Out of Love(21)

I woke from a dead sleep. Minutes? Hours later? I had no idea. All I knew was my warm, fuzzy friend climbed out of bed.

“Jesus!” I sat up and scooted to the back of my bed, hugging my legs to my chest as a dark figure towered over me at the edge of the bed.

“I told you to send him home.”

The flirty joke about keeping his dog and him knowing where to find me … well, it went too far. Could he not go one night without his pooch?

When my breathing settled down, I swallowed to lubricate my dry throat. “It was almost midnight. My friends weren’t home and your friend was still there doing whatever the two of you were doing—drugs, sex … whatever. You really should take it easy until your wound heals.”

“Thanks for your concern.” He turned and headed toward my bedroom door.

“Have you changed the bandage?” I slid to the side of my bed and stood.

“Don’t worry about it.” He opened the door completely.

“Well, I do.” I took several steps toward him.

He turned. “Why?” he asked just above a whisper.

Because I think you saved my life.

“I don’t want your arm to fall off. How would you hug Jerry?” I turned around and flicked on the lamp by my nightstand, squinting against the ocular intrusion. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the light, I focused on Slade, but his focus remained glued to my nighttime attire—pink bikini panties and a matching pink tank top slid up past my belly button and the piercing in it.

“It’s been changed.” He blinked, wetting his lips.

“I don’t believe you. I’m sure it’s hard for you to do with one hand. Just give me a sec to grab the first aid kit.” I broke through the confines of his intense gaze permanently parked on my body and brushed past him to the bathroom. When I returned, he was sitting on the end of my bed, and Jericho had collapsed onto the cold air vent by the window.

I set the supplies on the bed beside him. “It’s three in the morning,” I said in a soft voice. “How did you get in here? If Kara and Missy are home, they would have locked the door.”

He refrained from answering.

“Is this payback for you thinking I broke into your house?”

No answer.

Standing in front of him, waiting for answers I knew he would never give me, I nodded to his shirt. “Can you remove it?”

After a hard swallow, he used his good arm to grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up his torso, over his head, and gently down his injured arm. I made every effort not to look at his bared chest, his rigid abs, his full lips. My gaze locked to the injury as I focused on my breathing.

Three seconds in.

Three seconds out.

As I eased the gauze and tape from his skin, my legs straddled one of his legs so I could see the wound better.

It had been recently changed. He wasn’t lying. Yet, he let me change the bandage again.

Why?

With damp cotton balls I cleaned around the stitched area. His head turned away from me. I applied an ointment to the wounds and covered them with fresh bandaging.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, applying the last strip of tape.

His head turned back toward me, putting his face so close to mine I could feel his breath—almost taste the peppermint from toothpaste or his last stick of gum. I felt the warm intensity of his gaze on my face, making my hands shake a little as I pressed the tape to his skin.

He never flinched; it must not have hurt too much in that moment. However, I flinched … jumped … froze in place. My heart remained the only muscle in my body that continued to move because his hands slid up the back of my naked legs—barely touching them—like he wasn’t really trying to make contact with my skin.

But he did, and I felt it everywhere.

Not the hands of a greedy lover.

Not the hands of a drunk one-night stand.

Not the hands of the man who tried to hurt me.

No. These hands were different. The kind of different that didn’t have words or emotions. It was just this … feeling.

The feeling paralyzed me with fear.

Fear that if I moved, the moment would vanish.

Fear that if I moved, he would give me a look.

Fear that if I moved, he would cut me with his tongue.

My eyes drifted shut as I drew in the tiniest of shaky breaths, letting my hands ease to my sides.

Don’t move. Don’t open your eyes. Don’t breathe.

His hands ghosted higher along my legs, over the curve of my ass, easing to my hips. As he slowly stood, I took a step back, taking a huge swallow while trying to open my eyes.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t let him see my need. My fear. My pain.

Then … he was gone.

His touch.

His scent.

His warmth.





Chapter Ten





Monday morning jitters couldn’t be soothed with all the caffeine in the world. I picked up my mint green tea and a coffee for Slade on my way to class. By the time I made it to the lecture hall, I’d drank both, which meant I needed to use the restroom before class.

A few minutes late to class, I eased the door shut softly behind me. The professor showed me a bit of mercy by not drawing everyone’s attention to me. I spotted my neighbor and my favorite dog, but there were no empty seats around them, so I took a seat on the opposite side of the auditorium.