Arm Candy by Ryan Patricia

Author:Ryan, Patricia [Ryan, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01K8RRUF2
Publisher: Hawkley Books
Published: 2016-08-09T22:00:00+00:00

DAVID KNOCKED SOFTLY on his bedroom door early the next morning—very softly, so as not to rouse Nora if she hadn’t awoken yet. He wouldn’t be trespassing on her privacy this way, but there was no way to get to the bathroom except through the bedroom.

Hearing no sound from within, he eased the door open and stepped quietly into the room, softly illuminated by morning sunlight streaming between the slats of his bamboo window shades.

Nora lay curled on her side, fast asleep with the covers pushed down to her waist and one arm draped around Hortense, tucked snugly up next to her stomach. It would appear, David thought with a smile, that Nora had made her peace with cats—or at least with the drowsily serene Hortense, one of the most agreeable animals he’d ever known.

Nora looked almost like a little girl in his too-large blue cotton pajamas, which he’d never worn. They’d been a gift from Helena, who couldn’t seem to grasp that it wasn’t a lack of P.J.’s that prompted him to sleep in the nude; it was simply his preference.

Nora’s hair, having been washed right before bed, had dried into prettily haphazard waves while she slept. Her face, scrubbed free of makeup, was luminous and pink cheeked, its sole imperfection being those two small abrasions.

Thank God her only souvenirs of last night’s nightmare were a few bumps and scrapes—her only visible souvenirs. He hoped the assault in the park, coming as it did on the heels of his own de facto molestation of her, didn’t leave her with emotional scars. Somehow he doubted that would be the case. She struck him as exceptionally plucky and resilient, not the type to fold after a traumatic experience. Still, she had talked about leaving New York; he had best deal gently with her, at least for a few days.

He’d done his best last night, after bringing her back up here, to make her feel safe and comfortable. His first order of business had been to sit her down, tuck a lap rug over her and pour her a sherry. She’d sipped it with a glazed expression while he rang the police, who informed him there was little they could do to apprehend Nora’s attackers, since she hadn’t got a good look at them. A description of “two big white men” wasn’t of much use in a city of nearly nine million people. He’d rung up Dr. Glass then, who, being the good-natured fellow he was, got out of bed and came over to examine Nora, only to conclude that there were, indeed, no serious injuries.

Nora had been desperate for a bath, wanting to “soak off the feel of their hands.” While the tub was filling, David took up a comb and extracted from her hair all the bits of dried leaves and twigs that had got tangled in it—not to mention a goodly pile of hair grips. It had never occurred to him that a French twist might require so many pins to hold it together.

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