It Started At Christmas…. Jo McNally
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gesturing around the room, and she stepped back, rattled by the sudden movement. He wasn’t going to hire her. There was no sense in begging. This had been her last hope, and she wasn’t going to get the job. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She’d have to go home to Kansas, where all her nightmares began.
She should get out of here now, while she still had some shred of dignity. She raised her chin, determined not to show him what a blow he was dealing her.
“It’s clear your mind is made up. Excuse me.” She moved toward the door, praying he’d just let her pass without coming any closer.
His brow arched high.
“That’s it? You’re not going to fight for the job after going through that elaborate ruse to get yourself here?”
This was nothing more than a game to him. He thought she was some nice young girl pretending to be a real designer. Wasn’t that what David had called her? As much as she wanted to prove them both wrong, she had to leave. Now. There was a panic attack barreling down on her like a freight train, and she didn’t want any witnesses. Especially one who already thought she was a poser.
She started to walk past him and out the door, but her feet refused to cooperate with her bravado, and she stumbled. Damn it! Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reaching for her. No!
Her arms flew out. He grabbed at her. Shit! She tried to push him away and break her fall at the same time, but she ended up on the stone floor, looking up at him as he gripped her shoulders.
“Careful! Are you o—” Their eyes met. “Miss Lowery? Amanda? Can you hear me?”
His hands were on her. His hands were on her! She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her body trembled, making her head rattle against the marble floor. Her vision faded. The pain in her chest was so overwhelming she wondered if she was dying. She must have said as much, because a deep voice answered from much too close.
“You’re not dying. You just need to breathe. Hold my hand and squeeze. Try to breathe.”
“Can’t…hurts… Panic attack…” Strong arms gathered her up.
No! But she didn’t have the strength to struggle. Every ounce of energy was spent trying to pull oxygen into her lungs.
“Tell me how to help you.” She could hear fear in his voice, and it raised her panic level even higher. She heard a keening wail of pain and realized it was her. Her lungs were on fire, and she could barely form words.
“Don’t…touch me…”
A gruff burst of air blew across her cheek. “That’s not an option.”
She was moving, flying. Being carried. He was shifting her around and fishing for something in his pocket. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen to hold on to consciousness.
From far away, she heard a disembodied voice and snippets of conversation.
“Julie?…yes, Amanda Lowery…staying at the resort…panic attack…at the house…” Amanda rested her head on a solid shoulder. It was almost a relief to give up her fight against the inevitable darkness. The last thing she heard were soft words against her cheek.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
There was a fairy-tale princess sleeping in his bed, right down to the flowing locks of golden hair. She had the face of an angel. An angel princess. Blake scrubbed his hand down his face, leaning back in the tall chair.
“You keep doing that and you won’t have any skin left on your face.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Amanda Lowery’s cousin standing behind him. He gave a soft, humorless laugh.
“It’s been one hell of a morning, Mel.”
The tall brunette leaned her hip against the back of his chair. “For all of us. The doctor said she’s okay, though. He gave her a pill. She’s just sleeping.”
Sure, she was sleeping now. But an hour ago, she’d taken ten years off his life. The panic had consumed her like wildfire, and there hadn’t been a damned thing he could do to stop it.
He’d carried her up to his room in Halcyon while calling Julie, the assistant manager of the resort. Within minutes, a pissed-off brunette charged into his upstairs suite, ready to rescue Amanda and accusing him of all kinds of things. Fortunately, Julie had been just a few minutes behind Mel, along with a doctor staying at the resort. Julie convinced Mel that Blake wasn’t an ax murderer, and was actually the guy Amanda had an appointment with. Once Mel calmed down, she confirmed what Amanda had tried to tell him—that it had been a panic attack.
“Why were you so insistent on keeping her here?” Mel asked. “After you knew she’d tricked you into interviewing her?”
Mel sat carefully on the edge of the bed, looking first at Amanda and then at him. It had been no surprise when she’d reluctantly confirmed to Julie that she was the famous fashion model known as Mellie Low. Every move this dark-haired woman made was intentionally graceful, as if there was always a camera on her. If he was in the market for a relationship, she was far more his usual type than Amanda—tall, elegant and coolly confident. But he wasn’t in the market. That wall he’d constructed around his heart after losing Tiffany was high and solid. Completely impenetrable. He relaxed back into the chair and met her questioning eyes calmly.
“I’m not a monster, Mel. She just about had a heart attack in my house, and nearly gave me one in the process.” He dropped his voice. “I keep a few furnished rooms here for when I’m in town, so it made sense to bring her up here.” He looked up and noted her skepticism. “At least it made sense at the time.”
Mel studied him hard for a minute, and he felt sorry for anyone who got on the wrong side of this woman. Her eyes were sharp as razors. If she ever decided to be a cop, that violet glare would have suspects confessing their guts all over the place. She was trying to protect her cousin, and he respected that. It wasn’t the kind of family he’d grown up in, but it was the way families were supposed to be.
“She’s safe here, I promise.”
Mel’s shoulders relaxed a bit at his comment, raising a red flag in his mind.
“That hasn’t always been the case, has it? She hasn’t always been safe?”
“No.” She hesitated a moment and glanced at Amanda before answering in a hushed voice. “She’s had a tough summer. Lost her job. About to lose her share of a shared apartment. And she was…” Mel straightened as if she realized she was speaking out of turn.
“Someone hurt her,” he said softly.
She pressed her lips together and shook her head, but Blake could see the truth in her eyes. Someone had put their hands on the pretty princess sleeping in his bed. That’s why she told him not to touch her. Was it a boyfriend? A stranger? His fingers curled into fists against his legs.
“And the panic attacks?” Blake was trying hard not to care, but he couldn’t stop asking questions.
“You’ve seen firsthand how bad they can be.”
He nodded. When she’d first landed on the living room floor, he’d thought she was having a seizure. Then their eyes had met and he’d known she was trapped in some nightmare he had no part of. The glassy terror in her eyes would haunt him for a long time to come.
She’d been skittish before that, but he’d figured she was just feeling guilty about the little game she was playing. When she’d stumbled and he’d reached for her, there was nothing funny about the way she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. She’d scared the hell out of him, that’s for damned sure. He was still afraid. He couldn’t shake it for some reason.