by S. J. Drum
“I’m sure you can, sugar. But hospital policy says you will ride in the chair.” The nurse’s no-nonsense tone almost made Lucy smile.
Lucy squeaked a startled sound when Dalton’s strong arms slid underneath her with careful movements. Surely he didn’t mean to pick her up. She was too heavy, Ross had always told her so. Even before that, she’d known her body wasn’t the size men liked.
Without any groans and none of his muscles shaking with the effort, Dalton smoothly transferred her to the wheelchair.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she grumbled, embarrassed.
“Yeah, I did.” A corner of Dalton’s lips lifted as though he were fighting a smile.
“Well, don’t make a habit of it. I’m too heavy to be carted around like a sack of potatoes.”
He stepped into stride beside the wheelchair as the nurse took control and pushed Lucy into the hallway. “How do you think I got you from your apartment to my truck, and my truck to the ER? I sure as hell didn’t use my Jedi mind tricks to do it.”
Her mouth fell open and she stared at him in shock. He’d carried her and she hadn’t remembered? Carried her down a flight of stairs and hefted her up into his truck? Okay, she wasn’t huge, but she wasn’t a waif either. Her focus narrowed on the muscles moving and flowing under his thin t-shirt before the nausea from her concussion forced her to face forward and close her eyes for the rest of the wheeled ride to her overnight accommodations.
Lucy’s eyes snapped back open. Wait. Why is he still here? He doesn’t plan to spend the night in the hospital with me, does he?
Chapter Eight
“I told you, I’m fine. Go home.”
Lucy’s disgruntled words drew a sigh from Dalton.
The contrary woman had been a strange mix of appreciative, confused and angry at his attention since he’d found her knocked unconscious yesterday. He suppressed a grin remembering her reaction when she’d figured out he intended to stay overnight with her in the hospital.
“I’m not going anywhere, you should know that by now. Get used to it.” Dalton made sure to keep the volume of his voice low even as he injected his words with a deep, dominant tone.
He watched the fair, smooth skin on her cheeks flush as he raised a brow and stared her down, daring her to go on. Her pale-pink lips parted and her pupils dilated. Yes, his Lucy responded well to a taste of his darker edge.
Lucy’s ability to argue with him, and her response to his dominant nature, pleased Dalton. For a woman who had been through years of abuse, it meant something special that she was able to argue with him, stand up to him, without overwhelming fear. Whether Lucy knew it or not, she trusted him on a deeper level than their short acquaintance accounted for, unless she had feelings for him. The feelings of a submissive toward a Dominant…
His thoughts were interrupted by Lucy muttering about “stubborn jerks” as she shuffled into the small bathroom inside her apartment. He watched her slowly turn and ease the thin wooden door shut, careful not to move too fast. She didn’t want to admit she needed help but it was obvious the concussion was affecting her.
The snick of the lock being engaged on the bathroom door made his jaw clench. What if she needed him? What if she got dizzy and hit her head on something? Not that he couldn’t break the lock if need be, but he’d rather not.
Instead of demanding she unlock the door, he told himself she’d been through enough and decided to let it go this time. He’d have a talk with her later about shyness overruling common sense. For now, he tamped down his worries and leaned his shoulders back against the wall beside the bathroom door. Close enough to hear if something happened but still giving her privacy.
Dalton studied the tidy interior of Lucy’s apartment. The wooden floors shone as if she kept them polished and they scented the air with a trace of lemon oil. Sunny and fragrant like Lucy.
Though pleased she felt comfortable enough to argue with him, the reason she argued also pissed Dalton off. She worried he’d get hurt in the crossfire with her ex. It grated on Dalton that she didn’t think he could protect himself, let alone her. Although he had done a piss-poor job of protecting her so far, hadn’t he? The proof was written in block letters on her delicate skin.
How long would it take for the permanent marker to wear off? A week? Longer?
“Uh…Dalton?” Lucy’s voice was no longer combative, but full of hesitation.
