Page 5

Five

Dash

“ ‘In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will no longer be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ ”

I read the words and can’t help but smile.

This is some seriously romantic shit. I’ve been reading to Willow on and off for two days and I can’t put the damn book down. I don’t know what’s more interesting—the fact that I’m reading a romance novel or that I’m reading to a woman in a coma who I don’t know.

Except I’m starting to feel like I do know her.

I’ve had my team dig up anything and everything they can find about her, going back to when she was a kid.

Overbearing stage mother.

Racy photoshoots and commercials starting at ten years old.

A wild streak in her teens, earning her quite the reputation.

Doing a movie with Dylan Durand that changed her career—and apparently, her life.

They moved in together as soon as the film wrapped and have been the couple about town ever since. Rich, beautiful, and the crème de la crème in Hollywood. They have it all on paper.

But I’ve started to find the chinks in the armor.

Bruises on her arm that makeup didn’t quite cover up at a premiere.

The fact that she seemingly has no girlfriends—at least, none that I can find evidence of.

Cringe-worthy comments Durand has made in interviews that people have laughed off as sweet and romantic, when I find them controlling as fuck. I’m not a relationship kind of guy, but I would never talk about a woman I love like that.

I wish I knew more, but Durand keeps a tight rein on his private life, only allowing the public to see what he wants us to see. So much so even my guys couldn’t get close to their palatial estate in Malibu.

Things are finally coming together in the book, and while I’ve become invested in the story, I’m a little bit more invested in what’s going on with Willow and Dylan.

He’s not a good man. I didn’t even try to hide that I was eavesdropping on his visit this morning, and the way he talks to Willow makes my skin crawl.

Insulting her, threatening, even roughly shaking her leg at one point.

That asshole is downright cruel.

It took a lot of self-control not to walk in and put my fist through his face.

A dozen times.

In my peripheral vision, I notice movement and I do a double take.

“ ‘I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with you as ever.’ ”

Am I imagining that Willow’s finger just moved?

I freeze, practically holding my breath, watching, and…there it is again.

Holy shit.

Maybe a few more pages will motivate her.

“‘What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here?’”

She stirs, shifting on the bed.

I’ve never seen her move before.

“Willow?” I speak quietly. “Are you awake, Sleeping Beauty? Can you open your eyes, honey?”

She’s trying.

I'm no doctor but I can see it—see her—fighting the darkness, trying to make her way back to the light.

“You can do it,” I encourage. “Just open your eyes for me, and I’ll keep reading…” I don’t know why I say that, but it seems to work because?—

Jesus.

Cloudy blue eyes blink open.

Slowly.

She’s awake .

Confused, sleepy, and a little out of it, but her eyes are open and now they seem focused on me. The tiniest frown appears between her brows, as if she’s confused, and who can blame her? She doesn’t know me from Adam.

I lightly put my hand on hers.

“Hey, there. Welcome back. You’re in the hospital. You hit your head and have been in a coma for about a month, but everything is okay now.”

Her thumb twitches, rubbing against the side of my pointer finger.

“Let me get a nurse—” I begin.

“N-nnn…” It’s a hoarse, barely discernible whisper, but there’s no doubt in my mind she’s saying no.

“I’m not a doctor,” I explain. “I’m just a volunteer…reading to you. You need?—”

“P-plea…” She can’t quite get the word out, but she’s saying please.

Her heart rate just increased slightly—I can see it on the machine that’s been monitoring her vitals—and the last thing I want is to upset her.

“Okay. Let’s just sit here for a minute, so you can get your bearings. You want me to keep reading?”

There’s a nod. Tiny but effective.

So I do.

“ ‘Lady Catherine’s unjustifiable endeavors to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts…’ ”

Man, this might be the most romantic stuff I’ve ever heard. No wonder she likes it. It’s not my thing and yet I’m completely invested in the story and the characters. Not that I’ll ever admit it to anyone.

“ ‘I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice…’ ”

“Th-thank you,” she says when I finish and there’s a faint, faraway smile on her face.

“You’re welcome.” I close the book and put it down.

“Who…are… you?” Willow suddenly whispers.

“My name is Hudson. I broke my hip and got a concussion at work, so I’m a patient here too.

I can’t sleep at night, and thought reading to you might be helpful.

But I really should tell someone you’re awake.

Your fiancé will be so happy to hear—” I say it as a test, to see how she reacts to mentioning Dylan, and the heart monitor immediately ticks up.

“N-no. Please. No.” The soft blue eyes fill with tears. “D-don’t.”

“What can I do for you?” I ask gently. “Who can I call? Your mom?”

She shakes her head. “No. There’s no one.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

She closes her eyes again and sucks in a small, choppy breath before nodding.

I hate the fear that’s practically emanating from her.

I’ve seen this kind of terror with dozens of clients over the years, but never with such visible vulnerability.

And this is exactly why I do what I do.

There’s nothing I hate more than a bully, especially dangerous ones.

Like Dylan Durand.

There is no doubt in my mind he did this to her.

I close both my hands around her much smaller one. “Tell me what happened, Willow. You don’t know me, but I promise, you can trust me. I heard him talking to you, so I know something bad happened. Or is going to happen. Talk to me. Let me help. Please.”

She stares at me and I swear it’s like looking into destiny.

I don’t know what’s happening, but there’s more clarity in her eyes than I’ve seen in a lot of people who haven’t been in a coma for a month.

As if she’s weighing her options, sizing me up.

Then confusion mars her pretty face. “Who… are you… again?”

“My name is Hudson Dash,” I repeat patiently.

“I was in an accident and needed some specialized orthopedic care so I’m here at this hospital with you.

” I run down where we are specifically, and a few details about my surgery, hoping it will make her a little more comfortable.

“I’ve had insomnia, so when I heard one of the nurses reading to you, I decided to take over. ”

“You know who… I am?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Is that why you want… to help me?” The fear and confusion in her eyes is gut-wrenching.

I wonder for maybe the hundredth time why someone like her is all alone.

And scared .

In the hospital.

With no one but a creepy fiancé who threatens her while she’s sleeping.

It almost doesn’t seem real.

But she’s right in front of me, and Willow St. Claire is very real.

“Let me call a doctor,” I say gently, reaching for the call button. “She can probably?—”

She flinches. “No. Please. Dylan hired her. I’ve heard them talking…” She shudders slightly.

I release the button without depressing it. “It’s the middle of the night. Chances are, your fancy specialist isn’t going to come in, so it’ll just be the on-call neurologist or whatever. Someone who can make sure you’re going to be okay now that you’ve come out of the coma.”

“You don’t understand…” Her voice is more shaky now. “Once they find out I’m awake, he’s going to lock me away at the house and—” She cuts off, closing her eyes. “You don’t even know me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I can help you. If you let me. Trust me .”

She gazes up at me, and I can practically see the wheels turning.

She doesn’t know if she can trust me—how could she?—but she’s terrified.

And it appears she has nowhere else to turn.

Her fingers absently twine with mine, squeezing with more strength than I would have thought she’d have after being in a coma for over a month.

“He’s…going to… kill me. But no one… believes me.”

My chest squeezes painfully.

Over my dead body.

Bum hip or not, that’s not going to happen.

“I believe you.”