by Mandy Baxter
Once inside the door, Damien paused beside her. While he caught his breath, Tabitha eyeballed the couch. No way was that going to work. Seth’s bedroom was off-limits as well. That left only one option. “Come on, we’re going to my bedroom.”
Damien didn’t argue, simply let her lead him past the living room down the short hallway to her room. Would it be rude to ask him to wait until she could lay a towel down? Tabitha eyed her light-blue comforter and then Damien’s bloody leg. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
She grabbed a large bath towel from the bathroom and spread it out on top of the bed. Damien collapsed on the mattress, swinging his left leg up, and Tabitha grasped his right calf, easing him the rest of the way on the bed. “I’m probably going to have to cut your jeans away. I don’t think I’ll be able to get them off, otherwise.”
Damien’s eyes met hers and Tabitha had to have mistaken the heat that burned in the golden-brown depths. It was pain she saw there and not desire. Right? “It’s not like I’ll be wearing them again.” The rough timbre of his voice sent a wave of chills dancing across Tabitha’s skin. “Break out the scissors.”
She was going to need a hell of a lot more than scissors to fix him up. And until she assessed the damage, she wouldn’t even know if she could. “Don’t move.” He cocked a brow, as if to say Where do you think I’ll go? Tabitha pursed her lips. “You know what I mean. Just try to relax. I’ll be right back.”
She left the room and shuffled down the hallway, the snick, snick of her boots gliding on the carpet the only sound. She wandered to her living room in a sort of trance, all of the emotions she’d put on hold in the crisis of Damien’s arrival at the hotel finally rising to the surface. Her knees buckled and her ass bounced down on the couch cushion. The first tear spilled, searing a path down her cheek. Another one followed. And another, until she could do nothing to stem the steady flow.
Jesus. If he hadn’t shown up, Tony would have raped her. He could have beaten her. Forced her to drink and snort whatever he wanted her to. Used her for God knew how long. He might have killed her. “Fuck.” The expletive left her lips in an emphatic burst. “Fuck!”
“Tabitha?” Damien called from the bedroom, his tone no less commanding despite his injured state. “Are you okay?”
She quickly swiped the tears from her cheeks and took several deep breaths. “I’m fine.” Her voice was thick with emotion and she cleared her throat. “Just grabbing a few things. I’ll be there in a minute.”
On shaky legs, she abandoned the couch and centered her focus on taking care of Damien. There’d be plenty of time to break down later. Right now, she needed to get to work. She filled a bowl with warm water from the tap and grabbed several washcloths and snagged the kitchen shears from the butcher block on the counter. Not even a drop of rubbing alcohol in sight, she had no choice but to opt for the bottle of cheap vodka Seth had stored in the cupboard. When she found a box of gauze in the bathroom, Tabitha felt like pumping her fist in the air. No surgical tape, damn it. But she did have a roll of duct tape. It would have to do. She grabbed her razor from the shower and took her haul back into the bedroom, depositing everything on the bedside table.
“Damien?” Her heart skittered in her chest at his still form, eyes closed, chest barely rising with his breath. She laid tentative fingers on his throat, feeling for a pulse.
His hand came up and encircled her wrist. “Worried?”
Tabitha let out a gust of breath and tried to pull away, but Damien held fast to her wrist. His lids opened and his gaze burned through her, quickening her pulse for an entirely different reason. “If you weren’t already hurt, I’d totally smack you right now.” She tried for a playful tone but failed miserably. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good.” He patted the bed beside him. “Why don’t you lie down and I’ll show you just how good.”
This time she did smack him. Just a gentle swat to his shoulder. Heat rose to her cheeks at the innuendo. “You’ve obviously lost too much blood and are delirious.”
He flashed a wicked grin that showcased his dimples. “I’m right as rain. Just give me a chance to prove it to you.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a one-track mind?”
His gaze pinned her in place when he said, “Only when it comes to you.”
As she tried to peel her eyes from his, Tabitha fumbled for the scissors. A deep breath filled her lungs and she let it out slowly. “Playtime’s over. I don’t have any painkillers. Nothing stronger than ibuprofen.” She set the bottle of vodka beside him. “Feel free to drink away, but leave me some to sterilize the needle and your wounds, okay?”
