Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1) (5 page)

A few seconds later, a man answers, “Hello, Michael.”

“Josh, are you in the city?”

“Yes. I’m about to walk out of the office. What’s wrong? You sound upset.”

“Concerned would be the right term. I need you with your medical bag, or whatever you doctors carry, over to a friend’s apartment and fast. Her name is Ariana DiMarco. I’ll explain everything when you arrive. Oh, and bring the drug analyzer you keep in the office.” He stands and paces across my living room like a caged animal.

“Text me with the address, and I’ll be right over. Who’s Ariana?” Josh questions.

Michael messages the address. “You’ll know soon enough. I need you here ASAP, please,” he snaps and ends the call.

Who was he speaking to? His personal physician?

Michael makes another call. “Call Trent.”

I hear a ring, and the other party picks up. “Grayson Investigations and Security. Trent speaking.”

“Trent, Michael. I’m at a friend’s apartment. Her name is Ariana DiMarco. I need you here and fast. I’ll text you her address,” Michael orders.

“Ariana DiMarco,” he repeats, followed by a long pause. “You mean the host from Global Networks? How did you land a date with her?”

“Yes, and don’t be a wise ass.”

“What’s wrong, bro?”

“She has a demented fan.”

“I’m already in the car. Give me ten to twenty minutes.”

“Michael, you’re worrying me. Who are Josh and Trent, and why are they coming here?” I ask curiously.

“Ariana, those men are my brothers. Josh is the eldest. He’s an internist with his own practice in Manhattan and puts in time at NW Hospital. Trent is the youngest, a former FBI agent and owns a private investigating and security company.”

“And they’re coming here . . . for what?” I inquire.

He paces like a restless animal in circles, his tall, sleek form overpowering the room. His hands rest over his hips, his eyes burning with frustration. “My God, Ariana, what am I going to do with you? The substance you consumed concerns me, more like overwrought, and your refusal to go to the hospital is distressing me.”

I have obviously exasperated him. After holding his breath for God knows how long, he releases it, gaping up at the ceiling and then back at me. “He must have added some sort of sedative, according to the note. I won’t know for sure until Josh and Trent arrive,” he explains as his gaze drifts toward the box of chocolates.

He treads across the room, massaging the back of his neck. He seems to be deep in thought, tormented with anxieties. I sense something else . . . sadness, as though he’s fighting his own demons. He paces a few times and heads towards the double glass doors and walks out onto the terrace, gazing down at the flurry of activity in the city. I’m touched by this man whose only known me for a few hours, and yet he is worried about me.

I shut my eyes for a brief moment, and he startles me as he shuts the door closed and asks me a question.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I would like to have my brother Trent help you. My first instinct was to call the police, but if he’s watching you; he'll know you alerted the authorities. We can’t take any chances,” he explains as he lays his hands over his hips.

“I don’t know Michael.” I shake my head, still reeling over the fact that I have a psychopath stalking me. Taunting me with his unsettling e-mails, his phone call and sedating me with drugged chocolates. To add icing on the cake, he threatened to harm me, no, not harm me. He’s threatened to bury me with the flowers he planted if the police get involved. I take a deep breath and clutch my hands over the painful tightness around my stomach wishing this was all a dream.

How do TV personalities handle these situations? I never had to worry about watching over my shoulder or fear opening my e-mails or, even worse, answering the phone. I cringe just thinking about.

Chapter 4

The E-mails

“Ariana, I want you to be honest with me. Is this the first time this demented fuck, excuse my language, contacted you besides at the restaurant?” He asks, waiting with cautious eyes.

I shake my head. “No,” I answer, biting my lower lip.

He rubs his face with both hands, releasing a frustrated growl. He rocks on his heels, and his muscles begin to relax, as his eyes grow warmer.

“Can you tell me when this started?” He pauses. “Please.” His tone softens.

“Michael . . . I don’t want you caught up in this mess.” He opens his mouth to interrupt me. I wave a hand to prevent him from speaking. “This is my problem,” I answer, feeling heaviness in my muscle.

“Ariana, I am very much involved. From the moment you stepped into the restaurant, you became a part of my existence,” he says in a somber tone.

“I’m speechless . . . again. What you said . . . Michael, thank you.” My eyelids are beginning to feel heavy and all I want to do is close them. I shake my head and blink several times to stay awake. I need to move around, get my blood circulating. I stand up a little unsteady and I start at Michael’s remark.

“Sit down, Ariana,” he orders. “You shouldn’t be standing. I don’t know what kind of drug he laced in those chocolates. I should be rushing you to the hospital.”

“No,” I snap, turning my head to face him. I hate hospitals. It’s where I had to identify my parents’ and sister’s body. I ease toward the kitchen and take a firm hold of the counter. God, I’m so light-headed. I glance at him, trying to figure him out why he’s so adamant to help me. I should be grateful instead of snapping at him. “Listen . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound abrupt,” I say, softening my tone. “You’re a wonderful and caring man, the perfect gentleman, but I won’t have you mixed up in this. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I don’t mean to sound authoritative, but you ate close to a dozen chocolates. I’m concerned, and whether you like it or not I
am
getting involved,” he explains as he runs a hand nervously through his hair.

