

# Destiny

## Book 1

# Saved by a Billionaire

### Eve Fox

Copyright © KC Global Enterprises Pty Ltd

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12
Chapter 1

The sidewalk was damp, the sky, a muddy grey. A curtain of wet clung to her as she walked silently holding her coat closed and her hands fisted to her stomach. For once her mind was blank, empty, hollow. The car lights accented the wet air along the highway. The lights seemed to seduce her, beckon her forward. There was a long pause in traffic. The darkness seemed sudden. Then, at a distance, she could see a car approaching. The light's path danced. An unspoken answer to her silent question. Without deciding it, she stepped off the curb, onto the slick pavement. Letting go of the front of her coat, she continued forward. Small steps, delicate, precise, moving her forward. Forward toward the shining lights.

Various figures, dollar amounts, dips and rises in stock ventures, discussed by a voice far too high to be taken seriously filled the car. Richard adjusted the cuff of his shirt, pulling it farther out of his jacket sleeve, and twisting slightly to ensure the cuff and cufflinks were aligned comfortably and properly. It was going to be another long night. Shuxing Qiye, the company Richard was dealing with this week, would be awaiting his proposal.

The rain had ended moments ago, but the wetness continued to linger in the air. His wipers swished and slapped rhythmically. Finally having enough of this lady-man newscaster, Richard reached for the dial on the radio. A flash of brown and green to his right grabbed his attention, and he slammed on the breaks. He flew forward with the momentum of the car then back again. A thud and pound assaulting his ears as something hit the hood of his car then disappeared.

Silence. Richard opened his eyes. The wipers slap, swished. The radio skipped between static and the crackle of indistinguishable voice. Richard reached for the gear selector, and put the car in park, releasing the brake pedal. Remembering the flash of color, Richard exited the car. Holding his breath, and desperately trying to tell the rapid, painful beating of his heart that it had been some kind of animal, Richard rounded to the front of the car.

"Shit." he stated almost calmly, kneeling onto the pavement before a female body. His hands hesitated above her body. Her brown coat lay open and to the side, revealing a green dress with lots of lace. Her legs were covered in raw, red, and bloody lacerations. One of her feet was missing its shoe. Small round, toenails painted a light blue that Richard was sure was named something ridiculous like Sad Sky or Oral-berry Smurf Sex, grabbed his attention. Not understanding why, Richard felt compelled to find her other shoe. He continued to study her.

A small tattoo sat below the bone of her ankle. The brown coat was of no interest, but the dress seemed stylish. It was not the kind of outfit someone would throw on for a late night walk. This was a dress that asked for attention and received it. Cut short, it gave Richard a view of tanned and toned legs. Legs that now were already bruising and bleeding.

Forcing himself to focus, Richard pulled his phone from the inner pocket of his suit coat. "9-1-1, what is your emergency?" a nasally voice spoke.

With a calm practiced through years of high-stakes business deals, Richard notified the dispatcher of the incident.

"Okay sir," the voice took a softer tone, "Can you tell me where you are?" Richard recited the street address, estimating how close he was to the next intersection. "Good. An ambulance is on its way. Have you taken her pulse? Is she breathing?"

Richard turned his attention once again to the woman lying in the street. She was still. Long, damp, brown hair lay over her face, slight curls everywhere. A car, headed in the opposite direction, shone on her hair, illuminating a rainbow of brown shades. Unable to tell if there was a subtle rise and fall of her chest that would confirm that she was, in fact, breathing, Richard placed his two fingers on her neck, nearest her jugular, and exhaled as he felt the steady, strong pulse. She was alive.

The next hour flew by. Adrenaline, the red, white, and blue lights flashing, the series of questions, answers, and more questions kept Richard occupied. It wasn't until the young woman, covered in a thin, white blanket, and strapped to the wheeled stretcher was being hoisted into the back of the ambulance that Richard really processed what he had done. The woman was still unconscious. _Unresponsive_ the EMTs had said. Words like _possible brain injury_ and _head contusions_ echoed.

Catching the arm of one of the medical personnel, Richard was able to confirm the hospital where she was going to be taken. He himself had refused treatment. A small cut on his forehead and possible bruising along his chest from the strain of the seatbelt was the only injury he had obtained.

He stood before his dented car. Richard ran his hands through his now disheveled hair, breathing slowly out of his mouth. This was a mess. He looked back to the fading ambulance. There was little he could do. His head was pounding and discouragement, guilt, and bewilderment all overwhelmed him.
Chapter 2

Richard awoke the next morning sore and uncomfortable. His first thoughts were of the young woman. He didn't even know her name. He had tried to find some sort of identification on her, but there seemed to have been none. No purse, wallet, or cell phone. Even showering, his thoughts had continued to return to the young woman. The pulsing spray on his sore muscles a continuing reminder that he had hurt someone.

The police had questioned him, and believing his story, had let him return home with no pending charges. The only stipulation had been a mandatory appearance the next day at the Police Department. It had helped that there had been a couple walking their dog nearby. They had witnessed the accident and given their own testimonial which supported Richard's account of the accident. A report would need to be filed and there were doubtless other legal issues he would need to deal with. His car would need some work as well, but he was unconcerned with those small details. He phoned his assistant, preferring to let her deal with that particular mess. "And Rachel," he finished.

"Yes, Mr. Sacks?"

"You are going to need to contact the people at Shuxing Qiye. Push back the meetings and appointments. Tell them I've had a personal situation that needs attending to."

"Yes, Mr. Sacks." Rachel's voice betrayed the hint of confusion she was feeling. Richard could understand her puzzlement. Canceling meetings, even pushing the time of an appointment was out of his character. His schedule rarely changed for anything personal, perhaps it had never changed for anything personal. Richard prided himself on professionalism, and keeping appointments was key to that.

Richard Sacks, standing six-foot-three with dark, wavy hair and piercing green eyes was, first and foremost, a businessman. The very air of his presence demanded attention, respect, awe. He was used to commanding a room. He was absorbed in his dealings. He believed if money was to be made, he should be one to make it. _Greatness waits for no man; therefore no man should wait for greatness._ His wife- _ex_ wife- had argued that it would take an act of God to get Richard to not work. There were few occasions when business meetings didn't trump family dinners. When evening conference calls didn't take precedence over ballet recitals or anniversary dinners. Hell, he had missed more than half of Mallory's eight birthdays.

The thought of Mallory once again brought about the thoughts of the young woman. She too was someone's daughter. Richard might never win Father of the Year, but he loved his daughter. He took care of her financially, which was more than his father had ever done for him. He did make occasional visits to see Mallory, and he did admit they were too infrequent, but he ensured his ex-wife and daughter were taken care of, that they were safe.

Someone out there was missing their brown-haired daughter, and he had hit her with his car. Guilt had made him push off the meetings. Guilt was motivating these uncharacteristic actions. And now guilt was going to push him to find out more about this young woman he had hurt.

The bite of disinfectant hit Richard as he entered the hospital. He turned to look down that hall toward the triage nurse. His eyes scanned the local high school's attempt to bring cheer to the boring beige walls by hanging colorful, if not well done, art along a cork strip. Soon-to-be patients flipped through outdated magazines or stared blankly at a muted morning show program. Richard approached the receptionist, the flowers he had purchased hanging at his side, still wrapped in crinkly plastic.

Richard's charm once again steered the situation. Asking for an unnamed woman who had been brought in by an ambulance, the receptionist was hesitant to give him any information. He recognized the overworked smile and forced greeting. Richard smiled at the woman. A man didn't become as successful as he without knowing how to read and handle all kinds of people. In his tender, yet authoritative voice, Richard described how, the night before, his concern for the young woman had robbed him of any sleep and now all he needed was to see her, and see with his own eyes that she was okay.

Speaking the words aloud, Richard realized how true they were. His sleep had been restless and plagued with strange dreams. Perhaps his conscious thoughts had first gone to the woman this morning because she had been in his subconscious all night. He had been terribly worried about her. It wasn't only guilt that had driven him here to this hospital. There was some other emotion. It was difficult to pinpoint or put a name to, but Richard felt it. He did indeed need to be here and see the brown-haired woman for himself.

Richard talked slowly and included the woman in his heartbreak. His eyes pleaded his case, and his smile appealed to the caring nature hidden underneath the exhaustion of the receptionist. With the information he needed, Richard left the reception area after winking and thanking the woman behind the desk.

The door to the brown-haired patient's room was open, shadows spilling into the hallway. Richard stepped in slowly, taking in all the machines, the wires. She lay on the bed. The white sheet and blanket settled over her legs and tucked around her waist. An IV came from her arm, tubes rising to a small bag of clear liquid hanging by the bed.

Richard hated hospital rooms. The beep of machines, repeating, over and over, until they suddenly don't. Until the blips become one long screech of sound. Until the reason to be there is no longer a reason and leaving alone is the only remaining option. Richard had said goodbye to his mother in one of these rooms. Downstairs he could pretend he was in any shabby office building, sweet-talking some receptionist to get his way, but here, here he was reminded of his mother. No office yelled memories at him the way this room was suddenly screeching at him. The past and the present collided at this moment, and Richard could feel the fear to his very soul. He did not want this woman to die. He promised himself that he would do whatever was in his power to help her. He would take care of her until he was sure she was being taken care of.

Next to her bed, he set the flowers on the wheeled tray table. The plastic crinkled loudly in the quiet blare of medical machinery. Her eyes were closed and her hair brushed from her face. Last night there had been too much, now Richard looked at the woman. Really looked at her and filled in the fuzzy features that had haunted his consciousness.

Small cuts and bruises littered her face, but even marred by the accident, she was striking. Richard's eyes absorbed her features, exploring the dips and luscious curves of her face. His eyes roamed, but returned repeatedly to her lips. Slightly open, her lips were a soft shade of pink. Her long lashes rested against her cheek.

"Well it looks as though we have a visitor," a voice spoke from the doorway. Richard turned to the woman at the door. She was wearing blue scrub pants and a pink top decorated with a multitude of daisies. "Do you know who this person is?"

"I was hoping you had found that out and could tell me."

"I'm sorry, but only family is supposed to be here," she had a small machine on wheels with her and directed it to the other side of the bed.

"I know. It's just, I feel very protective of this woman. I was the one that hit her, and I know that there wasn't any identification. I want to make sure that she is okay. Safe."

The woman's eyes softened toward him. "Well, we haven't really gotten anywhere on identifying who she is. The police usually handle that end of the process. Right now we just call her Jane." She pulled a blue, blood pressure cuff from the little basket of the machine and began wrapping it around her arm with the loud crackle of Velcro.

"What are her injuries?"

"Well the doctor can tell you more, but it's been a long night for her. She came in last night in bad shape. They operated to stop the internal bleeding. Issues with the thorax has had them concerned, bruised ribs, that kind of thing. It seems that both her knees are sprained, but not broken.

"She seems to be stable at the moment, though she hasn't woken up. Her physical injuries seem relatively minor considering. The doctors are watching for any signs of brain injury, but it's still too early to tell. We'll know more when she wakes up." She noted the red numbers from the machine on the woman's chart.

"Since it appears that there won't be a lot of visitors for our Jane here, I guess I can let the other girls know you'll be visiting."

"I would appreciate that."

"Everyone's gotta have someone," she said as she turned and left, wheeling her little machine with her.

Richard grabbed the chair against the wall and winced at the scraping sound as he brought it closer. The nurse was right, everyone _should_ have someone.

Unsure of what to do with himself, Richard sat rigidly in the chair. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked at her. The shape of her body was outlined by the dips and shadows of the blanket, but his eyes didn't linger there long. He was once again drawn to her face and her pink lips. Leaning forward, he put his laced fingers on the bed, resting his elbows on the mattress.

"I'm sorry," he said to her quietly. There was no response from her. He knew she wouldn't answer, but he would have been lying if he denied that some small glimmer inside of him hoped she might hear his words and wake. Tenderness settled inside of him as he watched her. She was beautiful. The brown hair he had noticed last night was far more complex than the simple word could describe. There were strands of gold, and red, and even darker shades of chocolate and copper. It lay against the pillow contrasting her light, delicate complexion.

The cut above her eye appeared raw with black stitches sealing the wound. He reached to touch it, guilty that he had caused her any injury. Almost in contact with her skin, he hesitated. It seemed too personal, yet the draw to touch her was unmistakable. His fingers itched to tuck her hair behind her ear as though it were a habit he had formed long ago. To brush across her cheek, her soft lips.

Movement drew his attention toward her hands. Small fingers with manicured nails, one covered in a plastic clip monitor, began to twitch slightly. Slowly, her head turned to the right. Excited, he stood. Her eyes fluttered slightly. Her lips closed and were then parted again with her tongue searching to dampen the pink, plump skin. Fluttering again, her eyes began to open. She blinked several times attempting to focus. Her eyes slowly scanned the room. Landing on Richard's face, she looked at him expectantly.

"Hi," she said, her voice rough and a bit strained, then coughed slightly deep in her throat.

"Hi," he responded back. "Let's get the nurse." Richard pushed the button that rested by her arm.

A moment later, a tall, blonde nurse entered the room. The scrubs on this woman were a faded blue, both top and bottom. Richard would have guessed she was in her late forties. Her hair was up in a short ponytail and she looked sternly at the woman. "Well, I see you're awake." The nurse walked over to Jane, pulling a penlight out of the front pocket of her shirt. She flashed the light back and forth across her eyes. The nurse gave a nettled look at Richard and then shifted her focus back to her patient.

"You've had quite a night. I'll get the doctor. You're lucky the damage wasn't worse. Could've had all kinds of bleeding and complications. You still seem to have a concussion though." Taking her arm, the nurse stared at her watch. "Is there any pain elsewhere?"

