Chapter 6 - The Turnaround
By midnight, the estate was flooded with police lights, dark armored SUVs, and Jonah’s loyal security personnel. Frank Dorsey had returned, his face pale with horror at what had transpired in his absence.
The hit squad had been neutralized. Salvatore Falcone had overplayed his hand, launching a desperate attack that failed completely, leaving behind overwhelming forensic evidence linking his syndicate to the assault.
In the private study, the house physician finished stitching a small cut on Riley’s cheek and checked her for a concussion.
"She's fine, Mr. Mercer," the doctor declared. "Just a minor contusion on the jaw and high shock."
Jonah was sitting back in his wheelchair, wearing a fresh shirt. He hadn't left Riley’s side for a single second since the attack. His gaze was anchored to her face, watching her every breath.
When the doctor and Frank left the room, locking the heavy doors behind them, the study fell into a warm, heavy intimacy.
Riley sat on the edge of the examination table, swinging her legs slightly, holding an ice pack against her swollen cheek.
"You look terrible," Jonah said softly, rolling his chair closer until his knees touched her legs.
"You should see the other guy," Riley muttered around the ice pack, offering a small, crooked smile. "He has a cast-iron imprint on his face."
Jonah reached up and gently took the ice pack from her hand, setting it aside. He placed his large, warm hand on her knee, his dark eyes brimming with an intense, fierce emotion that made Riley’s breath catch in her throat.
"Why did you do that, Riley?" Jonah asked quietly. "You could have run out the back entrance. You could have saved yourself."
Riley looked down at his hand on her knee, then met his gaze directly.
"I told you on day one, Jonah," she said softly. "I don't leave my patients."
"This isn't about nursing anymore, and you know it," Jonah rasped, his hand sliding up her thigh to rest against her hip, pulling her slightly closer to the edge of the table. "Look at me, Riley."
She looked at him.
"I am a paralyzed man," Jonah said, his voice dropping into a deep, agonizingly honest register. "My life is violent, dangerous, and broken. Half my body doesn't work. I will never be able to run with you. I will never be able to pick you up in my arms like a normal man. I am damaged goods."
Riley placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning down until her face was inches from his.
"You are the most powerful, stubborn, frustratingly brilliant man I have ever met," she whispered, her hazel eyes shining with tears. "I don't need a man who can run, Jonah. I need a man who stands by me when the world falls apart. And you... you looked at me tonight like I was the only thing that mattered in this entire godforsaken universe."
"You are," Jonah confessed, his voice breaking slightly. "You are the only thing that matters."
He pulled her down into his lap, his strong arms wrapping securely around her waist, and lifted his face to press his lips against hers.
May you like
The kiss was slow, deep, and wild with months of suppressed passion. It tasted of rain, copper, and profound relief. Riley wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking into his strength, feeling the violent, erratic beat of his heart against her chest.
Jonah kissed her like a man dying of thirst who had finally found water. He held her tight against his broad chest, proving that even without his legs, he possessed enough power to hold her world together.
