In his room, I close the blinds to the small window that faces my charting station and shut the door. After I push Marcus’s scheduled medications into his IV, I touch his warm, soft hand and lean down close to his mouth. An urge I’ve never had before comes over me, and I want to bite his perfect full bottom lip.
What is it about him that makes me have thoughts like this? What is it that draws me to him like a moth to a flame?
I bite the inside of my cheek to help rein in my compulsion and turn my head to the side like a curious animal. The image of him opening his eyes at this exact moment flashes in my mind and I almost chuckle. He would think I was an absolute maniac. I’m sure I’d be out on my ass fired from being his nurse forever.
I move away a few inches and, after a moment of hesitation, I speak in a soft voice.
“Marcus, it’s Imani again. You were in an accident three days ago. You’re in the hospital, and I’m your nurse. You look like a guy who keeps a clean-shaven face, am I right? I’m going to help you out in that department, okay?”
I don’t expect him to respond, but I’ve always felt it important to communicate with my patients whether they can talk back or not. They are still in there somewhere, and if it were myself locked away in my brain I’d like to be spoken to.
I can’t believe no one has taken the time to shave his face in the four days I’ve been off. He’s going to look like a lumberjack pretty soon, albeit the sexiest lumberjack who ever lived.
I move the oxygen cannula from his face and lay it on the pillow. I hitch my hip onto the bed next to him and settle in to enjoy the heat from his body against mine.
I inhale and blow away the anxious butterflies in my tummy. His hair flutters from my breath and foreign feelings spark through my body.
I smooth shaving cream over his face and neck and begin to drag the razor along his neck while tilting his chin and rotating his face around for a close shave. I take my time and enjoy touching him in such an intimate way while he sleeps.
The job could have been done much quicker, and I feel a little guilty for drawing it out on purpose but that doesn’t stop me.
When I’m finished, I place my hands on either side of his face and brush my thumbs against his smooth newly-exposed skin. He’s even more breathtaking with a clean-shaven face. I didn’t think that was possible.
I brush a dark curl of hair from his forehead and lean in closer to examine a gash along his hairline that isn’t clean enough for my liking. I grab a few alcohol pads and some sterile gauze to clean the wound.
I continue to speak to him in a soft, low voice, explaining every move I make until he’s bandaged up. When I’m done, I sit back and examine my work. It’s perfect, like him.
I sit and daydream for a while about leaning down and brushing my lips against his. How would that feel? Would he know, would he remember? Am I losing my fucking mind even having these thoughts?
I hop off the edge of the bed, replace the oxygen, clean up my mess, and leave the room in a rush. This is ridiculous. Maybe I should trade patients with another nurse?
No, I can’t. The thought of anyone else touching him makes me want to yell “Stop, he’s mine!”
Yep, I’ve lost it, no doubt about it.
I keep my hands to myself for the rest of my shift, and, when it’s over, I find myself reluctant to leave again.
His day nurse today informs me that his sister has been coming around nine the past two mornings. I know he won’t be alone, but the nagging anxiety I feel about leaving him won’t go away. He’s a stranger, Imani, a stranger, and you’ll be back here in a little more than twelve hours. Twelve hours has never felt so far away.
Chapter 3
At home, I wash my face, tie my long ebony hair in a knot, and grab a bottle of water before curling up in my bed. I hold off on taking my sleeping pills for now and pull my iPad from the drawer of my bedside table. The blank screen begs me to Google Marcus’s place of business and, after a second of hesitation, I tap my finger on the glass and type in Dominus.
I’m surprised to find that it’s an elegant member's-only restaurant and nightclub. A few clicks later, I learn that it’s not a single restaurant but a chain with locations all over the world. Here in the U.S., he has one in Seattle, San Diego, New York, Chicago, and Miami. Internationally, there are locations in Italy, France, Brazil, and even Australia.
Damn, this man is successful. I knew he must have money or he would have never landed in Seattle Trinity hospital, but I didn’t expect this.
I can’t get over the degree of extravagance. No expense was spared in the decorating department, that’s for sure. The nightclubs are dark and mysterious, a little creepy for my taste but that peaks my curiosity a bit more.
A little voice in the back of my head is telling me that I should stop right here. Digging any deeper into this man’s past is only going to bring me trouble, but do I listen?
No.
Fifteen minutes after I told my little voice to shut up, I’ve only learned three things about Marcus Castillo. He is thirty-six years old, he lives in Seattle, and he was born and raised in Italy.
That’s it.
I hit the brick wall of all brick walls after finding his birthplace. There’s no more personal information to be found, nothing.
There are pictures of him at various Dominus locations around the world, spanning over at least fifteen years. He is wearing a regal suit in every photograph, but what stands out the most to me are his eyes. They look vaguely familiar to me.
They’re a piercing green, but not just green. It’s a unique shade of green that a person could get lost in. They’re hypnotic, smoldering bedroom eyes in many of the photos but, in others, I see solitude and seclusion. I’m an eye person. I believe in the saying that your eyes are the windows to your soul.
I would have guessed him to have brown eyes with his dark complexion and Italian heritage. Then it dawns on me; the eyes, of course I have seen them before. But they were on someone else, his twin.
Elena has the same green eyes, but hers have something that Marcus’s don’t. Elena’s eyes sparkle with a certain peace and tranquility that his lack.
In almost every photograph he is alone, as in without women or a date, and he is never smiling. You’d think women would be flocking around a gorgeous, wealthy man like Marcus.
His expressions are intense and sharp with the hint of a scowl. Now I can see why he has those tiny permanent lines between his eyes.
I scroll down and come across a collection of photographs taken at Dominus locations all over the world. There are famous people, and I mean A-list celebrities, posing with him on red carpets that lead into his posh restaurants and nightclubs. Not one person is touching him in any of the pictures. They stand close, but it’s clear that he is not a touchy-feely kind of man and everyone knows it.
Frustrated, I lay the iPad aside and take my sleeping pills. I snuggle down into the duvet and close my eyes. In the darkness, I imagine how it must feel to be him right now trapped in his mind unable to move or speak, possibly aware of what’s going on around him yet powerless to do anything about it.
Marcus comes off like a man who thrives off of being in control and feeds on power. Maybe that’s what Elena meant when she said he was difficult.
Maybe I don’t want him to wake up after all.