Confusion etched lines on her forehead, "No," she said shaking her head in emphasis. "But... Where am I?"

The nurse looked at Richard, "Confusion is normal in these types of injuries," she said in a conspiratorial tone as though they shared some secret. "I'll let the doctor know you've woken up," and with a light tap on the hand she had just been holding, the nurse walked back out the door.

She turned to Richard. "Where am I?" she repeated once again.

"At the hospital. Do you remember last night?" She shook her head in response, carefully turning it from side to side, completely aware that her head pounded with each movement. "You were in an accident. You... I.... Well, you were hit by a car. My car," Richard stumbled for words. The news felt sharp against his tongue.

A small sigh exited her nose in confusion. Biting her bottom lip, she looked at Richard with even more confusion. "You... hit me?"

"Yes. I am very sorry. I came to check on you." Suddenly the calm demeanor, the confidence that was so a part of Richard, was unreachable. He felt slightly nervous.

The woman struggled to think beyond the green eyes of the man standing beside her bed. Looking away from him, and down at her fingers, she tried to remember. For some reason there was nothing. "I don't remember." She searched within her mind, desperate to understand what he was saying.

"It's okay. Like the nurse said, it's normal to be confused."

"No. I don't remember anything. I... I can't. I don't..." She looked up at Richard. It was as though her mind was empty. Fear crept in. Strong, scary, overpowering. "I can't even remember my name. Who am I?"

"I don't know," Richard responded. "You didn't have any I.D. There wasn't a phone or anything to help us. We didn't even know who to contact. Is there someone you can think of that you want called?"

She closed her eyes, searching for a name, a face, anyone, anything that might help. She shook her head more violently. Her hands began to shake. Tears welled at the edges of her eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. Richard took one hand between the two of his. He seated himself back into the chair.

"Hey. Hey, listen. Listen to me," he started in soothing tones. "I know you're scared. I can't imagine what this is like. But I'm right here to help. It's ok." The resolve within him strengthened. It was more than the bravado he had developed over the years. Holding her hand he became stronger, his determination resolved with the touch of this woman.

Something about the sound of his voice, the reassurance, the strength in its timbre, the mere sound of it, began to help. She clung to the feel, the warmth of his hand. It was comforting and reassuring and exactly what she needed at that moment.

Richard held her hand, and something inside of him knew he would never let go.

Richard took advantage of the time Jane- they had decided Jane was better than nothing- was out for various tests and scans to call the office, check the status of some deals, and answer his emails. Work was calling to him, but the moment the orderly had wheeled Jane into the room, Richard turned off his phone, returned it to his pocket and didn't give it another thought.

"Hi," he said to Jane. "How was the test?"

"I think I passed," Jane said with a small smile. Slowly, she pushed herself out of the wheelchair and seated herself on the bed. Carefully, she lifted her legs to lie down. Richard grabbed the thin blanket and held it up out of the way. Her feet were covered in bright red socks with rubber grippies, the hospital's name, and insignia. Richard briefly thought of the blue polish of her toes from the night before and smiled.

Jane exhaled slowly, relaxing her arms down beside her. Sore and uncomfortable, she had felt fear, as sharp as cold metal against her skin. Seeing Richard once again had warmed some of the fear away. His serious eyes shone green, and perhaps she was imagining it, but he seemed happy to see her when she had returned.

The doctor did his evaluation. There were explanations of test results, scans, blood analysis, lights flashed, pulse taken, all to let Richard and Jane know what they already knew: amnesia. The doctor was confident that the injuries sustained during the accident had caused a _temporary_ memory loss. He spoke positively about her recovery, suggesting she needed rest and more time before she would see improvement. There was, of course, a chance that this was permanent. The hit to her head could have damaged some of the tissue in the limbic system, thus creating a permanent kind of memory loss. "But that seems unlikely from the tests we've conducted." The doctor said. "For now, we want you to rest and let us help you recover. Take care." The doctor left the room in the same manner as he had used the entire time, with a professional disassociation lacking any personal touch or gentle condolence.

A different nurse entered Jane's room. "Hello," she spoke in an overly chipper voice, and Jane felt herself tighten in worry. The nurses outfit veered from the traditional scrubs that Jane had been used to seeing on the nurses entering and exiting her room, but she was obviously an employee of the hospital. This woman wore a casual kind of business attire. Her slacks were pressed with a sharp, neat line punctuating the boot cut of cotton khakis. Her blue fleece pullover bore the hospital name and insignia with the collar of a white polo shirt folded neatly around the neckline.

"Hello," Jane responded and immediately looked at Richard. He smiled at Jane. The scruff of his unshaved face only added to the charm and strength she saw as she looked at him. Richard looked toward the nurse, still smiling, but the warmth he had directed at Jane changed. It was a subtle shift, still handsome, still charming, but all business. She carried a pink clipboard of papers and pen.

"What can we do for you Ms...." Richard invited the woman to share her name.

"Sheldon." Ms. Sheldon held out her hand and advanced toward Jane. "It is lovely to make your acquaintance."

"Jane," Richard provided. "We figured it was better than Hey, Lady."

The woman smiled at them both. There was an odd sense that the familiarity she was trying to project was falling short. She was uncomfortable here and Richard was beginning to understand why.

"Is there something wrong with the paperwork? Perhaps you are here about expenses?"

The woman blushed and looked downward. She wasn't embarrassed about why she was approaching this patient, she was a tad put off that he had beat her to the punch, making the situation more uncomfortable than necessary. There was a protocol, after all, on how to put patients at ease and discuss uncomfortable situations involving money. "Unfortunately, these things do come up," she began.

Jane shifted slowly and uncomfortably to a more upright position on the bed. Panic began to rise like acidic bile.

Ms. Sheldon continued, "and the course of your treatment may very well rely on how quickly we can identify who you are."

"There won't be a problem," Richard's voice was hard. His words, and the deep reverberation of his voice settled around Jane, the acid neutralized and calm began to surround her.

"I understand, sir that you are worried..."

"No. What I mean is there will be no problem with the bill. This woman will receive anything she needs to get better. She will stay right here, receive any necessary tests, any therapy, anything she needs. I am here to make sure of that." Finality radiated off Richard.

The clipboard slapped against Ms. Sheldon's chest. She was a bit taken aback by the forcefulness with which had Richard spoken. Curious, she planned on taking another look at this patient's file again when she was safely in her own office. She stated, "Then I would kindly request that sometime tonight or tomorrow you stop by my office or give me a call and we can get all the information that we need." She pulled a small business card out of her pocket.

Richard took the card and slid it into the pocket of his pants without even a glance. "I will. Thank you." The finality in his words was punctuated by the fact that he turned himself in the chair, his attention completely on Jane, dismissing Ms. Sheldon with the back of him.

Jane looked at him, confusion and wonder all over her face as she smiled. Ms. Sheldon turned and walked out the door. Jane spoke in a loud whisper, "That wasn't very nice."

"It wasn't?" Richard playfully responded. "Sorry, I hate when money becomes a thing. I just saved you from a long and tedious speech in which she would give you several options that I was not for a minute going to consider. You're welcome."

Jane laughed. It was light and breathy. Sweet but not sugary. All woman and still girlish in its purity. "Ok, but seriously, I can't let you pay for my bills. It's not fair that you should have to. I'm sure it's going to be very expensive...."

Richard held a finger very close to her lips, shushing her lightly. "Listen, I am not about to let them shuffle you out of here before you are ready just because they can't guarantee where the money will come from. If they want to know who is going to pay the bill, well, now they know."

Jane opened her mouth to speak but quickly shut it again, her teeth tapping together as Richard continued, cutting her off once again. "I don't want to hear it. I'm the cause of all this mess. I am going to help you. You are going to let me help you. And you will say thank you, and," Richard nodded his head in emphasis, clearly coaching her to do the same, "you will not argue, nor will you complain."

Jane nodded her head childishly, agreeing to the terms of Richard's statement. "Thank you," she said, overcome with a shy gratitude, causing a pink rush to her cheeks, a tightness in her throat, and pinpricks of tears in her eyes. She looked down to her hands attempting to gather herself. Who was this man? Still looking at the comfort of her own lap, Jane asked, "Why are you helping me? Why are you here?" The disbelief in her voice was interpreted differently by Richard who worried he heard something else.

"I don't mean to upset you," he said starting to stand.

"No," she said reaching out. "I didn't mean that. I just... You've been so kind. You've held my hand and waited through all those tests and now you're offering to pay my bills. I just..." she dared to look into the those green eyes, green eyes deep, and scary, and as exciting as any thick forest. "I just don't understand why," she finished.

Richard hesitated, "Well there is the practical side that I was the one that hit you with your car."

Jane dared to ask, not looking directly at him anymore, "And the non-practical side?"

Richard swallowed.
Chapter 3

A few days had passed. With her knees healing, and finally able to hobble out of bed on her own, the nurses had removed the catheter and bothersome tubing. With an intense need to pee, Jane sat up slowly in bed. Still stiff, sore, and dreading the limping ahead of her, she looked to Richard. He had fallen asleep once again in the badly padded hospital chair. The nurses had finally stopped trying to shuffle him out of the room each evening at nine. It had been a struggle of wills and a few raised voices, but of course Richard had won. Each evening he would return to her bedside and most nights fall asleep next to her bed; a kind of angel determined to watch over her.

Jane bit her bottom lip while smiling at this man. His dark hair was disheveled in the most appealing way. Arms and ankles crossed, his head was tilted at an angle that forecast an uncomfortable crick in his neck for the next day. Jane studied his face, tracing the lines and angles with her eyes. If she had to guess, she would place him in his late thirties. His attitude, demeanor, and confidence in the last few days only reconfirmed her assumption. His lips were thin but entirely enticing. Most evenings they watched television or talked mostly of pleasantries, and the conversation never again had dipped into emotional territory, as it had that day the hospital's financial person had come. Jane enjoyed this new kind of private moment. His face was calm in the shadowed light of the room. A look of peace covered his face.

The bathroom could no longer be put off, and Jane did her best to move to the toilet, quietly, thanking God that Richard wasn't witnessing her clumsy shuffle step. Her bladder happy, Jane stepped to the sink and stared into the mirror hanging there. The nurses had helped her shower, she was clean, her hair brushed and laying down her back, ending just below her shoulder blades. She knew that she was staring at her own reflection. The face was hers. Those were her brown eyes, her nose, her lips. She admitted that she was attractive. Perhaps she could admit even very pretty. She stared into the reflection, desperate to recognize it but couldn't. With a heavy sigh, she placed both hands on the sink and leaned in closer. The stitches above her eye still poked and wrapped around fresh pink skin. The now healing gash dissected her eyebrow, but instead of diminishing her looks, she had to admit, it added an air of mystery. Maybe danger?

Upon closer inspection, she realized her eyes weren't just brown. They had more of a hazel quality. The center closest to her pupil was brown radiating toward the outer circle of iris where small clusters of green rested. They were actually quite alluring. She decided they must have always been her favorite feature. Small freckles dusted the bridge of her nose and reached out to her cheeks. They were light, most likely usually covered with makeup, but bare-skinned, she could trace their path line.

Jane smiled. Looking at the curve of her lips, she wondered about her name. Quietly she mouthed _Jane_ to herself. Standing upright again, she shook her head slightly, returning the tendrils of hair behind her. She pushed out her chest, slightly arching her back, lifted her chin and evaluated the name. Dissatisfied, she tried again, _Rachel_? _Amy_? _Susan_? _Mary_? _Francis_? Each name was discounted, usually before the last syllable was thought. With another sigh, she turned around and returned to bed. Her return trek was fraught with less limping, her legs more able to perform as they should. She was healing. Soon she would be free of this hospital and able to go... Where?

Closing her eyes, now back under the blankets, she began to cry. The weight was heavy, resting on her shoulders, her chest, and most heavily on her heart. She was lost and had no way home.

Richard awoke startled, his body flinching in reaction to the dream. He had been driving. The night was dark, but his headlights had cast long cones of yellow light in front of him. Jane had stepped into the light. He'd pressed the brake, surprised, worried, fearful. And as though she were an apparition, he would drive right through her. She would be gone, no longer in danger. He would resume driving, and then, moments later, the whole event would repeat itself. Again and again she stepped in front of the car. Again and again he would drive through her, fear and worry rising and falling with each image of her. The dream continued this way until finally the vision of Jane was no longer a specter, but flesh and blood. The crash, her broken body blazing in his mind, was a vicious retelling.

Finally awake, the last remnants of the dream faded as he looked at her. His pulse began to slow to its natural rhythm. Seeing her, alive, breathing, helped erase the dream from his eyes. Richard shifted in the chair, moving his head around, his neck protesting, stretching unhappy muscles. The physical discomfort he felt most mornings was dwarfed by the guilt and total fear he endured within that dream and upon waking from it. She had become a kind of salve for his nightmares.

Richard looked at her, still and sleeping. The bruising, the cuts, the bandages were all slowly disappearing. Soon she would be discharged. Perhaps today. The nurses and doctor visits were less frequent. Jane's need to be tested and scanned were practically over. The doctors continued to say it would take time. That her memory might return with some reminders of her old life, places she used to live, food she loved to eat. Richard had no idea where to even start. The only place he knew she had been was the site of their accident, and that was a memory he would rather forget.

Her eyes began to open. Groggy and still shrouded in sleep, she struggled to focus on the world around her. It always took a moment for the reality to set in. It was a strange sensation. She would awaken sure of herself, the worry, the fear, the self-pity that weighed unknowingly upon her all day had yet to set in. For a few moments, each morning, she didn't feel lost. The moment was one of the worst and best all at once.

