Page 15 of Balthazar's Fire
“Did he…?” Voice lowered, Balthazar steeled himself to ask the one question that had haunted him since he’d awoken on the lodge’s veranda. “Hurt you?”
“No.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “Not in the way you mean.”
Relief emanated through Balthazar’s body at her admission, although neither had clarified what they meant.
“But he still tied me up down there and threatened me.” She gasped as if the recollections caused physical pain. Perhaps, he realized, they did. “He touched me…”
Fuck. Balthazar drove his fingernails into his palm, biting down on the fury that furled inside his gut.
“Why would he do that?” she rasped, her delicate digits grasping at the fabric of his shirt. “Why would he do any of this?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied honestly. “But we will find out, Cherie. We won’t let him get away with this.”
“Why?” she repeated, but this time she rose from his chest, her eyes drilling into his.
“Why what?”
“Why won’t you let him get away with this?” Her brow creased. “I mean, I’m forever grateful, Balthazar, but what has any of this got to do with you? It was me he took, me he…” Her voice trailed away.
“You were with me at the time, remember,” he replied. “He attacked me to get to you.”
“Of course.” Her eyes widened as though she’d been remiss to forget what Balthazar had experienced, even though it was miniscule by comparison. Withdrawing, her gaze traveled over him for evidence of injury. “I’m sorry. How are you? You must be in agony.”
“I’m fine, really.” Reaching for her, he squeezed her hand gently. “I heal fast.”
That was one way of putting it.
“I saw what he did to you,” she replied as though after his reminder, she was being forced to relive it all over again. “There’s no way you’re healed so soon.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he reiterated, not wanting to delve into the subject of his rapid healing until he was surer—more certain that she was okay, and that it was safe to share such personal details with her—but gods, how he longed to. He wanted to share everything with her, and was desperate to pick up where they’d left off at the lodge—before Monroe had shattered their bubble of bliss.
“Where are we going?” Her gaze shifted from the window to him.
“To a house I own,” he answered. “If that’s okay? I can ask the driver to take you home if you prefer?”
But I really hope you don’t.
He held his breath as she considered her reply.
“I’d like to be with you.” Her voice was tentative. “I feel as though we were interrupted last night, but I don’t know how the last few hours are going to impact me.”
“Do you need a doctor?” His gaze looked for evidence of cuts and bruises, but thankfully found none. “I have a good physician I can call.”
“More like a hot bath, a glass of wine, and some sleep.” She laughed, the sound relaxed. “And maybe a counselor somewhere down the line.”
“Okay.” He swallowed, fighting his inner conflict about whether or not to kiss her. He wanted to—badly—but sensed that this was not the right time. “I have a place where you can do all those things, but I totally understand if you want the privacy of your own home.”
“I don’t want to be alone.” Disquiet flashed in her green eyes. “He knows where I live, and…”
“Of course,” Balthazar purred. “He was your boss.”
“Right.”
“Honestly, I’d rather you weren’t alone, either, and I’m happy to keep you company and offer you a hot bath and bed.”
He didn’t mention how much he’d love to join her in the bed, but he wondered if it showed in his eyes.
“What about the wine?” She smirked. “Did you forget that?”