“I don’t need it.”
“Oh, so you’re a tough guy?”
“Depends.” Damien’s eyes raked her from head to toe. “Do you like tough guys?”
Oh hell. Tabitha’s blood ignited like a flame to gasoline. Seriously, who flirted while bleeding out from a gunshot wound? He was absolutely a tough guy, and though she’d never admit it out loud, she really liked tough guys. Especially this one. “I’m, uh”—she cleared her throat—“going to cut your pants now. I’ll try to be careful.”
Tabitha grabbed the shears and set them on the bed. She removed both of Damien’s shoes, careful not to jar his right leg, and peeled off his socks. “Just want to make sure you’re comfortable,” she said at his questioning gaze. “And we needed to get this bloody sock and shoe off.”
A burst of nervous energy dumped into her bloodstream, but Tabitha was careful to keep her face impassive. If the soaked sock and his shoe were any indicator, Damien had lost a lot of blood. From the corner of her eye, she caught him staring at her, his expression pinched. “Did I hurt you?”
“Taking off my shoes?” he asked with a lazy laugh. “No.”
Damien’s lids drooped as she began to cut up his pant leg, careful to avoid the area on his upper thigh where the bullet had entered. She ran into resistance when the scissors met the additional fabric of his boxer briefs, and she separated them from the denim, cutting completely through the waist until the jeans parted away from his skin in two halves. “Sorry, but the underwear has to go, too.”
“Mmmm.” He blinked slowly. “Say that again.”
The man was incorrigible. He’d flirt her into distraction if he had it his way, but his wounds needed to be closed before he lost any more blood. Tabitha made quick work of the briefs, spreading the halves apart, and inhaled a sharp breath.
A large hole oozed blood from his upper thigh, the wound raw and angry. She angled him onto his side to find the exit point and let out a relieved sigh. Damien was right. The bullet had gone through. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to go to the hospital?” He’d be so much better off if he’d just let a doctor clean and stitch him up.
“Nope. Just slap a bandage on me and we’ll call it good.”
“No can do. I’m going to have to stitch you up.”
Yeah, he’d figured. Tonight wouldn’t be the first—and probably not the last—time he’d been sewn up in a pinch, and if the wound had been worse, Damien probably would’ve taken Tabitha up on her offer to get him to the ER. As it was, he was damned lucky the shot had missed his femoral artery. Otherwise, he’d be kissing his ass good-bye.
“Do it naked.” He was beginning to feel a little light-headed and his mouth formed words without his brain’s permission.
“Damien.” Her chiding tone only served to turn him on. “This is serious.”
“I’m dead serious.” His arm felt like it weighed a metric ton as he reached out for her. “I want to see your body. Now. It’ll distract me from the pain.”
“You promised to be a good patient.”
“Baby, I’ll be the best you ever had.”
Tabitha crossed the room and grabbed a rag to soak it in the bowl of water before wringing it out. “I was right. You’re delirious.” She came back to the side of the bed, her expression pinched and full of concern. Goddamn, he wan
ted to kiss her. “This is probably going to hurt, so prepare yourself.”
Nothing hurt right now. He was too overwhelmed by Tabitha’s presence to feel anything but awe. Despite everything that had happened tonight, she’d kept her cool. Cold steel under pressure.
“Did he hurt you?”
Tabitha paused, her gorgeous blue eyes glistening with emotion. She tucked a stray strand of short, blond hair behind her ear. Her voice was low in the quiet room. “No. You didn’t give him a chance to. Now, hold still.”
The muscles in his thigh tensed, a painful spasm traveling the entire right side of his body. His jaw locked down tight, aching from the effort it took not to shout. Especially when she concentrated her effort on the wound itself. “What’s the razor for?” Damien asked as he panted through the pain. Anything to keep him focused and alert.
“I’m going to shave the hair away from the wound. I don’t want anything in the way when I stitch you up, and it’s more sanitary that way.”