Richard stood and quickly moved to the bathroom before she would need it. Returning to the room, he noticed that Jane was staring out the window. The sun was streaking the sky in various warm colors, blue dominating the lowest version of the horizon. "It's pretty," he said.

Distractedly she said, "Yes."

The doctor's visit, a mere formality, confirmed what Jane and Richard had both suspected: she was being discharged. Eventually the nurse came in with papers to sign, printouts of instructions and a bag of belongings. Jane's limping had improved, barely noticeable now, and she took the large, plastic bag with her to the bathroom.

Jane pulled the green, lacy dress out of the bag. It had less material than she would have guessed. Slipping it on, Jane stepped back so she could see the majority of herself within the bathroom mirror. The dress was beautiful, sexy... perhaps more sexy than she would have imagined. The lace itself was delicate, scrollwork patterns danced and shimmered slightly. There were no sleeves, but the lace seemed to slink up her breasts and over her shoulders. The dip in the front was nearly to her bellybutton and showcased the roundness of the inner part of her breasts. The green lace hugged her middle and most of her hips with a slight flared skirt ending just above her knees. She turned around, stretching her head to view the skin-baring backside of the dress. The lace at her shoulders continued over and down the side leaving almost the entirety of her back bare. There was a small dip in the back waistline of the dress, hinting at her bottom, leaving very little to the imagination. This was a serious dress. Parts of the lace were ripped, snagged, and dirty, obviously from the accident, but they did not detract from the sensual beauty.

Jane looked in the plastic bag once again and found a brown overcoat and black high-heeled shoes. The shoes were several inches, a soft, black suede material, peek-toe, with three small golden chains meant to wrap around the ankle delicately. Shaking out the jacket, she realized it had taken most of the beating. One side was cut, probably by the EMTs trying to gain access to something. Deciding to wait to put either of them on, she placed the coat over her arm, grabbed both shoes by the heel and walked back into the room.

Richard, having secured a horrid tasting coffee from the family waiting room down the hall, was staring out the window, his back to the bathroom door. Richard had spent his time thinking. She had nowhere to go. There had been no reason to contemplate his next step. She was going to come stay with him until he could help her find her memories. She probably wouldn't like it, but he would insist. It was what she needed and it was what was best for her. Finalizing his thoughts, and hearing her place items on the bed, Richard turned.

_Good God_ his mind moaned. He was instantly hard and took a moment to catch his breath. She stood before him, looking down at herself and absently pulling at the hem of that... well... dress. _Good God_ his mind said again and he drew his eyes upward. She was biting her bottom lip and a request for approval was written on her face. He forced a smile, hoping it came out reassuring as he had intended. His eyes, suddenly controlled by another part of him, found her breasts again. The curves of her breasts, the hollow between them, and the light skin of her stomach created an intense throbbing in his pants that threatened to break free. This was a serious dress. And not the kind of thing someone wore out to the grocery store. This dress had a purpose. A clear purpose. Every inch of fabric- the few inches there were- was meant to attract the eyes.

"I'm not sure where I was before. But it seems that I was somewhere fancy."

"Yes, definitely," Richard responded. "You look beautiful. Lovely." She smoothed down her dark hair. Even without any real styling or any makeup, she was stunning. Richard's desire appreciated this moment. With a small shake of his head, Richard willed himself to concentrate. "Are you ready to go?" he asked her, setting his forgotten coffee on the windowsill.

Her expression clouded. "I guess. I just..." Her hands covered her face trying to cover the threatening, overwhelming emotion. She sat on the edge of the bed, tears falling and silent sobs shaking her body. Richard moved over to her, sitting on the edge of the chair.

"Listen. I know you're scared, but you are going to come home with me."

She looked up, "No, I..." she began before he stopped her.

"I would have thought you had figured this out. I am not letting you do this alone. You are going to stay with me. I have a large apartment, there are extra rooms. You have nowhere else to go, and I'm not going to let you go out there all alone to just wander. No, stop. We both know you don't have the first idea of where to go or even who to talk to."

She knew he was right. She had nowhere to go. She had spent several nights crying over this very fact. But he had already given her so much. However, she had nothing else. Her mind debated back and forth. "Okay," she finally said. "But I will pay you back. Somehow." She promised to herself that she _would_ find a way to repay him. She owed him so much more than money. Richard's presence had become expected. Sitting near her, even his breathing became a security blanket she desperately needed to feel safe. Were he not around, she feared she might dismantle and be unable to sew herself back together.

"Good. Let's get out of here."
Chapter 4

"Should we celebrate? Breaking out of the hospital seems like a good enough reason to get something _not_ made in a cafeteria cauldron."

Smiling she said, "Honestly? I would really love a cheesy pizza." And I don't really want to wear this outfit much longer she thought. The sexy style didn't feel right. She pulled the hem farther down her legs. Even seated she felt a tad-bit exposed.

"That seems like something I could handle. I know the best place in town."

Soon the crowded, busy streets of downtown shifted to the higher status, wealthier neighborhood of the west side. Large glass office buildings, designer shops, and upscale restaurants predominated the area. Unconsciously she pulled at the plunging neckline and again tried to pull down the hem of her dress.

Reaching the private parking garage, they parked Richard's car, and entered the building's elevator. Richard pulled a special card key out his wallet, slipped it into the card reader, and pressed the top button. When the elevator opened, she expected to see a typical, though obviously ritzy, apartment building hallway. Instead she entered the main sitting area of Richard's apartment. Her first impression was of the sheer size of the place. She stepped in slowly, still barefooted, and looked around. The walls were painted a deep slate color. Various adornments were everywhere: beautifully framed paintings, artistically focused photos of nature, even delicate stems elegantly resting in vases bursting with color.

Off to the right was a small sitting area arranged before a marble fireplace accented with a deep blue trim. The large squares of marble swirled with colors of deep blue, light pinks, and greys. A large black and white photo rested on the mantle. It was an artistic piece. A few large drops hung suspended above the center of rippling water. It was beautiful, calm, and alluring. Richard stepped near to her, placing his keys and wallet in a small bowl on the antique table beside him. She looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Would you like a tour?" he asked. She merely nodded. He walked forward. "I don't really use this area much. It's mostly just an entranceway." Large windows monopolized the far wall in front of her. Black steel, dark casings, and cream curtains encased the brilliant lights of the city at night. It was breathtaking. Moving to the right she could see the windows continued down the wall of the apartment, a part of the dining room and kitchen.

The kitchen before her was amazing. A large island with an industrial faucet separated the simple dining area from the cabinetry and appliances. She looked before her at globes of frosted glass hanging from the ceiling, a large two-door oven, with a spider webbed marble backing, leather high-backed chairs, and crystal glassware arranged in a glass-doored cabinet.

"This place is beautiful," she spoke quietly, still looking about her. In the area near the kitchen was another sitting space, this one obviously more used. The couch was a broken-in dark leather, appealing to a sense of style and a need for comfort. There were two extra-large, leather chairs and turning more, a large screen television dominated the wall above another fireplace. The room was chic, simple, and huge.

Richard gestured farther down the room, "The guest bath is this way."

He opened the door to an oasis. The room was tiled throughout. Beautiful large and smaller square, black marble tile were arranged for the flooring, rising into sides and a large, silver, swan-neck faucet arched over the tub. The black marble shined, reflecting the white subway-style tile of the largest shower she was sure she had ever seen. It was a room all to itself. The outer walls of the shower were floor to ceiling glass-pane doors. Two large shower heads hung from the ceiling. The only color came from the beautiful blue towels hanging within easy reach and folded on black shelves in various points around the room. The blue of the towels screamed relaxation against the simple black and white of the room. One of the purest blues, she longed to touch the fabric.

Her eyes returned to the luxurious bathtub and the tall canister of salts and bath soaps. Perhaps her eyes lingered a bit too long, for Richard said, "Would you like to take a soak? You could relax, pamper yourself while I call for some pizza."

She looked up at his face. Like a small child, she was giddy with the thought of taking a hot, soapy bath. "Really?" she asked.

He made an amused sound at her obvious joy in the proposition. "Of course. And I am assuming you would like to get out of that dress." Getting her out of that dress had entered his mind countless times since he had first witnessed her in it. "I'll see if I can dig up something for you to wear." Something that would help the throbbing in his pants that had once again arisen at the thought of her sliding off the green lace and stepping into a tub of bubbles.

"Thank you. So much." she said following him to the door. The cool marble felt relaxing on her feet as she closed it behind him.

Richard stopped for a moment, almost needing to catch his breath. He had been attracted to this young woman since the first moment he had been able to see her, but this new urge, these desirous feelings had intensified. Perhaps it was the absence of guilt. Somewhere along the way, without him even knowing, the guilt that had brought him to the hospital, that had been a large part of his volunteering to pay the medical expenses, had turned into a real desire for her happiness and safety. Fear was no longer inclining him to do _what was right._ It was some other emotion controlling him now, and he wasn't sure he was ready to name it. Not yet.

Jane let the water run in the tub, clouds of steam enveloped her. She had combed through the various pouches of bath essentials, deciding on a light lavender soap. The bubbles began rising with the hot water of the tub as she rippled the water with her fingers. Slowly she removed the green dress. She was tired and her muscles had recently begun to protest. It seemed as though her muscles were salivating for the warmth and lavender bubbles before her.

Stepping in slowly, arching her foot, remnants of blue polish on tiny toes vanishing under the froth, her whole body sinking down into the tub, she couldn't help but sigh. Her whole body moaned as the warmth of the water, the aroma of the bath massaged her tender spirit. Her eyes closed. The only sound was her breath and the tiny pops and crinkle of bubbles.
Chapter 5

Darkness. Slashing yellow light. Walking alone on the sidewalk, she can see the cars pass. The rain, once falling in large drops is now a veil of wet, her feet hurt, and she's cold. So cold. A cold that's deeper than the rain-soaked jacket. Deeper than the layers of goose-pimpled skin. So very cold to her bones. A plastic bag has taken residence on the sidewalk before her. It's crumpled and has pockets of water. Another car passes, its lights leading forward, lighting the path yet to come. Still clutching her coat closed, she turns, expecting another ray of light, another beacon foretelling what will be. There is nothing. An answer to an unspoken question.

In the distance, a glow lightens the sky. She begins to walk toward it, her fear gone. The cold momentarily forgotten, she can see the lights, their luminescence stemming from two small, golden circles, unblinking eyes. Then the world is pain, blinding light, pain in ripples everywhere.

Silent screams turn to real ones. Richard, having heard her cries, was pulling her up farther in the tub.

"Open your eyes. I'm right here. Look at me," he told her in an authoritative yet soothing tone. His eyes searched her face. Full of tears and terror, her opened eyes found his.

Her breaths heavy, sobs shuddered her shoulders. "I... the accident," she stammered. "I think I remembered the accident."

"Shit." He pulled her against him, wet and covered in bubbles. Of all the things to remember. His mind cursed the night for being remembered.

Feeling the pain and memory slip back into the past, she took one more deep breath and pushed Richard away gently. "I'm okay," she said. "Really."

"Are you sure?" He allowed her to break away only to arm's length. He still held onto her upper arms, a tiny voice saying it was to comfort her.

"Yes, it just came out of nowhere. Like a movie almost, it just started. I could feel it. I could see it." She shivered. Another deep breath pushed out of her gently puckered lips, she wiped away a few runaway tears, leaving a light trail of bubbles.

Richard smiled. Lost and beautiful, desperate to pull herself back together, she was irresistible. Realizing her whole body, not just a spot on her cheek, was bare and covered in bubbles, he let go of her arms. His pants were once again tightening, and he silently cursed himself. It was as though he were a teenager again.

Unaware of the effect she was having on Richard, she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs, and rested her chin atop them.

He stood up. "The pizza will be here soon. Take your time. If you need me, just yell. If you take this door," he said, pointing to another black door, "You'll find yourself in your room. I found a t-shirt that might do for tonight. Tomorrow you can get some things." With nothing more to really say, trying to appear calm when his arousal was screaming in his head, he turned to the door. Once again outside the warm bathroom, he struggled to control his breathing and his pulsing erection.

Still resting her head atop her knees, she searched her mind for anything else. Were there other memories in there, ready to materialize? Good ones? She searched the black chasm. Nothing. She knew nothing new. She was a woman, who had been in an accident. No family to speak of. No name, except for Jane, that even Richard had begun to use less and less. She pondered that a moment. Perhaps he felt its disconnect as well. Her name was hidden somewhere in the darkness that clouded her mind.

Once again, she tried to imagine her name, tasting them on her tongue, testing the texture, the fit. _Selena? Emily? Andrea? Lisa?_ Something felt... familiar, but not right. _Lisa._ She shook her head, scrunching her nose in thought. Her name was not Lisa. But...

A mechanical buzz brought her from her thoughts. Her stomach growled in anticipation. Quickly she rose from the tub and grabbed a luscious, blue towel from the shelf behind her. It was a blue marshmallow, soft and thick. Wrapping it around her body, tucking the end into place between her breasts, she smiled. Unplugging the bath with her toes, she stepped onto the slippery tile and walked to the full mirror. Small lights lit up her reflection. She opened a few of the small drawers of the vanity finding still-packaged toothbrushes, bars of soap, small tubes of toothpaste, and finally, a hairbrush. It seemed new. Pink handled, and rounded bristles, she pulled it through her wet hair. The wet ends slapped to her back with each stroke.

Her hair slicked back in a post-bath style, she ran her tongue over her teeth. She had brushed them at the hospital, but the cheap plastic didn't seem to really _clean_. Deciding on a purple and green toothbrush, she opened the package and went to work.

