by Olivia Arran
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t make me spell it out.” She was trying for nonchalant, and failing miserably. The tightness of her jaw where her teeth were grinding together gave her away.
Pulling out my phone, I checked the screen. “Are you implying that I have a list of women?”
“You’re an ass.”
A message from Mom, digging as per usual. I tapped out a vague reply and hit send. “You’re mistaken.”
“That you’re an ass? No, I’m pretty sure I’m not.”
A glance confirmed that her mouth was curved up in a smug smile, her eyes sparking with heat as she insulted me. “I wasn’t talking about that.” I slid my phone back into my pocket, ignoring it as it buzzed with yet another message.
Her mouth opened and closed, then clamped shut with a snap.
“What? No snappy comeback?”
Her cheeks darkened as blood rushed to them, fire snapping in her eyes. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, Ralph.” Making a shooing motion, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet on the floor. Head hanging down, her hair streamed over her shoulders, shrouding her in a veil of honey-brown satin, the strands curling ever so slightly at the ends.
Standing, I shoved my hands in my pocket to prevent them from wandering.
One deep breath later—her hospital gown doing a damn fine job of showcasing her lush, voluptuous curves—she was teetering on bare legs, her face bleached of color and eyes blinking rapid fire.
Moving around her, I leaned against the wall, careful to keep within arms reach. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like? Painting my toe nails?” she snapped back while shoving her hair over her shoulder. Stress lines dug into the edges of her eyes as she struggled not to suck in another deep breath.
I glanced down at her bare feet. Blue polish carefully decorated each little nail, the color adorned with sparkles of some kind. “Blue sparkles,” I offered, a little out of my comfort zone, but hey, whatever made her happy. I’d even paint the damn things if she’d sit her ass back down.
“Turquoise, actually. And I like it.”
“Me too.” My reply came out a low growl, surprising the shit out of me, as well as her. You think her nails are pretty? I asked my bear.
Blue. Like the ocean, he muttered, his great bulk shifting inside my skin as he padded around.
I couldn’t decide which was more surprising, his answer, or the fact that he had an opinion. When I’d declared Connie as off-limits, we’d had what I had aptly dubbed, the argument to end all motherfucking arguments. It had involved a lot of roaring, claws, and cursing—not to mention the near constant attacks on a daily basis as he tried to wrest control from me—but I’d held out. He fucking hated me for it.
“Babe, I think you should sit down.” I tried to offer my advice with as much neutrality as possible, but she stared at me as though I’d slapped her around the face with a wet salmon.
“I don’t want to sit down. I want to go home.” Her hands balled up into tight fists, she set one foot in front of the other, her intent clear from the way she was glaring at the mound of clothes piled on the chair in the corner.
Wincing, I tried again, “The floor isn’t very comfortable and it might be better if you wait—”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Another step, then another.
I cut short the whistle. Damn. She might actually make it without keeling over. I might as well wait and see. It wasn’t as if I’d let her hit the floor, anyway. The thought of hugging her warm, soft body close again had parts of my body shifting to attention, my jeans distinctly tighter than they’d been a few minutes ago.
Though, that could be because of the way her hospital gown hung open at the back, displaying her very fine ass clad in white lace. Not a thong, or what I’d call normal panties. No, these were like lacy shorts, hugging the underside of each buttock as her skin played peekaboo with my eyes.
Her eyes flicked to me at the exact moment I shoved a hand into my pocket to rearrange my increasingly painful erection. Figures.
She narrowed her eyes.
I averted mine until I was looking at her ear. “You’re nearly there,” I offered. It came out a gruff mutter.
Giving me one last look, she pushed on.
I allowed my eyes to wander back down her body, lingering on each curve and following the swell of her hips as they flared out in a great fuck you to human standards of perfection.
More like, fucking perfect. I’d never gotten my head around this whole obsession with dieting and stick thin models. I was one hundred and fifteen years old and in my book the more there was to a woman, the better. Soft and curvy was fucking sexy. I was a big man, with big hands, and I liked filling them.
Inside my pocket, my hand squeezed around my throbbing shaft as images of Connie naked danced in my head, her body writhing and slick with sweat as I licked her sweet lace covered pussy. Fuck. The moan almost escaped, only held back through sheer determination and the knowledge that if I didn’t nip this fantasy in the bud, I’d have no chance of holding my bear back.
She halted, swaying back and forth as she stared down at the chair.
Then she bent over.
Sweet motherfucking hell… I slapped a hand onto the bed, crushing the spindly metal frame. Was she trying to kill me? I must have made some kind of noise, because her head whipped around and her mouth opened.
She was falling before she’d even uttered a word.
Three strides and my arms were around her, crushing her against me as I breathed her in. Cinnamon. She smelled sweet and spicy and warm. The ache in my chest cracked open, a glimpse of the void that resided where my heart used to be.
A deafening roar rattled through my head, crashing against the back of my eyes. Fur brushed beneath my skin, claws pricking and demanding.
I slammed the door shut, cutting off anything and everything. But my hands wouldn’t move from where they sat curled around her. I tried, but they wouldn’t let go.