He straightened from his slouch against the wall. “Yeah, babe? You all right?”
She remained silent for a moment before releasing an audible sigh. “I’m fine, but I need your help.”
Dalton stood in front of the door, his head cocked to one side, listening as Lucy muttered what sounded like an expletive. As soon as he heard the lock snick open, he placed his hand around the cool brass knob and pushed the door open.
The sight that greeted him made his heart pump faster, lust swelled and burned inside him. Lucy stood next to the white vintage claw-footed tub, a teal-blue towel wrapped around her middle and not doing a thing to conceal her delicious curves. The color of the towel set off her reddish-blonde hair and enhanced her blue eyes. She chewed on her bottom lip, pinching the plump morsel between straight white teeth as a blush stole up her neck and covered her cheeks.
Dalton cleared his throat, trying not to stare but unable to stop himself. He also couldn’t keep his dick from hardening at the sight of Lucy standing nearly naked before him, her eyes downcast like a perfect submissive.
“I want to take a shower, but I can’t remember what Abigail said about taking care of my tattoo while it heals. Is it okay to get it wet and soapy? It looks a little red.”
Dalton nearly choked on his tongue when she parted the towel to reveal a teasing glimpse of her creamy white thigh and the steampunk moth residing there on her skin. “Umm…”
“See?” She twisted her leg so more of her inner thigh showed, as if it would help him make his brain work again. “It’s red here, around the outside.”
He licked his lips, imagining sliding to his knees and shoving her thighs apart after doing away with that nuisance of a towel. He’d bury his face in her—
“Dalton? Are you okay?”
Her question snapped him out of his daydream. He shook his head and scrubbed a callused hand over the two-day stubble on his cheeks and chin. “Right, the tattoo. Let me have a closer look.” He didn’t need one, but what the hell. He stepped into her space and knelt on one knee. She shivered as he lightly ran the tip of his index finger up the inside of her leg from her knee to just below the new tattoo.
“Well?”
“Looks good, real good.” Dalton’s voice came out a husky rasp. He tried again, happy when he sounded more normal. “A little redness is to be expected. How does it feel?” When Lucy didn’t respond, Dalton stood and waited until she met his eyes.
“It feels fine.”
He narrowed his eyes. He knew damn well she lied. A tattoo always hurt the worst the day after it was first inked. “Tell me the truth, Lucy. You should know, I don’t like lies. Even small ones.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m weird.”
“Lucy,” he growled.
“It feels kind of…good. I mean, it hurts, but in a good way. Is that crazy?”
“It’s not crazy at all.” In fact, Dalton knew exactly what she meant, though he’d never in a million years expected her to understand good pain. “Explain what you mean by ‘hurts in a good way’.”
“Pain has always been something totally negative for me, but the pain always came from something someone else did to me that I had no control over. Each time I felt the discomfort from a bruise or a break or a cut, I’d remember something bad happening to me. With the tattoo,” she lifted a hand as if at a loss for words, “each time I feel the discomfort, I’m reminded I did something I wanted to do. I remember there’s something permanent and beautiful on my skin I chose myself. Maybe having control over it changes my perception. I sure as hell don’t feel the sa
me way about the pain in my skull. That just freaking hurts.” She laughed, but it was a nervous sound and she stared at her feet, curling and uncurling her toes into the plush black bathmat.
Dalton drew in a deep breath, knowing he had to go easy with Lucy. But he was so fucking excited that he might actually have a chance to enjoy his brand of kink with her that he wanted to bend her over the sink right then, spank her pretty pale ass and fuck her senseless. Getting himself under control was no easy task.
“Do you think I’m a weirdo now?”
Lucy peeked up at him from under her lashes, her eyes more blue than gray next to the teal-colored towel around her middle. Dalton folded his hands in front of the zipper of his jeans, not wanting her to see the rock-hard erection threatening to escape the band of his boxers and peek over the waist of his jeans.
