Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(58)

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmured. “You look perfect to me.”

Instead of replying, she blushed and grew flustered—which was just about the best thing she couldn’t say. “Verily, you tie my tongue.”

Well, now, didn’t that take his mind into places it shouldn’t be going.

Staring across at her, he forced his head to change gears. “Payne, I’m your doctor, right?”

“Yes, healer.”

“And that means that I’m going to tell you the truth. No sandbagging, no hiding anything. I’m going to tell you exactly what I think and I’ll let you make up your own mind—and I need you to hear me on that, okay? The truth is all I’ve got, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Then you need not utter a thing, for I know too well where I sit.”

He glanced around the room. “Have you been out of here since you came back from the operation.”

“No.”

“So you’ve been staring at these four empty walls for a week, trapped on a bed, having other people feed you, bathe you, and deal with your bodily functions.”

“I do not need the reminder,” she said drily. “Thank you kindly—”

“How do you know where you’re at, then.”

Her frown was deep and dark . . . and sexy as hell. “That’s ridiculous. I am here.” She pointed to the mattress under her. “I have been here.”

“Exactly.” As she glared up at him, he closed the distance between them. “I’m going to pick you up and carry you, if you don’t mind?”

Now her brows popped. “Wherever to?”

“Out of this godforsaken cage.”

“But . . . I can’t. I have a—”

“I know.” Of course she would be worried about her catheter, and to save any embarrassment, he snagged a clean white towel off the bedside table. “I’ll be careful with it and you.”

After he made sure her equipment was secure, he untucked the top sheet that covered her and scooped her up. Her weight was solid against his upper body, and he took a moment just to hold her, her head on his shoulder, her long, long legs draped over his arm. Her perfume or soap or whatever it was reminded him of sandalwood and something else.

Oh, right . . . orgasms.

The ones he’d had when he’d dreamed about her.

Great, now he was pulling the blush-and-flush.

Payne cleared her throat. “Do I weigh too much? I am large for a female.”

“You are perfect for a female.”

“Not where I come from,” she muttered.

“Then they’re using the wrong standard.”

Manny carried his precious load through the door into the exam room. The place was empty, at his request—he’d asked the nurse—Elina? Elaina?—to give them some privacy.

No telling how this was going to go.

Keeping her in his hold, he sat down in front of the computer, and angled them so she could see the monitor. When she seemed more interested in staring at him, he didn’t mind in the slightest—but it was hardly conducive to concentration. Or the reason he’d gotten her out of that bed.

“Payne,” he said.

“What?”

Christ, that husky voice of hers. The damn thing was capable of ripping through him like a knife and making him like the bite of pain that came along with the wounding: To want her as he did and restrain himself was an agonizing pleasure that was somehow better than the best sex he’d ever had.

It was an antici-gasm at its finest.

“You’re supposed to be looking at the monitor,” he said as he brushed her cheek.

“I’d rather stare at you.”

“Oh, yeah . . . ?” As his voice grew as husky as hers, he knew it was time for some internal dialogue along the lines of oh-no-you-don’t-big-boy.

But damn.

“You make me feel something all over my body. Even in my legs.”

Well, sexual attraction would do that to someone. His circuits were sure as hell lit up like Manhattan at midnight.

Except there was a larger purpose to this Santa’s-lap routine, something that was so much more important than a quickie . . . or even a session that lasted a week, or a month, or God save them both, a year. It was about a lifetime. Hers.

“How about you look at the computer for a little bit, and then you can stare at me all you like?”

“All right.”

When she didn’t glance away from his face, he cleared his throat. “The computer, bambina.”

“Italian?”

“On my mother’s side.”

“And as for your father’s?”

He shrugged. “Never met him, so I couldn’t tell you.”

“Your sire was unknown?”

“Yup, pretty much.” Manny put his forefinger under her chin and tilted her head toward the computer. “Look.”

He tapped the monitor and knew when she focused properly because she frowned, her dark brows going down low over her diamond eyes.

“This is a friend of mine—Paul.” Manny did nothing to keep the pride out of his voice. “He was also a patient of mine. He kicks ass . . . and he’s been in that wheelchair for years.”