Champagne Kisses (The Kisses 4)

Chapter 28

Present Day

The rest of the day was a blur. All I felt was pain, the gray shadows of memory taunting me with Daniel's life. He had been my friend, my father, and my employer. Despite months of preparation, it had come too soon. His absence left a hole in my heart that could never be filled.

The doctor entered the room, checking Daniel's limp wrist for a pulse. Bianca clung to him, her eyes shut as she willed him to still be alive. The doctor carefully worked around her, performing the necessary checks before quietly leaving the room. He put his hand on Jack's shoulder as he left, murmuring the words, "I'm sorry," he said, and Jack nodded, but I don't think he actually heard him. His eyes were glued to the bedroom, tears silently running down his face.

Upon the doctor's apology, Robbie stood. He stared at those of us in the doorway for a moment before taking off down the stairs. I heard the front door slam, but I let him go. A minute later, I could hear the roar of an engine as he drove off. I hoped he was going to his boat. At least he could find solace there.

Time passed, but no one else moved. A light touch on my shoulder from one of the funeral home attendants told me they had arrived. We shifted awkwardly from the door; my legs were numb, as though they had fallen asleep. I wondered what time it was, but realized that I didn't care.

The attendants went to Daniel's body, but Bianca refused to leave her beloved husband. He was gone, but she held onto him and refused to let go. Jack, Emma, and I had to pull her off of him. Her screams and pleas rang in my ears as we slowly coaxed her off the bed. As Daniel was taken away, she collapsed to the floor, sobs racking her body as Jack took her in his arms. He held her, the two of them rocking slowly back and forth as he let her cry.

I turned and left, not wanting to see her pain. My own chest felt like lead. It was hard to move, and I just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. Or wake up and find out it'd it all just been a horrible dream. I wished Dean could take me up in his arms, to just let him hold me and take my pain away. But we couldn't.

He found small ways to make it easier, though—pushing food in front of me, telling me I needed to eat as I attended to business. He would put his hand on my shoulder whenever he walked by, and he gave me a kiss on the cheek when he thought no one else was around. We had to be careful not to appear as anything more than friends.

I finally locked myself in the guest room to work. I had to notify the shareholders, the media, and the company, as well as put the funeral plans into motion. I went through my job like a robot, my head in a gray fog of loss, but getting things done nonetheless. I tried not to think about anything.

***

I woke up the next morning, still fully clothed on the guest bed, my hair messy and my face smeared with tears. I didn't even remember falling asleep. I zombie-walked to the shower, turning on the water so it would warm up. I stood there staring at the rising steam and I wished I could have Dean with me. I gave serious thought to texting him, so that he might come to my room and hold me in the shower.

Before I knew what I was doing—before I even bothered to think of the consequences—my phone was open, and I was calling Dean's number. He picked up on the second ring.

"Can you get away for a little bit? I'd like to see you," I said. I felt breathless and giddy.

"I'll be there in just a minute," Dean answered. The phone went silent, and I stared at it in my hand. What am I doing? I thought to myself. If we got caught, both our jobs would be up for evaluation from the board. Jack and Emma wouldn't have any say in it because we broke the rules of the employee contract. But I needed him.

There was a soft knock on the door, and I hurried to unlock it. Dean stood in the hallway, his eyes almost gray with worry.

"Are you okay? I came by last night but the door was locked, and you weren't answering." He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "I was worried about you."

As soon as the door was shut, I fell into him. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close to him. My worry and pain seemed to fade as long as he was touching me. When he was with me, I felt like things were going to be all right. It didn't hurt so much when he could help carry my heavy heart.

"I'm sorry. I just crashed." My words were muffled by his chest. He took a deep breath and smoothed my hair.

"It's okay," he said, and kissed the top of my head. "Is your shower running?"

I pulled back with a sheepish grin. He cocked his head a little, clearly wondering what I was up to.

"I was actually hoping you might join me." I bit my lip. There were hundreds of reasons he should say no, but I hoped he would say yes. He hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

"Get in the water," he said, giving me a gentle push toward the bathroom. I wasn't sure he was coming until he started untying his shoes. "You've got fifteen minutes before I have to be anywhere."

I gave him the biggest smile I could manage and hurried to the bathroom door. He padded behind me on bare feet, stripping his shirt as he went. Inside the bathroom, I pulled yesterday's dirty shirt over my head, shaking my hair free of what was left of my bun.

Steam was filling the tiled bathroom, but I could still clearly see the definition in Dean's chest. I shimmied out of my pants, and quickly slipped off my undergarments before stepping into the hot water. It felt marvelous to get clean.

The glass door clicked shut as Dean walked in behind me.

The water came down hard and hot, pounding on my head and soaking me from head to toe. It felt wonderful. My shoulders eased down as the stress, sweat, and tears from the night before washed away. I closed my eyes, losing myself to the steady thrum of the water on my head. I could feel Dean behind me, a solid presence that was waiting patiently for me with a bottle of shampoo in his hands.

I stepped out of the flow of water, slowly wiping my eyes and looking up at Dean. He carefully poured shampoo into his hand, clicked the top shut, and moved in next to me. The water bounced off my skin and onto his, his tattoo starting to shine in the water. With gentle hands, he worked the suds into my hair. His fingers made slow circles, massaging my scalp. I closed my eyes, focusing only on the wonderful sensation of being cared for.

He braced one hand against my forehead, pushing me back gently into the shower head. The hot water sluiced through my hair, but because of his hand, never went near my eyes. The shampoo suds slid down my back as he gently worked the soap out of my hair.

When my hair was fully rinsed, he released his hand and reached for the bottle of conditioner, letting me stay in the water as he poured it into his hand. I stepped out, blinking water droplets from my eyelashes as he again worked his hands through my hair. He combed my wet tresses with his fingers, never pulling as he worked the conditioner into every strand of dark hair. It was the most luxurious, and intimate, experience of my life. He leaned me back into the water again, working the conditioner out of my hair in the hot water. I loved Dean for taking care of me when I needed it most.