Captor Mine (Base Branch Series Book 13)

by Megan Mitcham

  The first hop was the worst. It was probably a lie, but he needed it to work up the courage to hop again. His blood pressure spiked and dropped with each leap. The room expanded and shrunk in the tunnel of his vision. He pulled deep lungfuls of air in and didn’t govern long exhales through his lips. It felt as though he weighed a thousand pounds. While his friends always ragged him about being a thousand-pound bulldog, he’d always been agile on his feet. Then again, he’d had two of them and hadn’t been bedridden for seven weeks. As he hopped, he scanned the room for a telephone, computer, CB radio, or anything he could use as an SOS machine. Nada. The great distance between him and the bathroom closed until finally, he reached the interior. He grabbed the wall for balance while he closed the door and flipped on the light.

  A hideous hospital gown hung around his knees—knee. He ignored it and the fact he only had one knee and used the cabinetry as a crutch to help himself to the toilet. When he got down to business, he averted his gaze to the ceiling. Pure relief flooded his body. His dick was still attached and filled his grip as it always had. He kept the cheering to himself but peed with a smile on his face. He flushed out of habit and immediately regretted it. His body reacted in sniper mode, going silent and still for a full minute. No one burst through the door. He hopped to the sink, washed his hands, and searched for a toothbrush and paste. After finding two in the cabinet, he bet on the blue one. Normally, while brushing his teeth, he assessed the growth of his scruff, but today, the ceiling tiles held more interest. He flossed and washed and dried his face, all while teetering on one foot.

  Well, he couldn’t stare at the ceiling for the rest of his life or hide in the baggy gown. He had to face the demon dangling at the end of his thigh.

  Growling as quietly as he could, Hunter ripped the gown from his body, tossed it onto the vanity, and hopped to the full-length mirror on the other side of the sink. If only it were a fun house mirror at Halloween. It wasn’t. There were no tricks or treats tonight. Only pure, mind-altering hell. He pulled his gaze up from the gauzy stub. For the most part, Hunter Masters was still there in the reflection. Sure, his muscle definition had gone to shit, but that was nothing two weeks of training couldn’t fix. Yet so much was missing.

  The gauze haunted him in its horror film simplicity. Part mummy. Part ghost. Part Frankenstein’s monster. Hunter held his breath and tore at the binding. Loop by tedious loop, it unwound from his hips and down his thigh. Every inch of removed gauze revealed smooth, unblemished skin, the skin he’d known his entire life. And then the skin stopped. The bandage fell to the floor in a heap, revealing a line of darkly puckered skin about six inches above where his knee used to be. As scars went, it was hideous. More so than his burn, which whitened and crinkled a strip of skin on his right hip. More so than the knife scar on his right shoulder. This scar marked the end of an era of walking, running, and fucking without conscious thought or effort. Those things no longer existed.

  But he existed. Hunter tried to find comfort in that.

  His hand caressed the bumpy scar just above his heart. The thirty-eight-caliber bullet had entered his chest two days before his sixteenth birthday and had threatened to make him miss it and all the other birthdays to come. He did manage to escape the ruthless streets of Chicago’s West Side before the shit got too bad. If he could make it through that, he could make it without a leg.

  Then again, maybe not.

  The door flew open. Hunter turned to size-up the attack and almost fell on his ass. He gripped the edge of the counter in time to save himself. Kat stood in the center of the doorway. Her hands flew to her hips, and an irritated scowl quirked her mouth. He stood hunched naked on his one leg and awkwardly turned, still precariously close to falling to the floor. She seemed completely oblivious to his nudity. Damn. His ego couldn’t take much more.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” Her tone sliced through the tiled space like a mother scolding her child. How he expected one would sound, anyway. His hadn’t stuck around long past the cutting of the cord.

  Her tone, his embarrassment, hell, everything rubbed him the wrong way in that instant. “Why’d you lie about me being unconscious to the man who came in the room?” He shouted the words like he didn’t give a shit if the world heard him.