Her eyelids fluttered, then cracked open. “Why are you holding me?”
Her lips were so close, there, for the taking—just asking to be kissed. But her eyes were foggy with pain and confusion, not the lust I wanted to see staring back at me when I made my move. I strode back to the bed, careful not to jostle my precious cargo. “You nearly hit the deck.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t a pleased sound, or even relieved. More … irritated. “You can put me down now.”
“What? No thank you, sweetheart?” I forced humor into my voice, a lightness I certainly didn’t feel.
She started to shake her head, then thought better of it with a wince. “Is that what it’s going to take to get you to put me down?”
“A kiss would work too.” I was already cursing myself blue before I’d even finished the sentence. What the fuck, man? Way to sound desperate. But, it was as if all the poise and coolness I’d acquired over the years had gone sayonara the minute I’d laid hands on her. I had regressed back to a horny teenager with only one thing on his mind, and no idea how to go about getting it. I knew I wasn’t the smoothest guy out there—a little hot headed and temperamental for some women—but I usually knew how to play the game, despite never playing it to score. Disinterest worked nine times out of ten, women got hot for a guy they couldn’t have. It was the dating game 101. I knew this—had spent years working everything out, planning every last detail of how this would go. What I would do if I ever got the chance.
“Uh…” She blinked at me, her eyes wide and lips parted ever so slightly.
Giving myself a mental kick in the nuts, I placed her on the bed and informed my hands to let go. They did, uncurling begrudgingly, until I was free and clear of her.
And losing my goddamned mind.
“You’re going home with me.” I held up a hand, halting any retort she might have. “I’ll watch you for a couple of days, then you can go home. I won’t try and jump you or ki
ss you during that time, you have my word.”
“Ralph—”
“Do you want to stay here? You’ve been unconscious on and off for days, probably still have a concussion. They won’t let you go home without someone to watch you. And … you don’t have anyone else.”
Her look of dismay morphed into a scowl, but I could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She hated hospitals. I knew that.
Yeah, I was a bastard, but it was for her own good.
“One day. At my apartment.”
I quashed the triumphant smile before it had chance to start. “Whatever the doctor recommends and your apartment needs repairs after the fire. I have a spare bedroom above the restaurant,” I shot back.
She paused and I held my breath. “Okay. But not a second longer. And no more touching.”
“Agreed.” I was pretty sure that the doctor wouldn’t take a lot of convincing to recommend a lot longer than a day, especially after I got my brother Jack—the resident doctor of our little town—to make a quick call.
“I mean it, Ralph. No touching. No flirting. In fact, I’d rather we didn’t speak at all.”
I took a step back, pointedly putting space between us. “Whatever you say, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.” From the look on her face, she didn’t believe me.
I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t trust me either. Rather than answering, I threw her a wink and went to find the doctor.
Chapter Three
Connie
This so wasn’t a good idea. I ignored the voice screeching inside my head and concentrated on the elevator walls, watching the floors count down out of the corner of my eye. Tapping my hand on the wheelchair arm, I wriggled my toes inside my boots, the urge to stand up and storm out of here gnawing at me something fierce. The air hummed with a nervous energy that prickled at my skin, my arm hairs standing at attention, as if waiting for disaster to happen.
I was trapped in a steel box with a man I despised.
And wanted to lick all over.
And I was going to spend the next three days with him. In his apartment. Together. Like, living together together.
I was screwed.
The elevator dinged our arrival and the man in question wheeled me out, across the busy foyer, and out into the balmy night air. At least he’d managed to convince the doctor to let me leave tonight; I had been ready to jump the poor guy and threaten many imaginative torture techniques if he’d tried keeping me here, but he hadn’t. One look at Ralph and he’d agreed.
I snuck a glance over my shoulder at the hulking, brooding man who was managing to occupy my every thought without uttering a word. Huh. He had his uses, after all. Breathing deeply, my muscles relaxed one by one as we moved away from the hospital doors, putting more and more space between me and the place that held only sad memories.
“You thinking about your father?” Ralph’s deep voice was a low murmur carried on the night breeze, intruding on my self pitying wallow.
Trying a nod, grateful that the pain meds the doctor had doled out seemed to be working, I shrugged. “He’s always on my mind.” Especially around you, I almost added, deciding better of it after remembering the long drive home we had together.
Blessed silence stretched between us, and I thought he’d given up, but then, “He was a good man.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. He didn’t get to talk about him. Not ever. “Where’s your car?”
His hand stretched over my shoulder to hover in front of my eyes, his finger pointing across the parking lot. “Over there, somewhere.”
Arching a brow, I grunted. “Somewhere? You can’t remember where you left your car?”
“I didn’t bring it; Ryan dropped it off for me with some clothes. I rode in the ambulance with you and I haven’t been home since.”
Oh. Right. We’d stopped at the edge of the curb and I waited for him to continue. But he didn’t. “What does it look like?” My voice rose on a squeal as his arms came down around me, lifting me up out of the chair and into the air. “What do you think you’re doing?”
