her breasts danced with shadow from the night sky above, but she made no move to cover up.
A quiet knock on the door wrenched her head to the side.
I held up my hands as if she’d sprout wings and smash through my glass ceiling. “It’s only the staff. You’ve dealt with them before.”
Her nostrils flared, her attention distracted between me and the cello as I crossed the room and opened the door. It fucking hurt to leave my instrument unguarded. I didn’t trust her.
Melinda stood with a white robe with the Phantom logo of a grey storm cloud, and a barely disguisable figure slung over her arm with a small tray, teapot, two cups, and a hot water bottle.
“Here you go, sir. I didn’t bring food; the tea should suffice for a fainting episode.”
“Thank you.” I took the items.
She reached into her pocket for a packet of painkillers. “Almost forgot.”
I took those too. “Appreciate it.”
“Not at all.” Her lined but pretty face smiled before she turned and headed back the way she’d come.