“No, babe. I don’t think you’re a weirdo. It’s called pleasurable pain and there isn’t anything wrong with you for feeling it. In fact, I know all about turning pain into pleasure. Someday, I’ll teach you everything I know and you will love every single second of it.”
Her lips parted on a little gasp, her chest heaving and straining against the towel clasped about her breasts. It was nearly his undoing. He strode through the open door into the living room, sure if he didn’t put some distance between them he’d do something to push her too far.
He turned and met her startled gaze. “Take your shower, babe. I’m not going to ravage you, not yet anyway. We’ve got a lot to work out between us before we get there.”
Dalton pulled the door to the bathroom shut, more as a barrier for him than privacy for Lucy. After adjusting the erection straining against his zipper, he moved into her bedroom and rummaged through her closet until he found a large duffel bag. He hadn’t mentioned it to her yet because he knew it would cause another argument and, on this, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Whether Miss Stubborn Lucy Ellingsworth wanted to or not, she was going to move in with Dalton. At least until they were sure she was out of danger, and hopefully a lot longer. For the first time, Mister Never-Commit Dalton Loretto wanted a serious relationship. Now, he just had to convince the woman he’d begun to love.
* * * * *
Lucy scrubbed at the words “YOUR MINE” written on her lower tummy until the skin was pink and raw. The words remained, bold and misspelled and taunting in their permanency. She tried three different soaps in an attempt to both keep her mind off of Dalton’s strange erotic promises and the knowledge that her ex-husband had found her…and touched her.
She didn’t know how long she sat huddled under the spray of the shower head while sitting in the porcelain tub. Her head felt like a lead balloon that’d been bashed with a hammer and she’d given up trying to stand while swaying with dizziness. The water ran pink as she rinsed conditioner from her hair, the small wound on her scalp irritated by the attention and bleeding again.
Once her hair was rinsed clean, she hugged her knees to her chest and lay her head on her knees. Wondering when Dalton would wise up and get the hell out of her life, and wondering why the thought of him leaving hurt worse than the contusion on her skull. With the water running and the ceiling fan on, she felt safe enough to finally let go and cry. She hadn’t cried at all at the hospital, not wanting to seem weak or worry Dalton further, giving him another reason to stick around and possibly get himself hurt.
The tears started and she choked back a sob, trying to keep as quiet as was possible when releasing twenty-four hours of backed-up emotional turmoil and pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to soothe herself by rocking back and forth but even the gentle motion set her stomach on a whirl.
A frigid gust of air and the rustle of the shower curtain had her eyes snapping open. Dalton stood with one large hand clenched in the vinyl of the curtain, sweeping it to the side and exposing her naked and disheveled state. He said nothing, but the fierce look on his handsome face told her he was pissed.
Lucy flinched when he reached a hand toward her and a flicker of sadness crossed his expression. She hadn’t flinched away from him since they’d first met. Now she was raw in more ways than one and, damn it, she was scared. Scared of Ross finding her, scared of all the things he could have done while she lay unconscious, sick at the thought of him touching her and afraid anyone she made friends with now would end up a casualty of the war she wanted nothing more than to avoid.
Dalton stood tall and broad, with strong arms and a clenched jaw. Heavy boots and work-worn jeans. The tattoo snaking up his neck had never bothered her, it still didn’t. She wished she could take back the flinch so she never had to see that sadness in his eyes again.
She stared up at him with tears flowing down her cheeks, wanting things she could never have. Things Ross would never let her have. When Dalton grabbed the blue towel from the counter and knelt next to the tub, she remained still, waiting.
“I heard you crying, darlin’, though you tried to hide it.” He reached inside the tub and turned the water off. “Don’t hide from me, Lucy. There isn’t anything you could do or say that will make me think badly of you. If you need to cry, you do it on my shoulder. If you need to yell, you yell at me. Hell, you need to hit someone, hit me.” A half grin quirked his lips. He wrapped the towel around her and lifted her from the tub like a child instead of the plump woman she was.