I roll my eyes. “God, Michael, why are you being such a stubborn mule. I’ll figure this out. I’ll speak to the IT department, see if they can trace the two e-mails he sent me.”

“Two e-mails,” he says, his voice sounding hoarse.

“Yes,” I respond.

“When?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he paces across the room.

“One a few days ago and the most recent one was this afternoon,” I answer, my words slurring. The drug seems to be affecting my speech. I’m sure that big glass of wine I consumed earlier didn’t help. I sway and grip the countertop tighter. I’m so tired.

“Please tell me you saved them.” His eyes are watchful.

I nod. “Yes, I dumped them in the miscellaneous folder.”

“Smart move,” he says with a sigh and paces around the room irritable. He removes his jacket, laying the garment over the arm of the sofa, and Holy Mother of God . . . . Whoa! A true mouthwatering sculpture of masculinity appears before me.

His black slacks highlight his slender, muscular legs and his firm bottom. I crave for a little taste, maybe a touch. I gasp at my behavior. This is outrageous. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

I’m startled when Michael’s voice snags my attention.

“Ariana, are you listening to me?” He snaps irritation seeping through his voice.

“Ah . . . yes, I am,” I say, feeling flushed with embarrassment.

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Everything in life happens for a reason. I came into yours for a reason.”

“Michael, enough! I don’t want you to get mixed up in this mess. Do I make myself clear?” The stubborn mule.

“Why are you fighting me on this?” He asks softly, leaning up against the French doors with his leg crossed over the other and arms across his chest.

I blow out a frustrated breath making my way to one of the stools to sit on. Why is he even questioning me? What if Michael provokes this deranged maniac and he decides to go after Michael. The thought makes me ill.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. Can’t you understand,” I explain, sounding calmer.

“Ariana . . . thank you. I’m flattered,” he murmurs and flashes me a million-dollar smile, and all rational thoughts fly out the window.

“Well, don’t let your head swell. Having one lunch with me does not give you carte blanche to get yourself drawn into my situation. We’ve only just met Michael.”

A devilish smile materializes, and he saunters toward me causing my heart to pump with joy and anticipation. “Ariana,” he says on a long breath, his voice simmering, causing me to go weak all over and turning me inside out. He takes me by the chin, and I jerk away, I’m not sure why. Maybe because he stirs every emotion I’ve never felt . . . or could it be fear.

He stiffens, sensing my tension. “I’ll never hurt you, Ariana.” His eyebrows draw together, staring at me with a watchful eye. He leans back, his tall, powerful physique up against the kitchen counter, and his muscular arms over his chest. “I’d like to help you. Trent has all the resources to find this demented fuck, pardon my ill-mannered words. Please let me do this,” he begs.

I shake my head. “No, Michael,” I say with a firm tone.

He pushes himself away from the counter and settles on a stool beside me. His fingers brush over my arm, spawning a fluttery feeling of butterflies in my stomach.

“I know we’ve only known each other for a small amount of time, but there is no way in hell I’m going to let you handle this mental case on your own.”

I’m bewildered and cannot fathom that this man, who I’ve only known a short while, wants to help me. How is this possible? Most people walk away, have the police handle it and leave it at that?

We both flinch at the sound of a buzzer. “That’s Ryan, the building’s security guard,” I say fixated on his eyes.

He rises from the seat, standing tall, and I grab his bicep, feeling the bulging muscles beneath his sleeve.

“Please, Michael, I don’t want you, or your brothers, involved,” I beg, plead.

He pulls my hand away with tenderness. “Ariana, I thought I made myself clear earlier. Stop worrying, we’re big boys.”

I stand up, feeling a bit shaky. “Let me. Security doesn’t know you.”

“True.” He follows me to the intercom located in the kitchen near the pantry. I lose my balance, and he catches me. “Ariana, damn.” A harsh curse seethes through his lips. “Are you okay?” He asks with a frustrated growl.

“I’m fine, just a little unsteady,” I say softly, and tap the button to answer the intercom. I turn my head, and find Michael leaning his forearm up against the wall, staring over me with a concerned look on his face.

“Miss DiMarco?”

“Yes, Ryan.”

“Miss DiMarco, a gentleman by the name of Josh Grayson, is here to see you and Mr. Michael Grayson.”

“Thanks, Ryan. Send him up, and we’re also expecting Trent Grayson. Direct him up as well, please.”

“Yes, of course. He’ll be up in a few. He had to run back to his car for something.”

“Thank you, Ryan.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your evening.”

“You as well.” All of a sudden, fear begins to surface, weighing over me like a cinder block, not for myself, but for Michael and his brothers. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to them in their pursuit to catch this asshole. The mere thought of either of them getting hurt because some psychopath is out to get me makes me sick.