His face loomed close, eyebrow suspiciously high and lips twitching.
“Ralph…” I bit out. I wasn’t in the mood for games.
“Easy, there. I can either leave you here and go find the car, or I can carry you. Either way, you’re not allowed to walk.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, studiously ignoring how strong his arms felt, how easily he’d lifted me without a single bit of strain. “Then put me down and I’ll wait.”
“It’ll be quicker this way.” He set off before he’d even finished, moving with long determined strides across the road and into the adjacent parking lot.
I poked him in the chest, earning a frown. “You said you wouldn’t touch me.” It sounded suspiciously like a whine, but I was tired and pissed off, and he was pushing all my buttons right now.
“Sweetheart, I agreed to not touch you. If you think that’s what this is, then I’ll have to see about re-educating you.” Flashing me a confident smirk, he continued on his merry way, despite the daggers I was shooting out of my eyes. We powered past stationary cars, street lights casting the deserted lot in pools of warm light as the evening shadows deepened around us.
“Don’t call me that,” I eventually said once I could think past the image he’d shoved into my mind, front and center. The one of him touching me, murmuring dirty secrets in that deep, gravelly voice of his.
He tilted his head, giving me a look that could only be described as perplexed. “What? Sweetheart? You don’t like that one either?”
“No. I don’t.”
“How about baby? No, no, you’re right,” he shook his head before I’d even had chance to shoot him down, “too similar to babe. Hmmm, I’ll come up with something.”
“How about Connie?” My voice dripped with sarcasm that he apparently couldn’t hear. We came to a stop in front of a boring looking sedan. Perfectly serviceable and utterly bland. “This is yours?” I’d pegged him for a truck kind of guy, or maybe a sports car to go with his dark and dangerous looks.
“What? Don’t you like it?” He fished a set of keys out his pocket all while balancing me in one arm. The car flashed its inoffensive headlights twice.
“Oh, no, it’s really … nice,” I replied as he opened the door and deposited me in the passenger seat. I sucked in a breath as he reached over, his chest brushing against mine while he buckled me in. Heat. He was so warm it was like standing next to an open fire, chasing away the last of the cold that had clung to me since waking in the hospital bed. A second later he was gone, sauntering around the front of the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.
I shivered, I was so tired I was nauseous, and not willing to admit how strung out I really was.
Gunning the engine, he smoothly edged the car out, navigating the large parking lot and out onto the street. The hospital lights winked in the side mirror, fading out of sight as we traveled along the main drag and onto the highway. The sound of the road rumbling beneath the wheels a tantalizing lullaby luring me toward sleep. My eyelids drifted closed, the bright lights of the city dulling. Shuffling around in my seat, I rested my head against the window, my fingers curling around the seatbelt.
A click, then warm air blasted my feet, working its way up until I was wrapped in a cloud of warmth, the weight of the day—the last week, or so—fading away until my mind was blissfully silent. My inner voice nagged at me, reminding me that I shouldn’t let my guard down, but I was bone achingly tired and, for the first time in years, willing to admit that if there was anyone who I could trust my life with, it would be him. Ralph. My nemesis. My demon in disguise. All of the above, but more than anything, once, he’d been my rock.
“Sleep. I’ll wake you when we get home.”
Home? It was on the tip of my tongue to correct him, but something held me back. I’d never heard him sound quite so…
I was still searching for the right word when slee
p claimed me, circling around and around and always coming back to the same conclusion. Vulnerable? No way. My mind had to be playing tricks on me.
The rustle of fabric brushing against skin whispered at the edges of my mind. Cold air surrounded me, a fire coated in cotton and soft, buttery leather burning against my cheek. I snuggled into the warmth, inhaling the rich musky smell of man and outdoors, contentment flowing through me.
A soft sigh. Mine?
The click of a door closing, then another opening. Going up, then up some more.
Sinking into soft clouds. A tug at my feet, first one, then the other.
I forced one eye open. He stood there, silhouetted against a soft light, his hair darkened by the shadows and falling stubbornly over one eye. Mouth set in a thin line, he pulled off my other boot and set it gently on the floor. Brown eyes clashed with mine as he raised back to standing, his shirt pulling tight over his chest as he stretched with an affected yawn.
Devil.
He eyed the bed with a speculative air.
I tugged the covers up to my neck—covers he must have draped over me when he deposited me here. In his apartment. A quick check confirmed it had to be the guest bedroom; it was lacking in the masculine accessories like piles of washing and bottles on the dresser. “You need to stop touching me,” I whispered, waiting for the inevitable smirk.
But it didn’t come. He stood frozen, staring at me, as though trying to memorize every last detail. “I understand your rules,” he finally murmured, but his eyes told a different story.
He understood, but it didn’t mean he liked it.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him.
I let out the breath I’d been holding, my chest shaking with the effort not to hyperventilate.
He’d kept his word; I was sleeping alone. He hadn’t tried to crowd me, or seduce me.
Good.
Because, deep down, in the silence of my room, I could admit what I was afraid to even consider.