The buzzer had brought Richard out of the trance he'd been in. Rising from the leather couch, muting the program he hadn't been watching, he walked to the elevator door. Buzzing in the pizza, he awaited the boy, wallet in hand. His mind continued to revisit her in the bathtub. Torn between the desire of seeing her immersed in bubbles and the hurt of seeing her shaking and upset, he made the decision that he would help her find the answers. He'd done business with private investigators before. One man in particular stood out. He wasn't afraid to walk the line of legality to do what was needed to be done.

Richard knew that this was beyond the police department. Most likely the police were limited by the information they had obtained during the accident. He was also sure more pressing matters of crime and public safety took precedence over a young woman without her memories. His decision made, he brought the pizza to the kitchen. Pulling out two plates, he stood at the island.

"Hi," she said quietly, walking through the living room. Richard had seemed lost in thought. Now he turned to her. His face changed from a preoccupied stare as he gazed at her. "Thanks for the shirt and boxers."

Desperately trying to keep from leering, he took in the sight of her. Her hair was unbound, still damp, and slightly curling at the ends. The white t-shirt lay against the roundness of her breasts and the hardness of her nipples. The loose material covered the navy check of his cotton boxers but still hit far above her knees. This was not an outfit that was going to help his throbbing groin. Its innocent appearance enraged his hardness, tightening his pants further. Her long legs were shapely and toned. Her bare feet, delicate in their nakedness, brandished bits of the light blue polish he had noticed the night of the accident.

It was this last observance that brought him back to himself. "You look..." Delicious. Delectable. Mouthwatering. "Better, " he finished aloud. "The pizza is here. I ordered two. Pepperoni and a Tomato-Basil."

"They smell absolutely delicious," she spoke as her stomach growled agreement. She pulled a slice of each, placing them on the plate he offered then sat on the closest high stool. The leather was cool against the backs of her legs, but soon warmed. Richard watched amused as she took the tip of the pizza, folding it upward toward the crust instead of in half lengthwise. Small droplets of grease dripped from the pizza onto her open palm. She bit into the folded end of the pizza, instantly intoxicated by the gooey cheese and seasoned sauce. Contented moans escaped her, "This is the best ever. I think," she said around a mouthful of sauce, cheese, and crust. "No, definitely the best," she said as she devoured more.

He chuckled quietly, "I'm glad you like it."

"I hope you don't mind, but I stole a toothbrush from the bathroom."

"No, that's what they're there for. Actually, they're there for Mallory, if she was to ever visit. But it's been a while."

Suddenly she sobered. She had forgotten that he had a daughter, and an ex-wife. He had mentioned them in the hospital once or twice, but not much had been said. "I'm sorry. I bet you miss her."

"I do. My work often keeps me from her." He stood, walked to a nearby cabinet extracting two wine glasses." But I saw her a few months ago. I took her for ice cream." Pulling a wine opener from a drawer, he twisted and pulled the cork from the deep green bottle. "She really doesn't like it here. Says it's too far from her friends. I imagine part of it might actually be that I'm not here much even when she's here. I'm not really up on what eight-year olds do either."

She licked sauce from the side of her mouth, "I'm sure it's hard." Not really wanting to impose on his personal life, she changed the subject. "So, what do you do when you're not working?"

"I'm always working," he responded.

She swallowed the mouthful she had, took a sip of the red wine he had poured and presented to her. "You haven't been working so much lately."

He paused for a moment. She was right. He had spent much of his time with her instead of in the office. He had gone in most days, checked and answered email from his phone, conference-called once or twice, but every evening, he had found himself in her presence. Without even thinking, work had become second to checking in on her.

"I guess that's different. I know Mallory is safe, fine. She's not injured and lying in a hospital bed. You needed someone. I was your someone."

Her face blushed slightly at his words. She hoped he would attribute the color in her cheeks to the wine she sipped again. A small kernel of warmth took root deep in her stomach. She had enjoyed his watchful eye, the way he had taken care of her. She had begun to depend on how he lessened the loss that weighed so deeply on her each day.

"Speaking of work. I need to go in tomorrow as well. There are a couple of deals I've been pushing off and it's time to face them. I want you to feel at home here. And I can leave some directions to a couple of places where you can pick up some things. I'm sure there are things you'd like to have."

"You don't have to. I could just..." unsure of how to even finish the thought, he stopped her.

"You are going to need to get into your head that there will be no fighting me when I offer to help you. You will take my help, you will like it, and you will say thank you." This moment was becoming tedious and repetitious. He understood her instinct to say she couldn't accept, but it was beginning to grate on his nerves. He was tired of telling her that she could have his help. That she deserved his help. That he wanted to help her. In a more definitive tone he said, "Seriously. I may lose my temper if you disagree about this again."

"Okay," she said. "I understand. And thank you. I don't know where I'd be without your help."

Having eaten more than her small figure would suggest she possibly could, she yawned, covering her mouth. "Goodness. Sorry."

"Not a problem. I'm sure you're tired. Go into the guest room, your room, and get some sleep. I'll clean up this mess and see you in the morning."

Too tired and wonderfully full, she didn't argue. Once in the bedroom, she practically stumbled to the bed. Pulling back the beautiful, deep plum-colored bedspread, she sank into soft sheets and instantly fell asleep.

Richard discarded the boxes and put away the leftover slices. Pouring himself another glass of wine, he sat back in his chair. She was in the room mere steps from him. A part of him desired to take a chair in next to her bed. Hell, he had spent so many of the last nights doing just that, but they weren't in the hospital anymore.

The thought of sleep seemed too distant. The thought of her in bed, however, the t-shirt rising up, baring her stomach, the boxers bunching around her bottom, close to the triangle of flesh between her legs, seemed far too close. Taking a long drink, squeezing his eyes, attempting to push out the image, Richard walked to his own room. Keeping the lights off, undressing, and turning on the television, he crawled into bed.

Still very hard, the discomfort had him on edge. With the continued flashing of light from the television, he closed his eyes. The visions of her grabbed hold of him. Moments that had aroused him, the many moments that had aroused him, faded in and out of the darkness behind his lids.

Slowly, taking himself into his hand he imagined her. Just placing pressure around himself, imagining she was there with him, he moaned slightly. Beginning to move his hand, the pressure built. Desperate for release, he allowed himself to continue the rhythm. He saw her in that green dress. Her breasts, the roundness peaking between the center of the lace. He could feel himself holding her, his arms wrapped around her, caressing the soft, bare skin of her back. He slowly moved his hands down farther, grasping her bottom firmly, lifting her slightly closer to him. He kissed her neck, innocently bared to him.

She tasted like life, like beauty. His lips continued downward, his hand found her thigh, and then the hem of the lace dress. His hand slid upward as his lips continued down. He found her nipple through the dress and bit gently. He found her, wet and wanting. His hand stroked and stimulated as he continued to imagine.

Her lips were on his while her hands dug into his back. She slipped from the dress, leaving it, a green puddle on the floor. He imagined her naked body, the soft curves and creamy skin. She stood before him, biting her bottom lip, and allowing him to take in her luscious body. He stepped to her, taking one breast in his hand and allowing his tongue to circle the tiny nipple on the other. The thoughts continued to play the seductive movie as his hands soothed his hardness with a tightened grip.

Tantalizing tension built within him. His imagined self, continued to roam her body, licking and kissing, her hands in his hair. The release inside him, encouraged by his imaginings, unleashed itself with a moan deep in his throat. His body shook with tumultuous waves of pleasure. His hand continued moving, his thoughts still of her, until he was completely spent. Moments later, satisfied, and guilty for his thoughts, he drifted to sleep.
Chapter 6

The next morning, she left her room, her bare feet padding into the kitchen. The sunlight was bright and warm through the windows. The light also foretold that she had slept through most of the morning. Richard was nowhere in sight, but she noticed a note left on the counter.

Good morning.

I had to leave early to prepare for a meeting. My assistant can get hold of me if you need anything. Here is some money to go out and get a few things. You agreed you would not fight me on this anymore. Below I've left some directions. You can walk there, or if you call down to the doorman, he can get a car to take you anywhere. Here's a key and if there is any problem, Martin, the doorman, who should be on today, will have your name.

Enjoy yourself, have some fun. Get something comfy and something pretty. One night this week, I will get you out of this place.

-Richard

She looked at the directions he had left and the small stack of bills. Large bills. Hundreds of dollars it seemed were here awaiting her to take a shopping spree. The idea actually seemed like fun. What girl didn't want to go shopping?

Jane walked to the bathroom, brushed her hair and teeth, and then returned to the bedroom. She made the bed carefully, smoothing out any wrinkles. Looking around with her hands on her hips, she realized she had a slight dilemma: what was she going to wear? She stood in a pair of men's boxers and white, cotton t-shirt. She returned to the bathroom where her green dress still hung from the evening before. Looking in the mirror, she contemplated the outfit she had worn to bed. Then the green dress. The green dress, only the tiniest bit more practical, won the internal battle she had been waging.

With the dress back on, she found the black stilettos in the corner of the bathroom and slipped into them. Adding about three inches to her height, they were lovely, the gold chains appearing delicate around her ankles and reflecting small fractions of light. Not sure if she would be able to really walk in them, she stepped toward the door. As though it were second nature, she found her steps sure and easy. The pressure on the balls of her feet seemed familiar and she walked to the elevator.

Downstairs, an older gentleman stood at a desk near the large doorway. "Hello, Miss," he said to her politely but formally.

"Hello," she responded, once again pulling down the hem of her dress. She walked out of the apartment building and headed to the left following Richard's directions. Remembering the stores and boutiques she had seen on their drive the night before, she continued past several apartment buildings.

Soon Jane found herself walking across the pink and white checkered tile of Astound Boutique. The bell over the door was still reverberating sound from her entrance. Plush chairs were tastefully set near the front windows. Wooden hangers displaying a multitude of colors and fabrics hung from racks set within various alcoves along the wall. Large hats were displayed on hooks, on top of small tables. Shoes varying from flats to stilettos were placed along the floor beneath several clothing racks and under the tables of hats. She looked around smiling.

"Can I help you?" A voice came from the farther end of the store. Jane could hear the clack of heels heading her way.

"Um," she hesitated. Looking around once again. "I think I'm okay. I'm just going to look around."

"Oh." the woman said, finally close enough to see Jane. The distaste in her voice was palpable. She let out an exasperated sigh. "I see. Well, _Miss_ , I don't think you are going to find anything here that will _suit_ your tastes."

She looked at the saleswoman suddenly surprised and quite embarrassed. "I... I would just like to get a few things. Something simple."

"No, I think you may need to go. It's obvious," the saleswoman said, looking her up and down, "that your tastes run a little differently than what we have here." She began walking toward Jane gesturing with her lowered hands in a back-and-forth wave-like motion as though trying to move along a young child or wayward pet.

Unsure what to do, Jane's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. She looked down at her dress, pulling the hem down and the open front together.

"Yeah, okay, you need to get going now," the saleswoman continued shooing her toward the door.

At first walking backward, then turning, she walked out the door. Jane's embarrassment welled up. Her stomach turned. Hunching over, trying to pull the short skirt farther down, holding her hands crossed in front of her, Jane made the excruciating walk back to Richard's apartment. Tears burned in the back of her eyes and choked in her throat. By the time she reached the elevator, the tears had begun falling, hard sobs shook her.

"Miss?" the doorman, concern clearly in his voice approached her. "Are you okay?"

Hiccupping slightly, she answered, "Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

"Pardon me, but I don't think you're fine. Come here. Come sit down." He led her to a large arm chair, deeply padded, and covered in a stylish pattern of ovals and swirls. She sat, her elbow leaning on her knees, propping up her head. The other hand roughly wiped away her tears like a defiant child, caught in a fit.

"I'll be fine. Just a misunderstanding."

"Well. I understand those. My name is Martin. You're a guest of Mr. Sacks?"

She thought for a moment. Was his name Sacks? She couldn't remember if the subject of his full name had ever been brought up. "Yes, I'm staying with Richard," she said slowly.

Martin, nearing seventy, had seen a lot in his years, especially since he had become a doorman here. "I thought so. He mentioned he had a guest. Seems you're pretty special. He's never mentioned a guest before. At least not to me." Martin looked at the young woman. Her dress seemed to conflict with the innocence in her eyes.

"It's kind of a long story. He's been helping me out." The tears had slowed, though she sat trying to position herself in the most non-revealing way possible. Martin seemed lovely, but really she just wanted to get back upstairs. She was feeling helpless, vulnerable, lost. "I thank you for your concern, but I really would just like to get upstairs."

"Of course," he answered. "I'm glad to have met you. You only need to use the intercom should you need anything."

"Thanks." She stood from the chair and made her way again to the elevator. Martin watched her go. Placing the card key in the slot as she had witnessed Richard do the night before, she closed her eyes and sighed heavily as the doors came together.
Chapter 7

Richard's day at work had been long and quite arduous. The usual excitement for the finalized deal had escaped him. He found himself going through the motions, feigning interest in business dealings he only half heard. Driving home, he thought once more of Jane. Being preoccupied throughout the day, he hadn't found the time to think about her. He had left earlier than usual that morning, a bit embarrassed to look her in the face, worried he might reveal his thoughts from the night before.

Now he wondered how her day had gone, curiosity taking hold of his thoughts. What did she buy? Would he return home to a room full of shopping bags, boxes, and shocking price tags? Or was it possible, without anyone there to stop her that she had left? Did she take the money and run? Richard thought about that for a moment. There had been no indication that she would leave. It was possible however, that money might entice her to leave him and go elsewhere. He didn't know her. Not really. All the time they had spent in the hospital had been about her healing. Perhaps she only needed the opportunity, and money, to leave and never look back. A bit of panic settled into the bottom of his stomach. What if she had left? He didn't know how to answer that question.

