dinner.”
Sophie started to push herself up, now that he was done, it was time to leave. No soft touching on the shoulder would keep her down; she just gently moved his hand away. It wasn’t a question, he wasn’t asking but telling her what he wanted, “I don’t date,” her face a few inches from his, it was the first time she looked him square in the eye.
“ I believe that,” he acknowledged softly. “Ok, then we can share a table and talk like friends. Is that acceptable?”
“I…that’s different, but…”
“Good, but in the meantime, Sophie,” emphasizing her name, he walked out of the room again and came back with an black tee shirt with a faded Union Jack on the front, “you can put this on and you’ll be sleeping here tonight. You can have the bed,” he said without asking her opinion on the subject, already raising the bottom of her blouse.
She gasped, horrified at his brazenness and she immediately put her elbows down tight to her side. “I can’t stay here.”
“Sorry,” he threw up his hands not realizing she would be so modest as well, she was one great mystery. “If you had gone to the hospital you wouldn’t have lost so much blood and would have been sent home but as it were, I had to bring you here, you lost more blood, you’re still a little weak and need to be looked after.” He sat on the side of the sofa speaking softly to her, uncovering her legs and taking off her shoes, his long fingers encircled almost her whole ankle. Instinctively she would have kicked him but he was so gentle in his movements.
He nodded towards the bedroom, “You are perfectly safe; safer here than most places you roam into alone apparently. This tee shirt is yours, it doesn’t fit me anymore, I’ve had it since I was a teenager,” he smiled recollecting. “My mum gave it to me,” he seemed sad all of a sudden, the smile dropping from his face, his fingertips felt the creased paint on the front. “I couldn’t bear to throw it out so you can have it and you won’t have to sleep in a bloody shirt. Bathroom is that way, you can clean up, and I can help if you need it, just say so.”
Opening her mouth to protest, he put the back of his fingers on her forehead and frowned, “You are free to go, of course” he said, changing tactic, “but you shouldn’t be alone, I think, not after what you’ve been through. I’m here if you need help, that’s all.”
Contemplating, she hesitated. “That,” indicating the events of the evening, “that was nothing.” He nodded in acknowledgment.
He had a way of making the decisions for her in gesture, regardless of what he was saying. He handed her the shirt and stood, reaching out his hand to assist her but she ignored it, taking the time to push herself up to stand. His hand instinctively went to her elbow but that was all until she steadied.
Sophie felt like she was moving in slow motion. Once in the bathroom she saw in the mirror that he had dressed the wound neatly and all the blood was gone except for the residue from the shirt. She struggled to take the shirt off, closing her eyes so she couldn’t see the blood and put the tee on, wishing she was comfortable enough to let him help her but she wasn’t, so she continued to struggle, chucking the bloodied shirt in the rubbish bin.
He escorted her to the bedroom with its large bed and luxurious wood furnishings. Once she was tucked into bed, he sat beside her in the chair, pressing his palm to her feverish brow and smoothing the loose curls away from her face. She jerked her head away but the movement was so slow it was completely futile.
Sophie couldn’t fight him, too tired to care whether she lived or died at the moment because the softness of a bed seemed the best comfort she could hope for. She drifted off to sleep in the luxury of high thread counts, down, and softness that her body wasn’t used to and couldn’t resist.
Once Oliver
Sophie started to push herself up, now that he was done, it was time to leave. No soft touching on the shoulder would keep her down; she just gently moved his hand away. It wasn’t a question, he wasn’t asking but telling her what he wanted, “I don’t date,” her face a few inches from his, it was the first time she looked him square in the eye.
“ I believe that,” he acknowledged softly. “Ok, then we can share a table and talk like friends. Is that acceptable?”
“I…that’s different, but…”
“Good, but in the meantime, Sophie,” emphasizing her name, he walked out of the room again and came back with an black tee shirt with a faded Union Jack on the front, “you can put this on and you’ll be sleeping here tonight. You can have the bed,” he said without asking her opinion on the subject, already raising the bottom of her blouse.
She gasped, horrified at his brazenness and she immediately put her elbows down tight to her side. “I can’t stay here.”
“Sorry,” he threw up his hands not realizing she would be so modest as well, she was one great mystery. “If you had gone to the hospital you wouldn’t have lost so much blood and would have been sent home but as it were, I had to bring you here, you lost more blood, you’re still a little weak and need to be looked after.” He sat on the side of the sofa speaking softly to her, uncovering her legs and taking off her shoes, his long fingers encircled almost her whole ankle. Instinctively she would have kicked him but he was so gentle in his movements.
He nodded towards the bedroom, “You are perfectly safe; safer here than most places you roam into alone apparently. This tee shirt is yours, it doesn’t fit me anymore, I’ve had it since I was a teenager,” he smiled recollecting. “My mum gave it to me,” he seemed sad all of a sudden, the smile dropping from his face, his fingertips felt the creased paint on the front. “I couldn’t bear to throw it out so you can have it and you won’t have to sleep in a bloody shirt. Bathroom is that way, you can clean up, and I can help if you need it, just say so.”
Opening her mouth to protest, he put the back of his fingers on her forehead and frowned, “You are free to go, of course” he said, changing tactic, “but you shouldn’t be alone, I think, not after what you’ve been through. I’m here if you need help, that’s all.”
Contemplating, she hesitated. “That,” indicating the events of the evening, “that was nothing.” He nodded in acknowledgment.
He had a way of making the decisions for her in gesture, regardless of what he was saying. He handed her the shirt and stood, reaching out his hand to assist her but she ignored it, taking the time to push herself up to stand. His hand instinctively went to her elbow but that was all until she steadied.
Sophie felt like she was moving in slow motion. Once in the bathroom she saw in the mirror that he had dressed the wound neatly and all the blood was gone except for the residue from the shirt. She struggled to take the shirt off, closing her eyes so she couldn’t see the blood and put the tee on, wishing she was comfortable enough to let him help her but she wasn’t, so she continued to struggle, chucking the bloodied shirt in the rubbish bin.
He escorted her to the bedroom with its large bed and luxurious wood furnishings. Once she was tucked into bed, he sat beside her in the chair, pressing his palm to her feverish brow and smoothing the loose curls away from her face. She jerked her head away but the movement was so slow it was completely futile.
Sophie couldn’t fight him, too tired to care whether she lived or died at the moment because the softness of a bed seemed the best comfort she could hope for. She drifted off to sleep in the luxury of high thread counts, down, and softness that her body wasn’t used to and couldn’t resist.
Once Oliver
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