The Protector (Game of Chance, #1)(15)

Chappy felt as weak as a newborn, and he hated it. Again, the only other time he’d felt so helpless was when he’d been a hostage.

And just like that, he stiffened at the memory.

“No, you’re okay. You’re here in Maine, in your cabin. You’re safe, Riggs. I swear.”

He was still worried and on edge, but that instinctive trust filled him once more. A name left his lips without thought. “Carlise.”

“That’s right. I’m Carlise, and you’re safe. I’ll be right back.” The mattress shifted as she stood, and his hand shot out, grabbing her arm and keeping her from leaving.

“Stay,” he croaked.

“I need to put some more wood on the fire. I’m not going anywhere. Not that I could, even if I wanted to.”

“Stay! Please!” he begged once more.

“I’ll be right back, Riggs.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“I promise. You’re okay. Your friends are okay. You’re just sick, Riggs. You’ll be better soon . . . I hope.”

Confusion swam in his veins, but Chappy let go of her arm. She said she’d be back, and he trusted her to keep her word.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he felt the mattress next to him sag again.

“I’m here,” she said.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

He thought he heard her chuckle before she said, “Yes. You’re the one who’s sick.”

“Did you eat? Are you cold? I can . . .” He made a move to get up, but she stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m good, Riggs. Promise.”

Chappy frowned. He didn’t like feeling so helpless. He was confused about where he was and what was happening, but deep down he knew something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on what might be wrong, but he wanted to protect Carlise. Make sure she was warm, fed, comfortable. At the moment, however, he couldn’t even sit up.

Needing to be closer to the woman, to keep her by his side and make sure nothing happened to her, that she wouldn’t get lost again, Chappy turned and threw his arm out . . . over her lap? It felt like she was sitting on the bed right beside him. He tightened his hold and snuggled against her leg.

He felt gentle fingers running through his hair, and he sighed in contentment. He felt like shit, his body hurt, but with the woman next to him, somehow his discomfort faded away.



A couple of hours later, Carlise could feel her panic building. Riggs managed short bouts of sleep, but every time she tried to move, he’d start calling for his friends and thrashing on the bed. The only way he seemed to remain calm was if she stayed right where she was, letting him hold her.

She felt guilty about that. He was sick. Practically unconscious . . . and she enjoyed being in his arms more than she wanted to admit. When his fever finally broke and he came back to his senses, he’d most certainly be horrified over his actions. Not that she’d tell him.

She hadn’t expected or wanted to play nursemaid to a man she didn’t know, though she no longer found the experience nearly as awkward as she had the first night. And the concern went both ways. Even though he wasn’t fully conscious, he was worried about her. Was she eating? Was she warm? Was she okay?

She suspected his true self came out while he was delirious. And if he was that protective and concerned about her when he was semiconscious, she had a feeling he’d be even more so when he was fully awake and aware.

For her part, it was a heady feeling, knowing she could soothe him when he was unconsciously afraid. And being held in his arms was . . . heaven.

Hence the guilt. He was delirious. Out of his mind with a fever. Hurting. Terrified as he relived whatever awful experience he’d been through in his past. And all the while, she was enjoying being close to him. There had to be something wrong with her for liking it as much as she did.

But it had been so long since she’d felt wanted or needed. Tommy didn’t cuddle. Ever. He was the sort who got himself off, then rolled over and immediately started snoring. Riggs held her as if he never wanted to let her go.

Of course, he was very likely imagining she was someone else. That had to be the reason he clung to her so tightly, why he’d calm so quickly at her touch. Dreaming of a woman from his past.

When she’d gotten out of bed minutes ago, finally too hungry to remain, Riggs’s brows furrowed, and he’d grunted in displeasure. Carlise had smiled a little at his reaction. He was like a kid who’d had a favorite toy taken away.

But Riggs was no boy. He was all man, and it was disconcerting and confusing to realize how much she was attracted to him. She didn’t know anything about the man.

Okay, that wasn’t true. She’d been living in his space for three days now. She knew what kind of books he liked to read—thrillers and science fiction—and that he was a neat freak. He had an unnatural affinity for the color black, since most of his T-shirts were that color. He probably didn’t drink much alcohol, if any, since she hadn’t found a drop in the cabin, and he preferred crunchy peanut butter over smooth.

She also knew that he was extremely protective and loyal. Whoever JJ, Cal, and Bob were, they were lucky to have someone who cared about them as much as Riggs did. And he was clearly a hard worker—there were lots of logs out on the porch that he must’ve spent hours chopping and stacking.