All Chained Up (Devil's Rock #1)(18)

“No sunlight in the hole.”

She paused at this, imagining some dank little cell with no window. “You’ve been in there since last week?” For some reason, she hated thinking about that. Her mind conjured a dark, terrible dungeon right out of some horror movie. No one deserved being stuck in a place like that. But then you don’t really know him. Maybe that’s precisely what he deserved.

“They’re letting me out today. After here.”

Silence fell as she worked, tugging at a particular stubborn piece of thread that had decided to stick to his flesh. He didn’t show the faintest reaction.

Feeling the need to speak into the space of silence, she supplied, “That will be nice.”

His blue eyes flicked to her face then, like he couldn’t help himself from looking at her when she uttered such a perfectly stupid thing.

That will be nice.

As though he would be attending a picnic or a baseball game. She heard his voice all over again telling her she didn’t know f*ck all about this place. Her face burned at the memory.

For a split second the corner of his mouth twitched. Her hand started to shake a little and she had to pause to regain her composure and adjust her grip on the scissors. With him this close to her, she felt certain he was examining the pimple on her chin. She was twenty-six but still had the occasional breakout. Stress didn’t help and there was no denying that working here stressed her out.

Pulling the last bit of thread from his skin, she released a shuddery breath. “There, now.” Taking a step back, she deposited the trash and tools onto the tray. Moistening a little antiseptic on some gauze, she lightly patted the wound where fresh blood trickled out.

“I don’t think it will be too deep a scar. Maybe I can give you some Mederma to help minimize—”

“That’s okay,” he cut her off, and she flushed. Of course, he wouldn’t care about a new scar. That was for people in her world who cared about things like their income tax and whether they would get that upcoming promotion.

“Okay.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs, mostly for something to do with them. “I’ll call for a guard to escort you.” She gripped the edge of the rolling tray, wanting to flee but knowing she wasn’t done. She had a job to do and she wasn’t doing it right if she only did half of it. Deep breath. “Why don’t I check your ribs again?”

He hadn’t mentioned they were causing him any problems, but she told herself she was just being thorough before releasing him back into the general population.

He stared at her blankly for a moment, his face as hard and implacable as stone. Almost like he didn’t understand her.

“Are you still wearing the bandage?” She reached for the hem of his white uniform shirt, ready to assist him. The fabric hung past his waist, so her fingers inadvertently brushed his thigh.

His hand shot out and locked around her wrist. She stalled, freezing at his grip on her. Her heart lurched into her throat at his viselike fingers.

“It’s fine,” Knox said, his voice thick and gravelly.

Their eyes held.

“I already removed the bandage,” he added.

Briar moistened her lips and shivered as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “And you’re not in any pain?”

He shook his head once. “I’m fine.” His fingers unfurled from around her wrist, slipping away.

“Let me check,” she insisted.

Something flared in his eyes and her skin shivered, breaking out in goose bumps. It occurred to her that he was probably not the kind of man accustomed to being ordered around by a woman, unless, of course, it was a female corrections officer.

He seemed like the kind of man that took charge. Her gaze skimmed the immense breadth of his shoulders, the broadness of his chest, the way his biceps bulged. She had a sudden image of him with a woman. In a bedroom. Well, on a bed. She snapped her gaze off his body with a mental curse. So. Wrong.

Her gaze fell to his hands. They were big, blunt-nailed with long tapering fingers, his wrists solid with a light spattering of hair on the backs. She could visualize those hands, guiding, demanding. She blinked, forcing the disturbing image away.

There couldn’t be too many people ready to oppose him, but this wasn’t a world where he was free to take charge.

Fortified with that reminder, she moved in for his shirt again, but then stopped, watching him. He arched an eyebrow at her, clearly questioning her pause. Firming her resolve, she gripped his shirt and tugged it up. He lifted his arms so she could pull his shirt over his head and drop it down beside him.

He brought his hands onto the bed beside him, palms flat on the mattress, sitting bare-chested in front of her. His body was ridiculous. Even bearing bruises, he looked like a well-honed warrior.

She was a nurse. She’d seen him like this before. He was a prisoner. A criminal. He shouldn’t affect her. In that moment, she vowed to take her sister up on her offer. She needed to go out on an actual date with a man. It had been too long since she actually kissed anyone. Even longer since she had sex. This was simply a case of a starving libido.

She narrowed her eyes and studied his body with what she hoped was clinical analysis. She shook her head at the dark bruises discoloring his ribs. Bringing her hands up, she ran her fingers over his smooth, warm flesh. “Still tender? You shouldn’t have removed your bandages.” He gave a small grunt as she pressed a fraction harder.