  She didn’t shrink from his bite, but her battle-ready shoulders sank with her exhale. “I don’t know, exactly.”

  It whittled the point off his anger. He hopped his foot under him and straightened. They both ignored his dick flapping in the wind. Bummer. “You’re a smart woman, Kat. You know something about this”—he pointed at the main door and out to the lawn—“isn’t right. That’s why you didn’t tell them.”

  “Plenty of things aren’t right. For starters, you removed your bandage.” Her hands dropped from her hips, and she pointed accusatorially at his nub.

  Hunter turned to the side, slowly shifting his half leg behind his good one. Having her openly staring at the raw, puckered skin had him exposed more than an open field firefight.

  “It’s necessary to prevent infection until your wound fully heals. Which it would have, but your drain line got infected. I had to remove it, clean the area, and put in a new line.” Her accusing arm fell to her side with a smack. The balls of her cheeks flushed bright pink with anger, and her chest heaved. “We don’t need any more backslides.”

  “I can replace the bandage.” Shit, maybe it was a good thing he didn’t have a mother. He’d lived through a lot, but this nagging business needed wings to fly the hell away.

  “It’s not that easy.” Her head shook, and she stepped farther into the room. “It’s especially not with you in bed…where you should be.”

  “Well, I’m not in bed.”

  “Exactly.” She buried her face in her hands and hid there for a while. When she crawled out from cover, the anger stayed behind. Softer, sweeter eyes assessed him top to bottom. “You don’t have to hide it from me, Hunter.”

  Fuck. Of course, she noticed. She wasn’t dim.

  “There’s no place on your body I’m not familiar with.” Her words held no guile. No advance either. Just his luck.

  “The first woman to get me naked and not give a shit.”

  Her brows pulled a few Gs but fell more quickly than a fighter jet crash landing. The thoughts soaring through her head were unreadable, and she didn’t speak to let him in on the intel.

  Kat stepped to the cabinet, near the toilet, grabbed the clean towel, and draped it over the closed lid. “Sit.”

  He could argue, but there wasn’t any point.

  While he hobbled over, she left the room. Thank the Lord for small favors because he was due a couple. Then he shouldn’t complain. Air still filled his lungs, and thoughts his brain. A short time after he was situated, she returned to the room with sterile packs of gauze, tape, scissors, and iodine solution.

  “I’m not mad at you, you know?” She lay another towel on the floor next to his half leg, knelt, and spread the supplies on them. “I just need you to understand how fragile your body is right now.”

  “Fragile?” No one had ever used that word to describe him or anything related to him. It didn’t taste good on his tongue.

  “Your body has been through…” When she turned, her gaze landed directly on his cock. “It’s…” She gave the ceiling a once-over, but her gaze zeroed right back to his goods.

  Maybe he hadn’t lost all his powers. A tiny sense of pride seeped back into his soul.

  “Your body…” She swallowed, huffed, and turned away. Kat’s fighting fingers ripped open a pack of gloves and snapped a pair into place. “Your body has been through significant trauma.” The sound of ripping paper filled the room as she went down the line, exposing each package’s contents. She removed the gloves, donned new ones, and then turned to face him. “Can you cup your penis, please?”

  “Kinky, Doc.”

  Kat inhaled to lecture him, for sure.

  “I’m kidding.” He used his left hand to cover himsel
f.

  Her gaze remained on his crotch.

  “What?” His gaze dropped to the area in question. Had he missed some altering injury? None that he could see…with his hand in the way. His balls and parts of his anatomy peeked out on either side of his hand.

  “Two hands, please.”

  A smile sneaked on Hunter’s lips. He banked it as best he could and obliged her without further comment. Her cheeks were as pink as they’d been when she’d been ready to murder him for jeopardizing his health, of all the contradictions.

  She soaked an extra-large weaved cotton pad in the solution and dragged it across the end of his leg, which was no longer a foot. “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  One thin brow and a narrowed gaze assessed him. “Then why the face?”