Entering the quiet apartment, Richard looked around. Things were as he had left them. At least almost everything. He walked to the island where he had left the note and money. Both were gone. The apartment was quiet. He set his briefcase down, and taking off his suit jacket, walked to the door of the guest bedroom.

Richard knocked gently with two knuckles. A soft, "Just a minute," answered. Upon hearing her voice, Richard let out the breath he had unknowingly been holding. At that moment he realized he had actually feared finding her gone.

Jane wiped at her eyes. She stood from the cocoon of blankets, still in her shoes, and walked toward the door. Placing a smile on her lips, hoping she looked better than she felt, she opened the door.

Richard's first thought was that she seemed taller. His second was that she had been crying. "What happened?" he asked, fearful that another memory of the accident had upset her. She looked down. Richard's eyes followed hers. He noticed the black high heels which, of course, accounted for her height change. He nudged the door completely open. "What it is?" he urged again.

"It just wasn't fun."

He looked at her blankly for a moment. Recognition dawned on him, "The shopping?"

"Yes," she said, returning back to the bed and under the covers. He walked over to her, draping his jacket on the nearby chair and noticed a collection of crumpled bills on the carpeting.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"Nothing. Everything," she sat up, pushing the billowing comforter down around her legs. "The saleswoman took one look at this dress and practically pushed me out the door," she said, gesturing to the green dress she was still wearing. "I was so embarrassed. I didn't even try anywhere else. What if they were all like that? She treated me like I was nothing," tears began to slide down her cheeks again.

Richard sat on the side of the bed. "You are definitely not nothing," he said as he placed his hand on her cheek and wiped a tear with his thumb. "You are amazing. Beautiful, sweet, kind...."

She exhaled a small laugh. "She didn't think so."

"I don't care what this crazy woman thought. You don't want her clothes anyway. Pushing beautiful women out the door is no way to make a buck these days. Trust me. I know."

Again, a small laugh and a smile. He knew how to talk with her. His words were light, and confident.

Richard took her face in both his hands and lifted her chin a bit higher. Looking into her eyes he said, "We will fix this. Tomorrow. I will take you myself. And I will be damn sure that you get whatever you want."

"Thank you." She smiled at him, looking directly into those deep, green eyes. She lost herself in their emerald depths. His hands, still holding her face, were strong. She felt safe. Holding just her face, she felt as though they held all of her. Her lips parted. Staring at him, her stomach began to flutter.

Richard looked into her eyes. They were hazel; a rich brown center with green flecks dancing around the outside. His gaze focused on her lips as they slowly parted. He could feel the building ache like an unreachable itch. He was tempted to lean in and take her lips, to claim them with his own, taste them, have them completely. He looked to her eyes, still red from crying. Seeing the evidence of sorrow he forced his mind from her lips and refocused on the situation.

Letting her go, and standing, he said, "That was good. You're learning. No fighting me this time when I offered to help."

She smiled, biting her bottom lip. It was a habit Richard enjoyed. It was girlish, and fun, and it reminded him of how much he would enjoy tasting those lips as well. "Well, I'm going to go see what we can fix up for dinner. If you are feeling adventurous, you could join me."

He left the room as she began to pull off her shoes. She dropped each onto the floor unceremoniously and exhaled loudly. She pulled off the dress, leaving it in the chair with Richard's discarded jacket, and walked to the bathroom. Staring at her puffy eyes and red, snotty nose, she realized what a mess she was. Running cold water, she filled the sink. Pulling a soft, blue washcloth from the shelf nearest her, she dipped it in the cool water and placed it across her eyes. The cool touch of soft terrycloth soothed her tear-ached eyes.

With the stinging of her eyes lessening, she gladly put Richard's t-shirt and boxers on from the night before. Though they were slept in and wrinkled, she could still smell the fresh detergent he used. Looking at her reflection once more, she pulled her hair up and off her neck. Unable to find a hair band or clip, she searched the bedroom for something to put up her unruly hair. Finding a pen on the tall dresser, she twirled her hair around and up, twisting it, and then slid the pen through and back around.

Walking toward the kitchen, barefoot and feeling better, she could only see the back half of Richard as he was immersed in the refrigerator. It was a lovely half. His pants snuggled against the curve and muscles of his legs and backside. Biting her bottom lip, she continued toward him, her mind on the bottom before her. Richard stood up, vegetables and a package of chicken in his hands.

Looking up he noticed her immediately. Her hair was up in some kind of messy 'do, his boxers and t-shirt once again clothed her. And once again, he hardened at the sight of the white cotton, the outline of her breasts, and the bare skin of her toned legs. Clearing his throat, he turned and dumped the contents within his hands onto the counter of the island.

Hoping his pants and the angle of his bottom half hid his hardened reaction to her, he said, "I thought we could have a sort of stir-fry."

"That sounds delicious. I could help."

Getting out cutting boards and a sharp knife for each of them, they silently began working. Jane sliced both ends off a large red pepper. She cut one side, running the knife along the inside, removing the seeds and inside ribs in a fluid motion. She then began slicing small strips of the flesh into practically even slices.

Eyeing her progress, Richard said, "Well. You seem to know what you're doing."

She looked at him. She had been cutting as though on instinct. The process had been natural and easy. "I know. Perhaps I'm a chef. Or a prep chef. What do they call those?"

"Sous chefs."

"Right. Maybe deep in my mind I'm actually processing how to cook a four-course meal." Meant to be amusing, the comment fell flat, instead emphasizing all that she didn't know. Feeling pinpricks behind her already sore eyes, she pushed her focus to the next pepper. Not knowing why she knew how to cut a pepper seemed silly to be upset about. But it was more than cutting the pepper, she reminded herself.

"Do you like to cook?" she asked, needing to refocus her thoughts.

"Me?" Richard set down his knife, and grabbing a nearby dishtowel, he moved to the cupboard of glassware. Tossing the towel over his shoulder, he pulled down two wine glasses. "I rarely cook anything. In fact, the only reason there's food here is because I asked Rachel, my assistant, to stock the fridge when we were being discharged at the hospital."

She heard the "we" in his statement. She smiled despite herself at the pairing. It had seemed at times that they had both been admitted after the accident.

"My ex-wife always complained about my hours. I wasn't really good at keeping to an evening schedule. She liked to go out. Domesticity wasn't top priority." She continued cutting various vegetables, chewing a fresh snap pea. He placed a glass of white wine before her and continued, "I wasn't really worried about being home. I guess I took for granted that she was here, doing the wife, and then later the mom thing."

He was leaning against the counter near the double oven stove. His legs crossed at the ankles, a glass of white wine in his hand, he seemed lost in memories. "And then she fell in love with someone else. And there was no need to worry about being home and making dinners and cooking. Mallory really likes him. Calls him Dad. I'm pretty sure she calls me Richard when I'm not around."

Taking another sip, he continued, gesturing slightly with his glass, "She always complained about my hours, about how I took calls any time the phone rang. How business deals were more important than family. I didn't really take her seriously. I thought wives were supposed to complain. I was making money. We were living in the wealthiest part of the city. She had anything she could ask for.

"I thought being able to foot the bill for any wish would be enough. Apparently not. Sometimes I wish I could go back and change it, but at the time it seemed really important to put in the hours. To make money. Now, there's really nothing else. Work is what I do, so I do it a lot."

Taking a long drink of his wine, he looked at her. "Well, that was unnecessarily deep," he said, a weary smile on his lips.

Uncomfortable, with no reference to pull from, she simply said, "No. I'm sorry."

Pushing off the counter, "Let's get this food cooking." For a few moments, they focused on cutting and slicing vegetables. Richard measured out water and rice, placing it on the stove's flame.

Taking a sip of her wine, and wishing to lighten the weight of the mood, she said, "Tell me something good. A good memory." She looked into his eyes.

He bit the end of a slice of yellow pepper and smiled. The slight upward angle of his lips could be seen in the small lines near his eyes. Delicate laugh lines, they seemed underused. She found herself lost in his smile.

"Okay," he said. "Like the best Christmas?" Richard kept his eyes locked on hers.

She returned his smile, "Sure, you must have gotten some kind of red bike with a fancy horn and little streamers or something."

"No, no streamers. And it was green. My mother bought me a green bike. I rode that all over town."

"I bet you did," she said, biting into another snap pea. Steam from the rice could be seen rising from the stove. Richard poured oil into the skillet, and she gathered a handful of chopped and sliced vegetables, sliding them into the pan.

The tone had turned. Richard looked as she stood next to him. "Is that a pen in your hair?" He asked amused.

"Yes. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

He smiled. The tousled updo was messy, tendrils falling around her face, and totally endearing. She stirred the vegetables.

"Do you want to cut the chicken?" she asked.

He took his glass of wine and began slicing the meat into small chunks. "I did have a good childhood. Though it was hard. My mother was a single mom. She worked two jobs. Did the best she could. Looking back, I know she did a lot of overtime to get me that bike."

"She must be really proud of you. I bet you bought her a mansion somewhere," stirring the vegetables, she looked at his back. It was strong, broad.

"She was. I lost her a few years back."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She stepped toward him, "I didn't mean..."

"No," he said turning, suddenly close to her, his voice softened, "I mean, she was wonderful. When you asked for good memories, they're mostly of her." Near enough to touch her, he could see the top of her head, the disheveled mass of chocolate browns, and golden reds twirled and laying like a lazy day, called to him. He wanted to tangle his fingers into the swirls and waves.

With his height, she faced his chest. His tie was loose, resting low on his shirt. His pressed white button down shirt, unwrinkled and open at the neck, revealed small, dark hairs resting in tiny curls against his skin. She stared at the exposed skin wondering if those curls were really as soft as they looked. Biting her lower lip, she raised her face to his. He looked at her. Their eyes meeting, there was no sound. His eyes, so green, pierced through her. She craved their hidden depths. She wanted to lose herself in them forever, never leave the time or place where they were focused completely on her. She could feel them caressing her insides. Wanting warmed between her legs. Luscious tendrils of need spread, throbbing at the center of her. She pulled her lip from her teeth and breathed.

Suddenly the sizzling of the vegetables interrupted her thoughts, "Oh!" she exclaimed and turned quickly, attempting to avoid ruining their dinner.

Richard stood for a moment watching her attend to the food. He had nearly placed his hands on her cheek and dipped to taste her lips. The temptation to bite her bottom lip, to replace her own teeth with his own, echoed through him. Still thinking of the taste of her, he returned to preparing the chicken.

Having told her about himself, he realized he wished she could share her past with him. He wanted to know if she had had a bike. If there had been ribbons and daytime adventures running through the grass ending only when the sun had started its descent. If she had climbed trees or had tea parties. Who had been her best friend? There were so many details he wanted to know and share with her.

He thought of the phone call earlier that day in his office. The conversation with the private detective. The sparse information he had been able to provide to begin the search. His man had promised to do his best. Starting where the accident had occurred, he had promised to investigate and find what information he could regarding her identity. Richard was unsure if he should share this with her. Would she be happy or would her reaction be more of anger or hurt. Unable to read the situation, he decided to keep his involvement quiet for the moment. If he found out something, he would tell her.

She turned to him, "I'm ready." A bit dazed, he merely looked at her for a moment. She smiled, "For the chicken."

"Right." Stirring in the chicken, and adding the other seasoning ingredients, they finished the last few minutes of cooking in silence.

Placing heaping plates of stir-fry before them, they decided to eat at the dining room table. She sat, folding one leg beneath her, on the chair to his right. Picking up her fork, she dug in hungrily. She hadn't eaten anything all day, and the embarrassment that had created the deep exhaustion within her earlier was momentarily replaced with a gnawing hunger.

"This is delicious," she said around a mouthful.

Richard smiled at her. She definitely seemed to love to eat. Last night's pizza and the meal before them now didn't stand a chance against her. He enjoyed the verve of her eating. The few women he had been to dinner with, his ex-wife included, had always picked at their meals, always on some kind of diet or other, holding back on really enjoying a meal. "I'm glad you like it."

She smiled at him, realizing she was being a tad overzealous with her meal. She swallowed then said, "Sorry. I'm starving. I don't mean to be rude. I'm probably grossing you out right now."

"Absolutely not. I was just thinking how nice it is to see a woman enjoy her food."

She laughed lightly, "Yeah, I don't understand that eating all dainty and stuff. I'm hungry, I'm going to eat." Digging her fork in again, she took another large bite.

"Me too." He took several bites, enjoying the meal and the company.

They ate for a few moments in a silence that felt comfortable and relaxed. There was no pressure to talk, as they ate and sipped wine. After a few bites, Richard began talking more about his childhood. He offered information about his best friend, Tommy. The young boy with wild red hair, a face full of freckles, and skin that blistered and burned in even the slightest amount of summer sun. He told her about how they had tried to build a treehouse out of old boards, scraps of discarded trash, and cardboard boxes. They laughed together about its construction, how it looked, and how it had fallen down, almost breaking his leg, in the process.

Finishing her last bite, she stretched her arms high above her head. Richard couldn't help but stare as the shirt stretched and clung as she reclined back. Richard could see the t-shirt against her breasts, pulling against the sides of her stomach. His desire grew again. This woman was creating a whirlwind of yearning, and he was unable to stop its effect on him. He desired the innocence in her, the delicate side that he wanted to protect, and relished the humor and openness he saw during moments like tonight.

"You look tired," he commented.

"I guess I am. Let me get these dishes," she said as she started to gather her silverware and plate.

"No," he said, placing his hand atop hers. It was soft and warm. Her fingers tiny beneath his own. "I'll clean up. You go take another bath. A long one. Watch some TV or something. I'll clean up. I've got some work to go through, then I'm going to turn in."

"Are you sure?" The answering glare had her playfully raising her hands as though she were a criminal finally caught by the police. Hand still in the air, she said, "Okay, okay. Thank you."

