‘Do you ever shut up? C’mere bitch.’ He leaned over and lunged with surprising speed for such a big man. She screamed as his big fist snared an ankle, screamed louder as he tugged her back down the bed until she was flat on her back.
‘Let me show you what a real man can do.’
Panic made her lash out with her other foot. She felt a crack as she made contact with something that felt like a brick, a sudden rush of pain spearing up her leg so intense that she almost thought the yowl she heard had come from her, until blood spurted from his nose. ‘Bitch!’ he cried, before reaching for her again.
‘Get off her, you bastard!’
And then the bed beside her seemed to explode with flailing limbs and flying fists and she rolled away, falling to the floor, wondering if she were caught in some cruel dream. Because Daniel wasn’t due back for hours, yet somehow he was here.
Someone rushed to her aid, pulling her away from the mess of tangled, writhing bodies while others swarmed over the bed, finishing the job of subduing Jo that Daniel had started until he was led away, bleeding and unrepentant.
Daniel rushed to her side and held her close, making out that she was something precious. Like she meant something. She wanted to be grateful to him. She wanted to with all her heart.
Except it was too late.
Cairns Base Hospital was cool and clinical and with just the right amount of detachment Sophie needed. She breathed in the sterile atmosphere, steeling herself, knowing she’d need it for the next visitor. Especially when her heart felt like a bleeding mess.
If only her doctor had been by to discharge her already, she would have been gone before the nurse called to ask if she was up to having a visitor.
There was a knock at the door as she stuffed things into her bag and she turned to see him already filling the space. Damn. She turned away almost as quickly.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Why did he always have to look so good no matter what he was wearing? He looked like he’d just walked out of an article on ‘Saturday-unshaven, designer-casual’ from the pages of GQ magazine: the alpha-male edition.
‘You’re leaving?’
‘The doctor’s on his way. I’m expecting to be discharged. All observations in the range of normal, apparently. No residual trace of concussion.’
‘I can take you home.’
She sighed, her hands stilling over the bag. Home. Now there was a concept. ‘I’ve organised transport, thanks.’
‘Sophie.’ And when she turned back it was to find him right there, so close to her that she flinched. The terror of yesterday’s events was much too recent, the fear that she might throw herself into his arms much too real. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, dropping his lifted hand as he gave her space. ‘But your cheek…’
‘The swelling will fade, along with the bruises.’ Besides, it was the bruises he couldn’t see that hurt more. ‘I guess it could have been worse.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What are you sorry for?’ She managed a tremulous laugh as she shifted away. ‘You’re the one who saved me, aren’t you?’
‘You were doing a pretty good job of saving yourself when I saw you. Did they tell you you’d broken Jo’s nose with your foot? Remind me never to get in your way in bed.’
She smiled a wan smile of resignation. ‘I think we both know there’s not much chance of that happening.’
A pause followed her words; she wasn’t sure what she was expecting to come, and she wasn’t sure whether she was more relieved or surprised when he did speak. ‘It’s my fault. I should have suspected how dangerous Jo was when we discovered he was stealing. I should have known he’d come after you.’
So he wasn’t mourning her loss from his bed? That was good, wasn’t it? Sophie’s teeth found her lip, bit down on the pain of swollen tissue and suddenly realised the old habit was something she hadn’t done for what seemed like ages.
She nodded numbly, wondering more about the lip than anything else. Maybe because that seemed easier to deal with.
‘I want to explain about Jo.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘Believe me, there’s every need. Will you hear me?’
She sat down on the bed. What choice did she have? Until the doctor came, it wasn’t as though she was going anywhere. And it wasn’t as though it was going to change anything. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’
He took a deep breath and blew it out in a rush. ‘After Emma’s death I got home from Italy as soon as I could. I couldn’t believe it. I blamed myself for not insisting she come with us, like we’d originally wanted. I was a mess. I wanted to break something—someone—Jake. He was lying critically injured in a coma and I wanted to go finish the job.’