  “I’m making a face?” He strived for cool and calm.

  Hunter’s stomach roiled. It wasn’t blood or open wounds that got to him. He killed people on a bi-weekly basis sometimes. No problem there. He didn’t do wound care. The healing parts of injuries weren’t for him, though he’d suffered through plenty. This, though… the nub…

  “That doesn’t gross you out?”

  Her chuckle reverberated over his sensitive thigh. “Would hardly be good at my job if it did.”

  “And you are, good at your job.” He admired the care she took with him.

  A sweet smile curved her lips. Her gaze remained on the job, but she whispered, “Thank you.”

  12

  Christ, when he was unconscious, his dick had been admirable. Semi-erect, it caused her throat to constrict and her thighs to clench. Beyond inappropriate.

  Thank goodness, she’d removed his catheter after he’d passed out when he first woke. She couldn’t imagine doing that with him conscious. Then, he’d been her patient. Now, she couldn’t think of him that way. She helped him, sure, but no longer as his doctor.

  She’d never fraternized with a patient, never crossed the line, but this man made her feel everything she’d always chastised and belittled. Had she belittled them because they weren’t important to her or because she’d never expected to experience them? The answer scared her. It was too-bright lights, no makeup, real reflection.

  “So, dinner and dancing…or should I cart my ass back to the bed?” Hunter’s face lit with mischief.

  “You’ll be wining and dining the ladies in no time. Dancing may take a little longer but not much.” His ability to make light of a ten-ton situation warmed a narrow path to her heart. “For now, let’s get you dressed and back to bed.” She pulled a new gown from the cabinet, unfolded it, and offered it over.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever found myself in this situation.” He sighed, and his hulking shoulders bobbed.

  “What’s that?” Kat shouldn’t ask. She had a feeling she knew exactly where this was headed, yet she couldn’t stop interacting with him.

  “You’re the first woman to have me naked and want me dressed.” His head hung and shook.

  “You’ll survive.” She bit back a smile and hurried him on with a wave of both hands.

  “Better?” He pulled the fabric low over his thighs.

  Not in the least. It was safer, though. Not one for lies, she ignored the question and offered her hand. Hunter grabbed hold but made no attempt to move.

  Kat swallowed and smiled awkwardly. “Once we get you up, I’ll get on your left side and wrap my arm around your middle. You hold my shoulders, and I’ll act as your crutch.”

  “Even half a leg down, Doc, I’m not light.”

  “And I’m not a—”

  “You’re not a pussy. I remember.” His grin turned lethal.

  “That’s not what I said.” Her hand snapped to her hip.

  “You didn’t say what?” A twinkle flashed in his eyes.

  “Hunter Masters, stand.”

  He obeyed her order without placing any pressure on her hand.

  “Arm around me.” Kat shifted to his side and coiled her arm around his waist. The warmth of his body radiated through the thin gown. She’d had a hot stone massage once, and this was like a hot slab of granite against her from shoulder to thigh. Thinking about the massage portion of the event hitched the breath inside her lungs.

  “Let’s step”—his fingers made air quotes—“with the inside first. If I put too much pressure on you, I’m hopping. You can choose to let go or hold on for the ride.”

  The ride… Goodness! Leg or not, he would be one amazing ride. She imagined, at least. “Four. Three. Two. Step.” They moved together. Kat absorbed his weight with little effort. “Four. Three. Two. Step.” The movement compounded the weight of his thick frame on her shoulders and hips. “Good. Again.”

  None of the steps took them far or fast, but they maintained the rhythm with her lead.

  “Why do you hide your beauty?”

  Kat choked on her, “Three.” They managed to keep the pace even with her stutter. She wiggled in her scrubs and shoved her glasses up her nose. “What are you talking about?”

  “You have stunning curves, a firm waist, and a striking face, but you hide them behind baggy clothes and drugstore reading glasses.”

  “I dress for my job.” Her hackles rose. She shoved the glasses she didn’t need up her nose.