He watched her walk to the guest bathroom, the bottoms of her bare feet flashing with each step. Her long legs, the white cotton t-shirt hitting mid-thigh, she was breathtaking. He gave himself a moment, still seated, to allow his excitement to ebb before he took the gathered plates, glasses, and silverware toward the kitchen. He cleaned up their dinner and then, grabbing his briefcase, gathered the paperwork he would need to concentrate on, and got to work.

She had settled on a pink bath salt that smelled flowery and delicate. Allowing the water to rise as close to the edge as she dared, she languished in the warmth of the bath. Her hair still up with the pen, she leaned back against the tile of the tub.

Closing her eyes, she thought of Richard. She found her mind picturing his green eyes. She loved the way they had crinkled in the corners as he told her about his childhood. Raising her toes about the water, she wondered about her own childhood. Had she taken dance lessons, or played sports? Had her room been decorated with pink wallpaper and flowered curtains? Unsure of how to find the answers, she finished her bath, trying to soak away feelings of loss.

Entering the bedroom, another cloud-like, blue towel wrapped around her, she found a new t-shirt and boxers laid out on the bed. She smiled at Richard's thoughtfulness and dressed for bed.
Chapter 8

It was dark. She hated the dark. Mommy had given her a nightlight, but she wasn't around anymore. The floor creaked, and the door groaned. Her body stiffened, she tried to lie as still as stone, but he wasn't fooled, and soon she could feel his weight on the end of the bed as he crawled to her. His weight atop her made it hard to breathe. She stared up into his face.

Dark and hairy, his smile looked funny. His breath was sour as he said, "Oh, my beautiful Leila. So pretty." His words were slurred and threatening in their kindness. His big, too fleshy hands roamed over her chest, still covered in her princess nightgown, pinching and grabbing the small buds growing there. The smell of his body was sharp in her nose. She looked to the ceiling, studying the brown circles. Glistening lines of a spider web, lit by the nightlight near her bed, hung in the corner, a small spider weaving his death trap.

" _Leila," His lips were big, and wet, and too soft as he pressed them to her mouth. His sloppy tongue moved over her mouth, and finding no entrance, continued a line of saliva down her cheek. He propped his head back up, staring at her, licking his lips. "My beautiful Leila."_

Richard sat up. Disoriented, he looked to his television, imagining it to be the source of the sounds that had woken him. A black screen returned his stare. Hearing it again, he threw the covers off himself, barefooted and wearing only his pajama bottoms, he strode out of the room. He approached her door. He could hear her in there. A muffled, "Stop," then louder, "Don't!" came from the other side. Grabbing the door handle, turning to open it, he found it locked. Panic tightened his chest. Fear, only slightly held at bay by rational thought, struggled to grip hold of him.

Continuing farther down the hallway, he approached the door to the bathroom. She had left it unlocked. Nearly flinging the door open, he walked in, quickly entering her bedroom through the adjoining door. She was obviously in the throes of a nightmare. She tossed her head back and forth, continuing to plead someone to stop and leave her alone. Richard approached the bed. Tears streaked her face.

"It's a dream. Wake up." he grabbed her shoulder, shaking gently. She seemed lost in sleep, not waking. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare." He placed his knee on the bed and grabbed both of her shoulders, shaking her more sternly.

Her eyes opened, and unfocused on him, she pushed herself farther away from him, grabbing the blankets, pulling them to her chest. She tucked herself to the far corner, blankets pulled up in tightened fists, her knees bent and tucked in close to her body. Her breathing was harsh and fast, tears continuing to fall.

He stood then leaned over to turn on the bedside light. "It's okay, it's me," Richard spoke softly, putting his face in the light, staying off the bed.

"Richard?" she asked, her voice broken, light, childlike.

"Yes," he said, daring to put a knee on the bed, to move a bit closer to her, though he wanted to grab her, let her know she was safe, that whatever horrible place she had been in her mind was gone.

She loosened the bed sheets from her grasp and looked around her. He was right. She was in his apartment. That horrible man, his acrid smells, and fleshy hands were gone. Richard. Her Richard was here. She was here. The tears welled, breaking into tight sobs.

Leaving one foot still on the floor, he sat, nearing closer. "It's okay," he said, soothing and calm. Her hands covered her face as she sobbed. He moved one hand closer to her, touching her knee. She flinched slightly, and he moved his hand away.

She looked at him. "Oh, Richard. It was awful." Moving slightly, unsure of herself, she neared enough to place her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her as her sobs began to lessen.

His touch was comforting. She could feel his arm around her. Pain and fear still swirled in her stomach, and wanting it to stop, she placed her arms around his neck, pulling herself in closer. Richard held her tighter, placing both arms around her as best he could. Her legs were crossed and between them, but he held on, fighting the discomfort of the position.

As the tears slowed, she leaned back slightly, still holding him, and letting him hold her. Not looking at his face, she realized he wasn't wearing a shirt, and that she had been crying all over his bare skin. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, wiping at her eyes and nose.

"No, don't apologize." He brushed the back of her head with his hand.

"I'm a mess."

"Here." He reluctantly let her go to reach the bedside table and grab the cube of tissues, then presented them to her. She took three in a quick motion and wiped her eyes, blowing her nose.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

"No," she said, shaking her head and rubbing her nose with the balled up tissue.

"That's okay. Whatever you need." She leaned into him again, her head on his shoulder.

That horrible man's face appeared behind her closed lids, she snapped them open, not wanting to see him, not wanting to remember. But was it a memory? It seemed real. She could smell the sourness of his breath and body. She could feel the pressure of him still on top of her. Shaking off the memory with a shiver, she laid back. Her hand went to her forehead.

"There was a man. A terrible man. He called me Leila. I think it was a memory. I think that's my name." Leila, she tested it. It seemed familiar, right somehow.

"Leila," Richard repeated, also tasting the sound of it, testing its fit with this mysterious woman who had entered his life.

Absently, she reached for his hand. Holding it, their fingers entwined, she looked into his eyes. His eyes held concern and worry, but they also held safety. Security. A place she wanted to be.

He continued looking into her face. The pain was lessening, hope was replacing the fear he had first seen there.

"Would you hold me?" she asked tentatively.

Without answering, still holding her fingers between his own, he moved himself so he was lying beside her, his elbow bent, his head resting on his other hand. She snuggled closer to his body. Reaching up she touched the curls of hair that scattered across his bare chest. They were soft, and thick, and curled around her fingers as she twirled them lightly.

"Leila is a beautiful name. I think it suits you."

She looked up into his face again, finding his eyes. "It feels right. I think it may be me. Say it again."

"Leila," he said quietly, yearning clear in his intonation.

"I like it."

"Me too."

They looked at each other for a moment, a heartbeat pounding between them. Keeping her eyes on his, she moved her head closer as he dipped his slightly to meet her lips with his own. He moved his hand to the back of her head. The kiss was soft, tentative. Their lips grazing each other, releasing slightly, then joining again. Her lips were soft, his harder but tender. She parted her lips against his, her tongue tenderly touching his lips as they opened in response. She was dizzying, his mind reeled as his body hardened in eagerness.

His tongue joined hers, exploring her lips, tongue, delirious with the feel, the taste of her. The kiss deepened, her hands found the back of his head pulling him in closer. He was safety, and warmth, and the peace that she needed.

His hand still in her hair, holding her head, his other moved to her shoulder, squeezing slightly with the intensity of their joined lips. She tasted better than he had imagined. He wanted to taste all of her, to feel each inch of her skin. To explore her, hold her, never let this nightmare haunt her again.

With the thought of her nightmare, he slowed the kiss, and giving two short kisses to her lips, he pulled back. "I should go," he said, his body groaning in protest. He began to move from her, but she held tighter to him, not releasing his head. Unable to look him in the face, she leaned her head forward. He kissed her brow tenderly.

"Please don't." The simple words spoke of her need, not begging, but yearning for him. Her own desire and wanting transformed into the two words. The need to be lost and safe, held by this man, beautiful and tender.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she lifted her head and captured his lips once again. He welcomed the heat and intensity of her kiss. Her hands moved, sliding down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, finding themselves against his chest. Resting there, she continued to kiss him and laid back against the pillows and blankets.

He leaned back to see her face, her lips, slightly swollen from his, her beautiful eyes, their shades of green and gold and brown. He looked at her hair, running his fingers through its softness. He kissed her forehead again, then her cheeks. His lips continued along her jaw, her head shifting slightly to allow him access. He took her earlobe between his teeth, then flicked his tongue around the tender skin there. She breathed a moan at the feel of him.

Continuing down her neck, he teased and tasted her skin. He could feel her quickened pulse against his lips. His hand traveled slowly down her body, grabbing the edge and balling the t-shirt near her hip. Her hands moved under his arms, fingernails dancing down his back, encouraging and exploring.

He moved, repositioning himself, lifting above her slightly, one leg now between hers. He was hard and pressing against her hip. He found her lips again, their tongues dancing in urgency and desperate desire.

Her hands found the waist of his bottoms, roaming along their edge, feeling his hip, the curve of his bottom. Anxious to taste more of her, he rose slightly, pulling her t-shirt up and off. She lay back down, a sudden shyness causing her to bite her bottom lip. Seeing her teeth clenched on that lip, he groaned, hardening further. He looked at her. She was beautiful. Her hands rested over her breasts. He leaned forward and kissed her fingers, teased them with his own teeth. Smiling she slid her hands to his back, allowing him access to her. He pulled back again slightly to take her in. Round and lush, nipples pink and hardened, her breasts were wondrous. Large enough to fit into one hand, he encircled one, kneading the flesh and bringing it to his lips, his tongue lapped the tender skin. Her back arched lightly against his mouth, throbbing desire flooding the center of her.

She could feel the dampness inside of her building with an aching longing. He continued to explore her breast, licking her nipple, blowing lightly against the puckered skin sending chills that caused her breath to hitch and a deep moan to escape her lips. Her hands clutched his hair. Her back arching, he found her other nipple, teasing and tasting, his lips and tongue exploring the ridges and roundness of her skin.

He rested his face between her breasts and inhaled the sweet scent of her skin. A low growl from his throat escaped. His lips returned to kissing her skin, traveling down her smooth flesh leaving a trail to her navel. Her hands still entwined in his hair, she involuntarily moved at each touch, wanting more, moaning with deep breaths as her chest pushed against itself in delightful agony.

He placed both hands on her hips, his thumb strong against the bone there, his fingers just above her bottom as his tongue dipped and licked her navel. The waist of the boxers just below his lips, impeded his travels. Looking up to her face, his expression asked her permission. She looked into those green eyes of his and shook her head yes, licking her lips.

Sitting back slightly, he pulled the shorts down her legs, leaving them on the floor at the foot of the bed. His hands skimmed up her feet. Near her left ankle bone, he noticed a tiny and black tattooed semicolon. His lips connected with the ink and then, grazing her ankles, moved toward her knees. His hands and lips moved up her legs, taking turns tasting and touching her skin.

Both hands touching her thighs, he moved his body between her legs. Kneeling there, he was able to see her entire body, beautiful, smooth, soft in all the right places. His hands continued their glide up her thighs, the tips of his thumbs grazing the triangle of hair between them.

She gasped in a shock of senses as his fingers continued to rub her thighs, tormenting the throbbing within her as they barely approached the tender skin she really wanted him to touch. He kissed the skin of her inner thigh, tracing small eights with his lips. Her hands balled the sheets and blankets as they rested beside her, unsure of where to touch, lusciously tormented by his exploration.

He moved to the center of her, his nose gently nudging the triangle of hair. His tongue dipped in, tasting her. She moaned, her hands grasping his head, holding his dark hair. Continuing his tasting, he explored her sweetness, finding her center, wet, and hardened in pleasure, he continued to lick and taste. Her hips rose and fell as his mouth explored. Pleasure built, an insufferable ache building. He moaned with her, delighting in her response, wanting to feel her pleasure, taste her climax.

Her body tightened as something inside of her unraveled, exploding and shaking her senses. She cried out, clutching his head, her back arching, her hips bucking slightly against his tongue still teasing.

Breath finally returning to her lungs, her body began to relax, the waves lessening, the tingling becoming more manageable. He lifted himself to her, kissing her breasts, then roving to her neck and finally her lips. She welcomed his kisses, still damp with the taste of her. Her hands grabbed for his bottoms, pushing them down, her lips still on his. She reached her leg up slightly, unwilling to release his mouth from hers, and pushed the bottoms down with her toes until he could push them off with his own feet. He lay atop her gently, his hardness resting against her.

His desire was breaking his senses, but a part of him stilled his ache to be inside of her. He continued to kiss her, hardening beyond hard. Her hand traveled between their bodies, finding him, and gently explored his shaft. He moaned deep in her throat. She smiled at his response, and guided him inside of her. She arched her back as they both moaned at the way he filled her.

She was warm, and wet, and soft. Slowly he began to move inside of her. He looked at her face, ensuring she was okay. At the look of pleasure, he began to move faster, losing himself in the sweet friction of their bodies. He thrust deeply, hitting the end of her, feeling her tighten around him. Her hands roamed his back, nails digging in ever so slightly.

He slowed for a moment, afraid to end too soon, and kissed her deeply. She responded to his kiss, then lifting her hips, moved against him in need. He almost lost himself with her movements, but forced himself to focus on her face, to see the pleasure there. Their bodies moved together, pleasure building in a terrible ache.

Sliding his hands under her, he rolled, pulling her atop him. His hands on her back, he held her close, kissing her lips, their tongues mingling in passion. She rocked slowly against him, the rhythm matching their entangled tongues and lips. Sliding her legs up, her weight on her knees, she lifted her body, her head tilted backward, a ravished breath escaping her lips. Filling her, she could feel the power of him, her soft, tender skin surrounding him. Moving slowly against him, he placed his hands on her hips, guiding her movements, encouraging her rhythm.