“I have to say, a woman’s never shaved my legs before. Kinky. Ah, fuck!” He pressed his head back on the pillow and took a few deep breaths.
“I’m sorry. I just need to make sure the wound is clean. Believe me, this is going to be a cakewalk compared to what’s next. You know, it’s not too late to go to the hospital.” Her gaze met his. Stern. “They’ve got all sorts of wonderful things there. Sterile instruments, trained professionals, painkillers . . . you won’t feel a thing.”
“Stop trying to sweet-talk me,” Damien admonished. “Get back to work.”
Tabitha gave him a half smile, half grimace that twisted his heart like a pretzel. “Just remember, you asked for it.”
No one had ever treated Damien with such care. Tabitha’s touch was gentle, satin gliding over his skin as she continued to clean the wound. He knew it was going to get a hell of a lot worse—hurt like a motherfucker worse—but he’d take it all and then some for her.
“Why did you go to the hotel tonight?” If he kept talking, focused on the sound of her voice, it would offer the distraction he needed. She kept her attention on the task at hand, the scrape of the razor against his skin the only sound in the room.
“Damien—”
He cut her off before she could chide him for not taking the situation seriously, or whatever she was about to lay into him for. “Just humor me. Talk to me, let me talk to you. Distract me. You’re shaving my leg, for shit’s sake. You owe me.”
She sighed, but humor sparkled in her eyes. “I went there to see you.”
Damien smiled wide as Tabitha cleaned off the razor on the wet rag and set it aside before she grabbed the bottle of vodka from beside him. “I’m less cranky about being shot than I am about missing that opportunity to be with you. I guess the night ended on a high note, though. I’m in your bed.”
Tabitha’s lips curved into a sweet smile. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and cast a sidelong glance his way before pouring the vodka on the wound. Damien’s back bowed off the bed, his thigh on fucking fire as the alcohol seared through the hole in his leg. He gnashed his teeth but couldn’t do a damned thing to silence the pained groan that tore from his throat.
“The bleeding has slowed, but we need to get this closed up. Can I keep going, or do you need a breather?”
“Keep going.”
He watched as she poured a small amount of vodka into a cup. She dropped in the needle and a length of thread and swirled it all around, sterilizing it all. “A curved surgical needle would be ideal, but since I don’t have a bag of them lying around, this is going to have to do. It’s going to be tough to stitch you up with a straight sewing needle.”
“Give it to me.”
She fished the needle from the cup and handed it to him. It was long and thick enough that he could bend it without breaking it, and fashioned it into something crude but resembling a rounded curve. “Here.”
She dropped the needle back into the cup of vodka and swirled it around for a couple of seconds before fishing it out again. “This is definitely going to hurt. Are you sure you don’t want—”
“Do it.”
Tabitha threaded the needle, her hands steady and sure. “What happened tonight?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” Tabitha was already in too deep. Damien didn’t want to further complicate the situation by giving her any insight into tonight’s cluster fuck. “When’s your birthday?”
“That’s totally off topic.”
“I ask. You answer. When’s your birthday?”
She pursed her lips before focusing her attention on the hole in his leg. The sting of the needle was momentary, and the pull of the thread only a minor annoyance in comparison to the vodka bath he’d just taken.
“May fourteenth.”
“Favorite color?”
Her brow knitted as she continued to stitch, the tip of her tongue darting out with her concentration. “Black.”
“Beer or hard liquor?”
“Depends.” She paused to wipe her hands and dab at his leg with a dry cloth before continuing on. “I’m not a big beer drinker. Blue Moon is okay. And I like hard cider.”
“Most heinous thing you were ever busted for?”
She paused, cut him a look that was neither guilty nor embarrassed. “Reckless driving when I was seventeen. Speeding.” A sheepish grin spread across her face. “I like to drive fast.”
His abs clenched and the pain in his thigh was nothing compared to the heat of desire that began to pool in Damien’s gut. He’d love to see her behind the wheel of his Shelby, speeding down the freeway. So fucking hot.
“Pizza or burgers?”
“Burgers.”
“Favorite body part?”
