almost lost her once,” Ben reminded him. “Where is she now?”
“Home.”
“Alone?” Pressure tightened the muscles in his chest as his fear for her safety conflicted with his fear that she might not be alone. Although they’d been divorced four years, he wanted her with no one but him. Which made him selfish as hell, since he couldn’t give her what she deserved—happiness, security…
“She thinks she’s alone,” Sebastian said.
“But you have someone watching her?” Ben asked, the fear rushing back.
The other man nodded.
“Someone you can trust?”
Sebastian flinched. “You’re the only one I really trust—”
“Damn it, you promised you’d watch over her—that you’d make sure she didn’t get hurt.” And Ben shouldn’t have trusted anyone with that responsibility but himself. But, as Paige had often reminded him—when he’d tried to give her alimony—since he’d signed the divorce papers, she was no longer his responsibility.
“She’ll be safe,” Sebastian insisted. “The person watching her is too afraid to hurt her or to let her get hurt.”
“Afraid of you?” Ben asked, arching a brow with skepticism. Sebastian had the reputation of being more of a lover than a fighter.
“Afraid of you,” the other man clarified.
“Then I should be the one protecting her,” Ben said. The divorce hadn’t stopped him from caring about her no matter how much Paige wanted to keep things light and impersonal between them. All sex and no emotion. He couldn’t blame her after the way he’d hurt her.
Now he had to make certain no one else hurt her. He turned toward the door just as a guttural moan echoed down the hall. From all the years he’d been a surgeon, Ben readily recognized the cry of pain. While the cry was familiar, the voice was not. Ben grabbed his bag and hurried out to find his patient collapsed on the floor. Blood spurted between the fingers of the hand that the guy clutched against his throat.
“Son of a bitch,” Sebastian murmured from behind Ben. “Is he mortal…?”
“I think we’re about to find out.” Someone could have tried “turning” the guy into a vampire, but that process proved such a risk. Ben had treated many mortals as they turned; he’d lost more of them than he’d been able to save.
He focused on this patient, refusing to lose another one—even while he worried that he might lose Paige. Again.
The sun had yet to rise when Paige returned to Club Underground. An outside light illuminated the cement steps leading down to the bar. Trying to sleep had been pointless—with all the thoughts racing through her mind and chasing her back here to reinspect that sinister flower arrangement. She hurried down the stairs, the skin pricking between her shoulder blades as if someone’s gaze bored a hole in her back. Ever since she’d left her condo, she’d had that sensation, the one of being watched.
Her hand shook as she shoved the keys in the lock and opened the door. As she crossed the dance floor to the hall, her foot slipped and she fell, one leg forward, her other one folded beneath her. She sucked in a breath of pain over her forced splits. “What the hell…?”
She’d trusted Sebastian to supervise the cleaning crew, but one of the crew must have missed a spilled drink. She ran her hand across the polished floorboards, smearing something sticky across the wood and her skin. To identify the substance in the dim security lighting, she lifted her hand to her face. “Blood?”
And it wasn’t just on the floor. A streak had spattered across the wall next to the door to the hall leading to her office. Fear clutched at her heart—not for herself but for her brother. Was Sebastian all right? She opened her mouth to scream his name, but then a noise—a bump and a clatter—echoed down the hall. From her office or the locked door?
She reached for her purse, and the cell phone inside it. But when she’d fallen the contents had spilled out and scattered across the floor. Tears of frustration stung her eyes; she needed to call for help. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the bar, moving behind it to the phone sitting next to the register.
Another bump and a mumbled curse echoed down the hall. Her hand passed over the phone, and she closed her fingers around the neck of a bottle instead. No matter who she called, they wouldn’t arrive in time to protect her. She had to protect herself.
Adrenaline pulsing in every nerve ending, she headed around the bar to the hall—the liquor bottle clutched tight in her hand. Her flower sender was about to get his first round free—against the side of his head.
Paige stepped into the hall, brandishing the bottle as a weapon. But before she could swing at the shadow that stepped out of her office, strong fingers closed around her wrist.
“Damn it, Paige,” the man remarked, “you almost got me with that. What the hell—”
“Ben!” She smacked his shoulder with her free hand. “What the hell are you doing here—besides scaring me half to death?”
“Hey, you’re the one who nearly knocked me out,” Ben said. “I’m here because Sebastian asked me to come down.”
“Is he all right?” she asked, glancing around her ex to search for her brother. However, the office was empty except for that gruesome flower arrangement.
“He’s fine,” Ben said. “He’s already taken off.”
“What about the blood out there on the dance floor? Is that his?”
Ben shook his head. “No. It wasn’t his.”
“What happened out there? Who got hurt?”
His broad shoulders lifted in a weary shrug. “I don’t know. One of the cleaning crew must have cut himself. Sebastian didn’t say anything about it.”
“You didn’t notice the blood?”
He shook his head again. “After all the years I’ve spent in an O.R., I guess I’m desensitized to it.”
If only she could get desensitized to him…Because where his fingers still gripped her wrist, her skin tingled and heat streaked throughout her body. She lifted her gaze to his face, and while his eyes darkened with desire, lines of fatigue radiated from them. And a dark shadow clung to his jaw.
“Why did you come back down here?” she asked. “You look like you need your sleep.” But in all the time she’d known him, he’d never gotten enough rest. The man did not know how to take it easy.
His mouth shifted into a sideways grin, as if he was too tired to curve his lips into a complete smile. “Is that a nice way of saying I look like hell?”
She laughed. “Don’t pretend I’ve wounded your pride. I’m sure there are plenty of females down at the hospital—staff and patients—who stroke your ego quite enough.”
“Now you’re calling me conceited.”
“Conceited?”