Opening her eyes, she found him watching her, desirous pleasure in his smile. Safety warmed the tension building within her as she rubbed her most tender spot against him. She touched the hair on his chest, feeling his warm skin, damp with perspiration, then followed its trail as it merged to a line below his navel then lower to where their bodies now met. Moving hesitantly, she touched herself, lightly encouraging the core of her need. As the waves grew, she bit her lip.

He watched her hands as they electrified his senses. Groaning at the sight of her fingertips between them, at her teeth capturing her bottom lip, his senses exploded. Waves pulsed through him as he pushed deeply into her, releasing, throbbing, trembling. At the feel of him so deep, her teasing touches igniting, her own explosion erupted from deep within. Crying out, she continued to rock against him, ensuring both were ecstatically spent, till only their breaths were left unsatisfied.

He pulled her down to embrace her sweat-dampened body. Brushing her hair as it lay loose around them, he struggled to calm his breathing. Her face rested on his chest, her eyes open, she bit her finger trying to find her own breath, relishing the feel of his hands in her hair.

"Leila," he said softly.

Smiling at the sound of her name, and the contentment its discovery brought, she answered, "Yes?"

A hundred statements raced through his mind: _That was incredible. I don't think I've ever enjoyed being with someone more. I think you may have killed me. You are so amazing._ _Let's do that again soon, please._ He decided on simply, "I'm happy you're here. With me."

"I'm happy to be here too." She smiled, moving to kiss him once more. It was a slow kiss, not without desire, but more a mix of contentment and solace.

Untangling their bodies, they lied next to one another, his body pressed against her back, one arm supporting her head. She reached up, holding the hand before her face, feeling his other holding her tenderly. Safe in his embrace, she drifted to sleep.

He lied there, mere breaths longer, thinking how this woman was stealing herself into the very depths of him, till sleep finally overtook his thoughts.
Chapter 9

Slowly he awoke the next morning. Feeling her warmth against him, he moved closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. His hand gently felt the rise of her hip as it led to her thigh. Having her here next to him, he began to harden. He kissed the back of her head, releasing her hip to move the hair covering her neck.

With his kisses, sleep began to fade away. She could feel his lips on her skin, tender and soft. A slight moan escaped her as she stretched, moving slightly away from him. She opened her eyes to see him looking at her.

"Hi," she said.

"Good morning," he responded.

The thin sheet did little to hide his growing desire. She took in the sight of him. His hair was in disarray from sleep, the collection of curling, soft hair spread across his broad, muscled chest reminding her of last night's exploration. His face held only adoration for her. That look made her heart leap and warmth spread throughout. Somehow, this man made her feel safe. He was amazing and for some reason she had yet to discover, he wanted her. She smiled at him.

Her smile, the tangled mess of her hair, made him want her more. She looked so young at that moment, so innocent, and beautiful. Leaning forward, he kissed her softly. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he positioned himself above her.

His hands trailed down the side of her body, feeling her skin, the dips and curves. He swept under her bottom, bringing her leg up, knee bent, to rest against his hip. She shifted, allowing him access to her, releasing his kiss to arch her head back in a slight moan as he entered her. His thrusts were slow as he held her close to him. He kissed her again and again, tangling his tongue with hers, exploring her mouth as he moved against her.

Unhurried, they moved together, kissing, breaking apart to look into each other's eyes. His encouragement, the feel of him inside, the friction of his hardness deep within the softest part of her, built into swells threatening an incredible brake. He could feel her pleasure as she tightened around him. He continued his rhythm till she cried out, pulsing around him, causing a loss of control, and his own release.

Breathless, they lie in each other's arms. Unwilling to move from her, he looked into her face, brushing her hair back. "You are so beautiful," he said.

She blushed. Unsure how to respond, she kissed him quickly. Smiling, he moved to her side, still holding her with one arm around her middle.

"I guess we should get up?" she asked shyly.

"Never," he responded, hugging her tightly against him.

Laughing lightly at his response, she snuggled in close to him. "Okay, but I have to pee."

"Too bad," he said, "Hold it."

"Forever?"

"Quite possibly."

She smiled, looking up into his face. Forever in his arms seemed so very tempting. Holding each other, her eyes traveled around the room, at the sun creeping in a lavender sheen through the window, the tiny specks dancing in its stem of light. Calm, peace, safety surrounded her.

In his room, the distant, but shrill, sound of his alarm clock rang out. "Shit," he said. Sitting up, untangling the sheet, he got up, knowing the sound would not cease until he stopped it himself.

She watched him as he walked to the door. His backside was as beautiful, toned, and sleek as she had imagined it. He unlocked the door and went to cease the alarm's incessant screech. She rose from the bed, found her t-shirt on the floor where it had been discarded, slipped it on, then padded into the bathroom.

Richard returned, looking at the empty bed, smiling. Running his hands through his hair, he picked up his bottoms, put them on, and journeyed to the kitchen to start some coffee. Leila joined him there as the aroma of coffee filled the room, and the drip and sizzle of the coffee filled the pot.

"It's early, but I promised you a shopping trip. So, after breakfast, we can be on our way."

Thinking of the disaster her shopping had been, she frowned.

"Now, don't do that. I will make sure you have fun. We'll get everything you need and then some. Trust me." He tilted her face up and gently kissed her lips. "You will be lavished on. Terribly so. I guarantee it."
Chapter 10

Showered and dressed in one of Richard's button downs, belted into a crude kind of shirt dress, Leila walked with Richard out of the elevator. Martin was there at the door as he had been yesterday.

"Well hello, Mr. Sacks. Miss. How are you this lovely morning?" he asked them.

"Fantastic," Richard said, holding her hand. "And how are you?"

"Fantastic as well. Thank you. Enjoy your day," he said, holding the door open. Winking encouragingly, he shined his friendly smile at Leila. She responded with her own smile, thankful for his friendliness.

Soon her heels were once again clicking the pink and white checkered tile of Astound Boutique. "Richard, I'm not sure we should shop here."

"This _is_ the place you were yesterday, is it not?"

"Yes, but..."

"No buts."

The same woman came forward, her heels clicking, jewelry clinking together with her steps. Clapping her hands together, she looked to Richard, Leila still slightly hidden behind him. "My goodness, Mr. Sacks! It has been a while. We are happy to have you here at Astound. What can I do for you?" she said in a fake, syrupy voice.

"My lovely friend here," he said, pulling Leila's hand, guiding her from behind him, "is looking for some clothes. Lots of clothes. A whole new wardrobe, if you will."

The sales woman's enthusiastic smile melted slightly as she took in Leila.

"Hi," Leila said with a slight wave.

Richard had to hand it to the woman, she controlled her reaction quickly and said, "Of course."

"I want you to pick out dresses, pants, blouses, everything a woman would need and prepare a private dressing room."  
"Of course," she responded again. "Right away."

"And we would both like some coffee while we wait." He led Leila over to a cushioned chair and sat in its twin near her.

"Absolutely." She walked away, and soon a thin woman with short, dark hair and a curt smile handed them a steaming cup of coffee from the nearby coffee shop. She turned quickly and joined her colleague gathering clothes, shoes, and undergarments into a small dressing room in the back.

After several more minutes, Richard looked at Leila and said, "Stay here. I'm going to check on something." He walked back to the room the women were slowly filling. Leila could hear him addressing the women, "No. No. Nope. None of this will do." He returned to Leila, his hand outstretched and a smile on his face. "We are going to have to spend our money somewhere else." Leila stood, holding Richard's hand.

The saleswoman walked quickly behind him, "Whatever it is that is wrong, I'm sure we can find something your friend would like."

Richard turned to her, his smile gone, replaced with an angry sneer, "What I would like, is for my friend to be treated as the lady that she is, and since your behavior yesterday showed your venomous side, the crude way you would treat someone as wonderful as she, I can't imagine you could ever do anything to make either of us happy. Thank you for the coffee." He turned, leading Leila out of the store as she stared at the saleswoman and her astonished expression.

Once outside on the pavement, she turned to Richard, "You did that on purpose."

"Yes, I did. A woman like that doesn't deserve our business. Snide and rude. At least now we've wasted some of her time. I hope she thinks of me with each dress she had to put on a hanger and reshelf."

Leila smiled, pulling Richard to a stop mid-stride, she said, "Thank you," then kissed him.

"Well, I couldn't think of anything else. What I really wanted to do would have caused us more trouble than her."

Leila laughed then allowed him to lead her to another shop.

Shopping with Richard was beyond anything she could have imagined. The next boutique, though similar in its apparel, had what Leila could only describe as a Rock and Roll kind of feel. Deep red walls, exposed brick on one side, various light fixtures hanging from a metallic ceiling, and black, deep cushioned chairs all combined in a hard elegance she immediately liked.

The sales women recognized Richard as well, something Leila commented on. "Well," he answered, "All those late nights, arguments, and such with my ex were often eased with shopping or gifts. These ladies saw me or my assistant often. But that was then."

Led to a large dressing room, a satiny curtain hiding her disrobing, she tried on countless outfits. Richard sat in one of the black chairs. He had taken to looking at his phone, emails being tended to, but looked up at each swish of the metal curtain rings. He nodded his agreement at several dresses, a few pant suits, and blouses. He shook his head, nose crinkled, when something wasn't quite right.

One swish of the curtain had his face staring blankly at her. Worriedly she smoothed the fabric down. The sleeveless dress scooped slightly at the neck. A lace overlay connected the short top, giving a glimpse at the soft skin of her stomach, to the skirt. Slightly flared, it ended mid-thigh, lace continuing in panels over the white fabric and hemmed in peaks just below. It was simple, beautiful, and with her dark hair around her shoulders, Richard could see her innocence and beauty as she stood before him.

"It's perfect," he said.

She smiled, smoothing down the lace one more time. It was her favorite so far. She felt lovely, sophisticated, but simple. It felt comfortable. It felt like her.

A few outfits more, she left the store in the white dress she and Richard both liked best. He helped her carry the numerous bags back to the apartment. She wore simple sandals, small leather straps tying up her leg. Several other shoes, undergarments, clothes, dresses, and more dresses were contained within the bags. Richard had been right. Shopping with him had been amazing, an adventure she had never expected.

"Now," he started as they began their journey back, "I have to get into the office. Rachel has called five times. But I've made an appointment for you at Charisma. There you can get any makeup or girly things you might want or need. I've alerted them to my expectations and that you'll be using my card. If there are any problems, call me."

She looked at him, wonder and amazement in her expression. They reached the door to the building, and Martin was there, holding the door open. Richard deposited his portion of their shopping with him, and turned to her. "You had fun?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, "So much more than I thought."

"Good." He kissed her, claiming her lips in a goodbye he didn't want. "I will be home for dinner. We'll go out, and get some use out of these clothes."

She smiled as he walked to the parking garage for his car.

Martin smiled, "It seems you've been shopping. Let me help you get these upstairs." He kindly got into the elevator with Leila, her smile still shining. At the entrance to the apartment he handed the bags to her and said, "It's lovely to see the both of you happy. Mr. Sacks hasn't smiled like that in... Well, I'm not sure I've ever seen him smile like that. Good day."

The elevator closed and Leila spun in ecstasy, bags swinging from her hands. She felt like a princess. Richard was perfect, more than any woman could ask for. Her heart warmed at the realization that he could be hers and she his. Smiling ecstatically, she took the bags to her room.
Chapter 11

Richard's day was long. Unsuccessfully trying to read a recent property proposal, his mind wandered to Leila. He thought of the feel of her skin, the taste of her, the smile on her face as she had woken next to him. His mind lingered on how she had touched him, stroking his chest, her nails digging into his back. How the places she'd touched on his body still tingled as though he had been teased with electricity.

Tonight he would take her out. They would talk, maybe go dancing. He thought of holding her close, feeling her body move against his on the dancefloor. He would show her how much she meant to him. She had changed the deepest part of him. He looked forward to seeing her face, hearing her voice. His feelings for her surprised him, but felt natural. He now understood he was falling for her.

"Mr. Sacks?" Rachel's voice on the intercom interrupted.

Richard cleared his throat, subconsciously sitting up straighter, and said, "Yes."

"There's a Mister Killington on the line for you."

"Thank you, Rachel." Richard lifted the receiver of the phone anxious to hear what his investigator had discovered, "Jeffrey. What information have you found out for me?"

"Well, it was difficult to find out much," a deep, male voice spoke from the earpiece, "but I did learn something I think you'll find important."

"Yes, well, we did learn her name last night. She says it's Leila."

"Leila, yeah, that's what I have too. But there's something else as well." Jeffrey paused for a moment, "As we discussed, I started downtown at the scene of the accident. In one of the nearby apartment buildings, I found a man who knew her- Leila. Did business with her. Sort of."

"What do you mean 'Sort of?'" Richard questioned.

"Well, it seems that the man was her client." Jeffrey took a long breath on the other end of the line. "Richard, she's a call girl. For a place called," the sound of pages flipping could be heard through the line, "Ally's Escort Services."

Richard's mind froze.

"I couldn't find out too much more about her. I called the company. They wouldn't give me any information about her, but the woman you described can be found on their webpage. Her name is Leila on the page, but obviously there's no last name. Of course, I'll keep digging, but I thought, based on the conversation we had, you'd want to know this right away."

"Yes. Of course. Thank you, Jeffrey," Richard barely finished as he hung up the phone. He turned his chair, facing, but not seeing through, the window at the city before him. How is it possible that the beautiful, shy, innocent woman he had shared a bed with last night was a prostitute? Technically a call girl, but really? Who did that label fool?