Tabitha ginned. “On the opposite sex?”
“Yeah.”
A wistful sigh escaped her lips, the sound a full body caress that heated Damien’s blood. “The back. And for the record, you have an epically sexy back.”
“Why don’t you have any tattoos?” She’d been fascinated with his and it made his cock stir to remember the way her fingers felt as she’d traced the raised skin.
“I’m picky. I want to get a caduceus tattoo, but only after I graduate.”
“Where?”
Tabitha shrugged. “I don’t know. There are a lot of decent parlors around.”
“No.” Damien laughed. “Where on your body?”
“Oh.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “Hold still. I need to tie this off and then I’ll stitch the hole on the back of your thigh. I have no idea where I want it. Would you care to offer up a suggestion?”
“Between your shoulder blades. The small of your back right on your spine. Your hip. The back of your neck—that would be sexy as hell.”
“You think?”
“Yeah.” The blue of Tabitha’s eyes darkened, deep ocean waters. “I’d kiss you there. Nip at your neck. Scrape my teeth across the ink.”
Tabitha let out a slow breath. “If you keep talking like that, you’re going to break my concentration.”
“Oh, honey,” Damien replied. “I’m just getting started.”
Chapter Nineteen
Damien Evans was a criminal. A drug dealer. And God knew what else. But when he spoke to her that way, the words so full of heat and promise, Tabitha forgot all of those things. She wanted him more than any other man she’d ever met. How could she possibly lust after someone who would ask her to stitch up a gunshot wound, Sons of Anarchy style, in her bedroom? And what kind of woman did it make her that she was more than willing to do it?
“I need you to roll onto your stomach, and in the interest of logistics and comfort, I think we’d better get your pants all the way off.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice. But in the interest of fairness, I think you should do the same.”
How could he be so playful at a time like this? “Slow your roll, buddy. You’re in no shape for anything that would involve me taking my pants off.”
“I’
d have to be dead to not want to see you with your pants off. A little gunshot wound is nothing.”
Tabitha grinned despite herself and circled the bed to his left side. She eased the intact half of his jeans and underwear down his leg, her eyes drawn to areas that a trained medical professional shouldn’t be checking out. At. All. She caught him staring at her, mouth quirked with amusement, and heat rose to her cheeks. “Oookaaaay.” Holy crap. She needed a cold shower. “Do you think you can turn over now? I need to sew up the exit wound.”
“You just want to check out my sexy back.”
The smile he flashed before easing over was just shy of wicked, and Tabitha’s stomach shot up into her throat before floating down into her lower abdomen on fluffy white clouds. “You’re not going to be quite so cocky when I clean this exit wound.”
“If you give me a distraction . . . like your naked body to look at, I can guarantee you I won’t feel a thing.”
A lick of heat danced up Tabitha’s spine. “Quiet, you.” She reached over him to grab the bottle of vodka and a clean washcloth. When her chest brushed his back, he let out a low groan that caused a Pavlovian response in her body. Just the deep vibration of sound made her sex clench and her thighs tremble. Jesus.
As she gently cleaned the wound, Tabitha tried to focus on the task at hand and not the way the muscles in his ass flexed as she tended to him. God, she wanted to bite those round cheeks, knead them in her palms, run her thumbs up his spine as she let her palms explore the smooth skin of his muscled back. Damien sucked in a sharp breath and it brought Tabitha to attention. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She heard the smile in his voice. “But your hand on my ass feels amazing.”
Tabitha looked down as though just now noticing she’d cupped the very same cheek she’d been fantasizing about. She pulled away, mortified, and pegged her eyes to the still bleeding wound she was supposed to be sewing up. Concentrate, you idiot.
“Consider the pleasant groping an apology for what’s next,” she teased. “Get ready.” Without any further notice, she drizzled the vodka over the hole in Damien’s thigh. His grunt of pain was muffled by the pillows as his entire body went taut. It was totally pathetic that she found herself rapt to the play of muscles as her gaze caressed each ridge, hill, and valley. And not a little insensitive, either. Good Lord, Tabitha.