I place my hand over my stomach feeling nauseous and dizzier than before. I turn to Michael, who’s standing over me like a protective lion safeguarding his mate, and I sigh. He is going to be a handful.

“Ariana, you should go lie down. You seem rather pale, and your eyes are glazed.”

“I’m okay, Michael,” I say, waving a hand dismissively.

“No, you’re not. I’m concerned about the substance you ingested. You don’t look well,” he replies with a sharp tone. He releases a heavy sigh and brushes the long bangs away from my face, causing my breath to hitch.

“I’m fine. Now stop fussing.” I turn away from Michael to get some distance and trip over my own two feet. He grabs me by the waist, and pulls me hard into his arms before I could hit the floor. I freeze except for my heart, which is pounding within my chest as I feel his strong, warm body pressed to mine. It’s . . . intoxicating.

“Ariana, let me help you. You’re a bit unstable,” he murmurs into my ear and all I want to do is melt into his skin. I shake my head to rid these erotic thoughts, but it’s useless.

“Enough, Michael.” I push my hands against his chest and walk toward the bedroom. An embarrassing and a misfortunate moment for me, the wall decides to relocate, causing me to walk right into the barrier. Ouch! Damn him, I knew he was a health hazard.

He huffs out, coating me with his warm breath, and in one swift move, my feet are off the ground and I’m in his arms, too disoriented to fight him.

“Where is your bedroom?” His voice grows harsher.

I groan and for a moment, I am lost in his scent as his fresh out-of-the-shower smell lingers beneath my nostrils inebriating me to the point that it takes me a few seconds to process what he just asked me.

“Through the library you’ll see a set of double doors,” I explain pointing toward an entrance joined to the living room.

He pushes through the entryway into an oval-shaped room enclosed in ceiling-to-floor windows, bestowing a view of Central Park and Lincoln Center.

Most of my furnishings are decorated with hand-painted flowers over mahogany. Although I didn’t need window treatments for my bedroom, I felt adding elegant, pale yellow sheer drapes, which pool at the polished parquet floor, gave it a romantic ambiance. The two sets of French doors encased with thick cherry wood lead to a wraparound terrace. In the center of the room stands a king-sized bed I purchased in Thailand along with a navy blue silk duvet and an array of white and canary floral-printed pillows.

With pristine care, Michael settles me over the bed. He stands looming over me, shaking his head. “You’re a very stubborn woman, Ariana.”

“I could say the same for you,” I say with sarcasm, and he tilts his head to the side with a raised eyebrow glaring at me as if he’s entertaining the thought to say something to me and sure enough he does.

“I should place you over my knee and slap that hide of yours.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I gasp, not just at his comment but also at the picture that I just painted in my mind of me laying across his lap with his hands on my ass. Ah! I have to control these x-rated scenes whipping through my head.

“Try me. I’m always up for the challenge, Ariana, and you, with-out-a-doubt are challenging.”

“Big bully,” I say loud enough for his ears to hear.

He chuckles. “Do you need help?” he inquires, pointing toward my attire with a sexy curve to his lips.

“No, I am perfectly capable of changing myself. Thank you very much,” I answer with a cynical tone. I stand, and I lose my balance. He pulls me hard up against his heated chest and I dissolve into his arms.

I stare into his white shirt, and my eyes follow the trail of buttons up to his face. His vivid, green eyes glisten under the dim lights. His facial features are strong, masculine, and sculpted to perfection with lips full and moist. I aspirate and turn the other way when he catches me gaping at him. I sense his smug expression. Shit!

“Do you like what you see, Ariana?” He asks with a low and seductive tone that has my heart racing.

“Umm . . . brain malfunction?” I say with a shrug, wishing I could crawl beneath the bed from embarrassment.

He chuckles. “Are you sure you won’t need my assistance?” He asks with a grin. He can be such a smart-ass.

“Positive, but if you don’t mind, would you just get my tank top and yoga pants? They’re hanging on the inside of my closet door. Thanks.”

Michael disappears and I clutch my hands against my beating heart, which hasn’t stopped burning the pavement from the moment I laid eyes on him. I feel light-headed and off balance and it’s not from the drugged induced truffles I ate earlier, but the man that walks back into my bedroom with my nightwear.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed. I’ll return in ten minutes.”

“Thank you again,” I express with sincerity.

He awards me with one of his hypnotic smiles and strides out of the room. I undress and change. I hold up the little black dress admiring the style. “So much for the opera,” I say out loud.

I take several steps toward the dresser. Without warning, I lose my balance and sway, causing me to knock the books and two vases off the bureau. The alarming sound of glass shattering pierces through me as the room begins to spin, and I find myself falling. I let out a bloodcurdling scream as my head kisses the side of the metal bed frame and hit the hardwood floor with a loud thump.

Michael rushes in stepping over the pulverized crystal. “Ariana!” He bends over to wrap his arms around my waist and behind my knees, scooping me up against his firm chest, his heart and harsh breathing increasing alongside my ear. “Ariana, what happened?” He flusters, cuddling me like a small child against his body, resting his head over mine with worry.