Richard sat, facing the skyline, business forgotten, bewildered, confused, conflicted. Moments earlier, he had been thinking about his feelings for her. Now, he was unsure. What would it mean to let someone like her into his life? He was not the type of man who had ever paid for a lover. Could he be with a woman who sold herself? He was a respected man. He had a career where image was everything. His daughter couldn't be influenced by a prostitute.

Running his hands through his hair, he contemplated what lay before him. He would have to tell her. He would have to decide what he was going to do. He cared for her, hell, he was falling in love with her. Her, a prostitute. He thought of their night together. Was it just some conquest that she was making? Was he some kind of prize she had set her sights on? Had she been faking the amnesia, preying on his kindness, generosity?

No. He knew she had been trying to understand who she was. Where she had come from. The nightmare she had had was real. The fear he had seen, the despair she had shown, the loss, she couldn't have been faking that. He chastised himself for even contemplating such a deceit.

Richard continued contemplating his next move. He would tell her and then they would work it out. The woman he had come to know, was not some trashy escort. She was beautiful and shy. He thought of how she had looked during their night together. She had been hesitant at first, then she had given herself to him completely. He wasn't about to give up on her. Not yet.

He turned to his computer and looked up Ally Escort Services. He had to see for himself.

Leila's day had continued like a dream. She had been pampered and given the royal treatment at Charisma. They had done her makeup, curled and styled her hair. She felt beautiful, and she couldn't wait to see Richard when he came home. She had opened a bottle of wine and was waiting for him at the dining room table, taking small sips, trying to calm the butterflies that flipped and turned in her stomach. When she heard the elevator, she stood, pulling her hair forward over her shoulders and straightening her dress.

Richard had contemplated the news of Leila the entire ride home, trying to connect its jagged pieces to the woman he knew. His emotions had careened from anger and hurt to hope and determination to overcome this news. A real answer to what he was going to do still evaded him as he entered the elevator.

When the doors opened, he could see her near the dining room table. She was beautiful. Her hair was down, loose curls framing her face and falling on her shoulders. As he walked toward her, he took in the dark shadow and eyeliner perfectly highlighting her hazel eyes, her lashes, darkened with mascara, curled toward her perfect brow. Her lips, a delicate shade of pink smiled at him in welcome. She was wearing the white dress from earlier, but had replaced the tied sandals with blue heels that accentuated the toned muscles of her legs, adding elegance and a touch of height.

For a moment his worries of her identity faded and he saw the gorgeous woman before him. He wanted to grab her, take her to the bedroom and show her just how hard and yearning she made him. But he didn't.

There was that shy smile, the endearing bite of her lip. Having finally walked to the dining room, he set his briefcase on the table and turned to her. Taking both her hands, he said, "Leila, you look beautiful."

She looked down at herself. "Thank you," she replied. "You said we'd go to dinner, so I wanted to make sure I looked nice. For you."

"I have some news," he said. She looked at him expectantly. Unsure of where to start, he turned to the kitchen, walking to the refrigerator. "I need a beer."

"I opened some wine. I hope that's okay."

"Of course. Of course." Opening the fridge, he pulled out a beer, turned the cap off, and with his back still to her, took a long drink from the bottle.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, concern clear in her voice.

He turned to her, taking her in one more time. Standing there before him, he wanted her. She was beautiful and her makeup and dress only heightened her beauty. He tried to sort his thoughts. What would she do at the news? What would she say? Again he wondered, did she already know? Was this something she had been hiding all along? He took another long drink of his beer.

"Richard, please. Tell me what's going on."

"Okay," he said taking a deep breath and walking back over to her. "Here, have a seat." He indicated the chair near him as he took one himself. "I told you that I wanted to help you discover who you are," she nodded at his words, remembering his promise to help her. "And so I hired a private investigator to look into your identity." Taking another long drink, he then continued, "Through his search, he found a man that knew you."

Leila's hands were clasped before her. Her emotions dipped and soared. Richard seemed so concerned. Was it bad? But he knew who she was, the blackness of her memories could be pieced together. She would be able to put her life back together. She could share who she was with him.

"The man they found lives in an apartment near where the accident happened. It seems this man had been with you just before. He hired you that night. As an escort."

Her brow wrinkled at his words, "What do you mean?"

"It seems you've been working for an escort service. He paid to spend the evening with you."

She stood abruptly from the chair. "You mean..."

"Yes, it seems that way. The company has a website and my P.I. found your page there. I looked at it myself after he told me. The pictures there are of you. It's you." He remembered staring at the screen. Her face had stared back. Her dark hair, loose around her shoulders. There had been a small paragraph, a bio of sorts that had told him practically nothing. He had stared at her image wishing he could wipe it away.

"No, that's not possible," she spoke quietly, not understanding why Richard was telling her this. "It's... No, I wouldn't..."

Richard stood, reaching for her, "He's going to keep looking, I know we'll find out more."

Leila shook Richard's hand from her arm, tears falling down her cheeks. "I can't... I just need..." she turned quickly and started away from him toward the elevator.

"Leila, wait," he said as she quickly walked away from him. The doors to the elevator closed before he could reach it. "Shit," he said as he walked in tight circles, waiting for the elevator's return.

She stood looking in the mirrored walls of the elevator as it descended towards the ground floor. She stared at her reflection, the makeup slightly smudged from tears. She was a prostitute. She let men touch her. Have sex with her. It didn't seem possible. This was not who she envisioned herself to be. She looked at her body, imagined the numerous hands that had touched her skin. How many men had she allowed to touch her? To kiss her? For money? Disgusted, she closed her eyes. She needed air. She needed to take a moment and think. This couldn't be her. The tears came harder, shaking her body with large sobs.

Her hands wiping away the tears, she stumbled out of the elevator. Martin stood at the sight of her emotional entrance, ready to say something. Her shoes catching on the carpeting, emotional footsteps unable to be righted, she fell forward, her head colliding fiercely with the wooden corner of an antique table set against the wall. The world went black.

The dark haired man sat in the chair, his head resting to the side, mouth open, loud snores echoing the tiny room. Her stepfather. He was passed out, reeking of liquor and body odor. Leila, barely sixteen, had gathered her bag from the back corner of the closet where she had hidden it.

She wasn't going to allow him to touch her anymore. She would leave and find somewhere safe. She would get a job and an apartment and be safe from him, from everything.

For weeks she had been skimming money from his wallet, collecting some of the change he'd leave on the table. She'd take a few bills, perhaps daring to take a twenty, certain he had been too drunk, and would be too hungover to have a clear recollection of how much he had spent at the bar. She finally had enough for a bus ticket to the city. Tonight she took everything he had, slipped it into her pocket, and readied herself to walk to the bus station.

She'd been in the city for two years. A few odd jobs, sleeping wherever she could, she was tired, exhausted with the world around her. Something had to change. She thought about what Sheila had told her. There was a place where she could get a job. They would take care of her, help her get an apartment. Sheila had been working there for a few months. A pretty girl could make a good living.

Sheila had her own place, money for food, a closet full of clothes, fancy clothes. Men would take her out. She said it was a date set up through the company. She talked about the fancy restaurants and clubs she'd been taken to.

A friend of a friend, she had invited Leila over to her apartment. It was a beautiful two-bedroom, with furniture, and artwork on the walls. She had let Leila stay there the last few nights. They had watched movies and eaten popcorn. Leila hadn't felt safe in a long time. Sheila's world felt safe. Sheila told her that if she got the job at Ally, they could be roommates. They could live together, a sleepover every night. They could go out together, dance, and have fun. Be free to do all the things Leila only dreamed about doing. Leila imagined being a part of that world, dancing, dining out, having her own room. Being able to shower and get dressed in clean clothes everyday. Being safe.

Working for Ally had its perks. Her life was elegant and pretty, at least on the outside. Leila had her own closet of fancy clothes, shoes, pretty underthings scented with lavender sachets. She worked out in the apartment's gym, she ate at fancy restaurants, danced at night clubs, drank champagne from beautiful, tall flutes. She'd moved into her own apartment recently and had made it her own.

Most of the men in her life treated her well. They lavished her with compliments, sometimes presents, expensive dinners. Most were kind to her in the bedroom, but a part of her always felt like that little girl, staring at the ceiling, cringing and crying inside until it was over. She'd learned to hide her disgust, her guilt, the embarrassment, until the date was over. Until she could return home and shower, the water as hot as her body could withstand. She would cover herself in one of her towels, her skin red and raw, unable to look at her reflection in the steam-covered mirror and go to bed, crying till sleep overtook her.

Frank had been her date that night. He hadn't made any pretense of going anywhere. She had entered his apartment and they had gone straight to the bedroom, her green dress crinkled on the floor. His lips had been greedy and wet. His hands had grabbed and pinched her. She had endured the evening with a smile, cooing how wonderful he was, how excited he made her feel, and then left, defeated and disgusted with herself, to walk home. The rain had been falling, and her brown coat did little to keep out the chill that kept making its way to her skin.

Her life was an elegant nightmare that she wanted to end. Her defeated spirit had found the light of the car as an answer, a deliverance from the horror she lived each night, and spent each day trying to forget.
Chapter 12

"Leila, Leila, please wake up." Richard knelt beside her, Martin on the phone calling an ambulance. He held his suit jacket against the bloodied gash on her forehead. Blood coated his hands and the floor. He had exited the elevator and seen Martin holding her head in his lap. Fear had overtaken him. There had been so much blood. The worst of the bleeding had stopped, but she still hadn't awoken.

Unresponsive, he held her against him, worried she might never open those beautiful eyes again. He should have told her differently. Of course she would be upset. He should have done something different. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything until they had known something more.

"The ambulance is on its way," Martin said, placing a hand on Richard's shoulder.

"Thank you, Martin. I think it's just a bad cut." She's going to be okay, he continued to repeat to himself. She has to be.

Light flutters of her eyes had Richard's heart leaping. "Leila. Leila, honey, wake up."

Leila's eyes opened. A bit disoriented, she looked at Richard, lifting her hand to her head. "What happened?" Her head pounded, pulsing with each heartbeat. She lifted herself, bracing both hands on the floor, as Richard helped her sit up. She looked around her at the lobby of Richard's apartment building.

"It seems you tripped, fell into that table. You have a nasty cut on your head. It's been bleeding pretty badly. Martin's called an ambulance."

She gingerly touched her head, her fingers coming back sticky and red. Taking a deep breath, her mind flashed. Images, memories, flooded in like a tidal wave. Her mind opened and nausea threatened deep in her stomach. She remembered it all. She remembered her horrifying childhood, the way it had forced her to find opportunity wherever she could. She had become an escort when it had seemed there had been no other options. But there are always options. She should have done something different.

Pushing Richard's hand and coat away, she tried to stand. Richard didn't deserve a mess like her.

"Wait, you've had a pretty hard knock to your head. You need to go easy," Richard's voice was full of caution and concern.

One of her shoes was off. Her beautiful white dress was stained with drops of blood. She stood, tossing her other shoe off to the side near its mate. The nausea swirled with her dizzying head. She looked at Richard, his beautiful dark hair, his enchanting green eyes full of concern for her. She lowered her head, tears beginning to fall. He had taken care of her. He had been the safety she had so desperately been searching for. He had been everything she ever wanted, and she didn't deserve him.

"No, I need to go."

"Wait, you don't need to go anywhere. Let's have the doctors look at you. Give you a clean bill of health."

"No, Richard. You don't understand. I remember. And I can't be with you. I can't be... here."

"Yes, you can. Look. We'll figure this out. With your memories back, we'll make sense of all of this. I can help you."

"No. No, you can't help me. Please. I can't be here with you. I can't be with you. I've just got to go." She turned to the door.

Martin looked at her, "Miss, please. At least let someone look at that."

"Thanks, but I'm fine." She walked the few steps, barefoot, out the door. Hitting the sidewalk, she started to run. The air on her face was cool. Her head pounded, but she refused to stop. She was running away, running because if she walked, she might turn around and she couldn't do that to Richard. Seeing him with all of her memories changed everything. She wasn't some storybook princess that could be swept away by the handsome stranger. She was nothing. She was dirty, and disgusting. She loved Richard, and her love for him wouldn't let her ruin him. This woman she finally knew she was would destroy his life. Destroy him. Because she loved him, she had to leave. She kept running.

Richard watched her go, his crumpled suit coat held by his side. He saw her start to run. His mind was blank, empty. Her words had torn his thoughts from him, left him still, in a stunned silence. She didn't want to be with him. She said she didn't want him. She didn't want to be with him.

He looked at Martin, his face blank, not understanding.

"Well," Martin said, "are you going after her?"

Richard blinked. Yes.

"Yes," he said, "I am."

He walked out the door, turning right to follow her. She couldn't have gotten too far. He would catch up to her. She was upset. She was running away because she was afraid. He wasn't about to let her fear keep them apart. He looked down the street. The streetlights created pools of golden light on the black top. The sidewalk, gray and dark, was empty. He ran, trying to find a sign of where she had gone.

Running until his breathing hitched in his throat, he stopped. She was gone. Not knowing what else to do, he turned and began walking back to the apartment. His mind reeled. He would find her. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he scrolled through the numbers until he found Killington. Hitting the name he listened to it ring.

Hearing Jeffrey's hello, he started, "Jeffrey, Richard. I need to know everything about Leila. She's gone. But you're going to help me find her."

I don't want to be without her. I'm not going to be without her. Ever.

Thank you for reading Saved by a Billionaire

If you enjoyed it, could you please help me by leaving a review?

My sincere appreciation,

Katrina

***

Some of my other books that you may enjoy include:

Angel - Book 1

Guardian

Slave to a Vampire - Book 1

Catherine