“Dalton, don’t—”
The grin disappeared. He looked at her then, held her gaze with his deep-blue eyes. “No. Let’s get this straight right now. I’ll pick you up when and where I want. You’re not too heavy. Not even close.”
Lucy made a non-committal “humph”. She really was too woozy and worn out to argue. Instead, she draped an arm around his neck and allowed herself to enjoy his sawdust-and-leather scent. Damn him.
He moved into her bedroom and slowly lowered her to the edge of the bed. She tried to wrap the towel around her tighter, but he tugged it out of her hands and began briskly drying her.
“I can dry myself. I’m not that badly hurt.”
“Just because you can do it, doesn’t mean you should have to. Relax.”
His gaze went to the words written below her bellybutton and the same growling sound he’d made in the hospital when wonder-cop wouldn’t shut up came out of his throat again. Embarrassed, she covered the words with her hands.
“I tried to scrub it off. Let me put on a shirt and you won’t have to look at it.”
He continued with his ministrations, shaking his head. “I’ll still know it’s there. I’ll still know that bastard touched you and I didn’t stop him.” He stood, turning and opening the drawers of her dresser, grabbing everything she’d need down to the panties, as if he knew exactly where to look.
“It’s not your responsibility to keep me safe. We barely know each other.”
Dalton laid her clothing on the bed and went to his knees in front of her, holding a pair of pink lacy panties. Of course he’d choose those instead of the mounds of cotton underwear taking up the majority of space in the drawer. He slipped them over her feet and started tugging them up her legs before she grabbed them and nudged him back with a toe to his chest.
She stood too quickly, trying to yank the panties into position and cover herself. The motion made her head spin and Dalton had to clasp her hips to keep her from toppling over. “Why are you helping me dress? I’m freaking naked. In front of you. Are you sure the doctor said I don’t have any brain damage? ’Cause that’s the only legitimate excuse for why I haven’t kicked you out yet.”
He snorted, his gaze roaming over her body and landing on her bare breasts. “You could try kicking me out, but you can’t even pull on your own panties without falling over. I don’t think you’ll be kicking anyone’s ass today.”
“Jerk.”
“Stubborn.”
“I don’t know how… No one’s ever…”
“No one has ever taken care of you? Doted on you, loved you, just because they wanted to see you well and make you happy?”
> Dalton slipped a matching pink lace bra up her arms and slid his arms around her to fasten the clasp in the back. It only took him one attempt to engage the hooks and Lucy wanted ask how many women he’d helped with their bras in the past. Jealousy had her lips drawing down in a frown.
“I’ve always taken care of myself.”
“What about your parents? I know you said they didn’t listen when you tried to tell them about your ex, but what about when you were young?” He slipped a loose-fitting tank top over her head before helping her step into a pair of running shorts.
Lucy thought back, trying to remember a time when her parents had treated her with anything close to the kind of warmth she felt in Dalton’s care. “I had my wisdom teeth removed in high school. I was sick and completely out of it from the pain killers and anesthesia. My mom had gone to the appointment with me and drove me home. I remember her fluttering around, straightening the throw pillows on the couch as soon as we walked in the door of our house. I was trying to act like I was okay because she never handled it well when someone was sick or needy. I steadied myself on the wall and a side table, making my way to the couch. She didn’t help me and I knew better than to ask because she already had that look on her face like she was close to a panic attack.
“I finally made it to the couch and felt like I was going to be sick. I must have said something out loud because she ran into the kitchen and grabbed a big cup, rushed over to the couch and practically threw the cup at me. ‘Here. If you’re going to be sick. I’ve got some errands to run. Call your father if you need something.’ Then she left, ran out the door like she was being chased by a monster in a movie.”
Lucy looked up to find herself encased in Dalton’s arms. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to her forehead with a gentle, caring touch she’d rarely—if ever—experienced before.
“Darlin’, that woman is no mother. No real mama would have left their child alone and sick after just having surgery. And I’m gonna bet you didn’t call your daddy neither.”