  “You dress to be taken seriously as a doctor, but you are a closet ten. A damn shame.”

  Kat’s mouth gaped. Her ire made sure her jaw didn’t stay on the floor long. “What’s a shame?”

  “That you don’t own yourself.”

  Kat’s cheeks stung as though he’d slapped her across the face. Those words were so close to the truth they camped between the T and the H with an F U between them. She contemplated jerking from his hold and letting him fall ass first onto the floor, but it took too much effort. Her body turned to stone, ceasing their progress.

  He shifted slightly and appraised her. “If you don’t own yourself, how do you expect a man to ever truly possess you?”

  “I don’t,” she snapped.

  “You’re not a lesbian.”

  “I’m a doctor. Your doctor. That’s all.” Even though she’d just argued with herself otherwise. She propelled forward without warning, and his only choice was to keep up. Men like him didn’t hit the floor unless they dived for cover. What would it be like to be possessed by a man like that? Her cheeks heated.

  Kat had helped patients transition from one place to another before. Hell, she even straddled the odd one here and there to get the best angle to reset a broken bone. Her proximity to Hunter was nothing compared to the intimacy and vulnerability created by his words, though.

  They neared the bed, and Kat thanked heaven. She needed to put distance between them, not her deepest, darkest fears. “I have to reposition you to get you on the bed.”

  “Whatever you need, Doc.”

  The invitation wasn’t necessary. Her body, however, reveled in it. With every step, her clit throbbed and pulsed. She gritted her teeth and begged herself to ignore the forbidden fruit dangling in her face…after a lifetime of self-imposed semi-starvation.

  She drew a deep breath and then stepped from his side to his front. Her left foot planted between his legs while her right stayed on the outside of his left thigh. Just great. Now, she’d inadvertently straddled his amputated leg.

  His right arm joined his left behind her neck. The two thick limbs lay heavily and comfortably across her shoulders. The maneuver brought them chest to chest and face to face. To keep him stable, she linked both her arms behind his waist and pulled him close. It might have helped his stability, but it sent her reeling.

  “If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask.” Hunter peered down at her with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

  “I think I liked you better when you were unconscious.”

  He leaned forward, nearly grazing his cheek along hers. His lips touched her ear. “I think you’re not a very good liar.”

  Hunter lowered himself onto the edge of the bed but didn’t release
his hold. Had he, she might not have retreated anyway. His gaze sucked her in, tossed her about, and refused to release its hold.

  Movement tickled her neck. His arms slid from across her upper back and shoulders. A small sigh loosened the tension in her traps…until he grabbed both sides of her glasses and pulled them from her face.

  “I see you, Doc.”

  Kat saw Hunter with nothing between them. He’d stripped away the physical shield she hid behind. Her gaze caressed his cheekbones, skittered down his jaw, and lingered on his mouth. He set her glasses on the bed, never stealing his gaze from hers. She should move. She could move. But he looked at her with such intent, and no one had ever looked at her that way. She longed to stay even though she knew she shouldn’t. His fingers returned to her face. The soft pads caressed the light bruise on the side of her eye and then skated to her jaw.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I already told you.” He cupped her jaw and pulled her closer. “You lie for shit.” Soft, warm lips kissed the abused flesh. His fingers entangled in her mass of curls and held her in place. He backed away far enough that she saw the determination in his gaze. “Who hurt you, Kat?”

  She didn’t want to discuss the impossible situation that plagued her…and him. The more she knew about this man, the more confusing things became. Her father wasn’t an affectionate man, but that didn’t make him bad. Aron, the guard, was surely bad. Maybe Hunter’s wit and charm hid a more sinister side. Still, that didn’t explain why her father was tangled in this web. It certainly didn’t explain why she was face to face with a former—minutes former—patient and doing this…

  Kat closed the gap between them.

  She tried.

  Hunter gently tugged her hair, ending her progress a millimeter from his lips. She hung there suspended between desire and embarrassment. Why had she assumed he’d want to kiss her?