by Diane Saxon
“What the hell was that?”
At Bill’s sharp jerk, Michael’s arms tightened around her just in case she decided to knock his sister’s teeth out. Kate didn’t look in the least concerned. She merely raised her eyebrows at Bill like she was one of her adolescent patients and pushed a second needle into her arm.
“If you’re not going to the hospital, we might as well make you as comfortable as possible.” She paused for a moment, and her eyebrows lifted higher as though she realized for the first time Bill was snuggled in her brother’s arms. He convinced himself it was because Bill had seemed comfortable and was obviously suffering from shock, but the hard knock his heart had felt drained his own energy, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to move.
“I’ve given you a painkiller; it’ll act quicker than taking tablets, but it’s going to make you feel drowsy. I suggest no driving for the next twenty-four hours. I’ll leave you some strong painkillers, which you can take if you need them but not for the next eight hours.” She leaned in and flashed a small light in Bill’s eyes. “You don’t appear to have concussion. I also gave you a penicillin shot to stop any infection in your mouth. I’ll leave a five-day course of those.” She stood and patted Bill on the shoulder. “Anywhere else hurt?”
“Everywhere, but nothing broken, Doc, just bruises.”
“Okay. My job is done; keep the ice pack on it for a while to stop the swelling. If the pain increases, you get flashing lights, a headache, Michael will take you to the hospital. No arguments. I suggest you get some rest now.” She smiled briskly at Bill and turned to her husband, reclaiming their child.
“And I suggest you put your guilt behind you. She’s going to be okay.” She stepped into his open arms. Michael watched as Jack encompassed them both for a moment, wife and child.
As she walked toward the door, Kate turned and addressed the room at large, “Don’t leave Bill alone tonight.” As Michael opened his mouth to volunteer, Mac butted in.
“I’ll take care of her.” His sister raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. It was obvious she was not in the keep-Michael-away-from-Bill club. “I have to leave tomorrow morning about six.”
“I have to be in work,” Jack volunteered.
Michael nodded. “I’ll be here.” He felt Bill’s head drop onto his shoulder, and her breath expelled gently as she drifted into oblivion.
It took over an hour before Michael realized his legs had gone to sleep and numbness had seeped through his shoulder with the weight of her pressed into him. She wasn’t what he would class a small woman, and she’d managed to give him a dead leg.
Mac picked her gently from Michael’s arms and took her to bed.
* * * *
Mac was tired and irritable the following morning.
“She slept well…I didn’t. I kept watching her all night long. She’s sleeping like a baby,” mumbled the warrior, finishing off his coffee. “She’s all yours.” He rinsed out his mug and as an afterthought, spun around and pinned Michael with his hard brown eyes. “’Course you know I don’t mean that literally, don’t you?”
Michael’s long hesitation and deliberate smile had Mac fidgeting.
“Sure I do. Don’t worry; she’s safe with me. I’ve never been known to take advantage of a sick women…yet.” Then he grinned for the hell of it, meeting Mac’s eyes. “There’s always a first time though.” Checkmate, Michael thought.
Mac groaned as he rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m going to have to trust you, Michael. I have no choice, the boys are all busy, but if you do anything to hurt her, I’m going to have to kick your butt.” He gave a brief nod, eyes hard. “I don’t think that would be as easy as people seem to think.”
“You know, I’m getting a little tired of all the people who seem to want to kick my butt around here,” Michael replied.
“You know, I only act out butt-kicking scenes. I don’t really fight,” Mac confided. “I might just get my precious face busted.” Rubbing his chin, he held Michael eyes with another of his famous hard looks. “’Course, if I had to do it for Bill, I would.”
Mac gathered his gear and made for the door, pausing briefly to look back at Michael. “Don’t hurt her; she’s not as tough as she likes people to think. She’s like me—good at acting.”
Chapter 7
The smell of fresh coffee and cooked breakfast woke her. One good, long stretch would ease the stiffness from her limbs. She yowled as every muscle in her body screamed and pain seared through places she had no idea she had hurt.
Her eyes shot open, and Michael stood above her, holding a tray.
“Shit. What in hell’s name are you doing? Did I die?” Her brow creased as he simply laughed and placed the tray on the bedside table.
She struggled to sit up, wincing as fingers of pain shot through her entire body. She slumped back onto the pillows with a loud groan.
“Pretty sight,” Michael commented, narrowed-eyed as he studied her throbbing face.
The rumbling inferno in her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. As Michael grinned at the noise, she felt heat spread across her face, making her damaged cheek throb.
“You don’t have to be here you know.” She might sound ungrateful, but she was damned if she wanted him to know how happy she was to see him.
“Doctor’s orders, you’re not to be left alone for the first twenty-four hours. Here take these.” He handed her two painkillers and her cup of coffee. She swallowed them.
“Oh. Well I’m fine now, if you need to leave.”
“I don’t.”
The last time she’d seen him, they’d almost had sex in her kitchen. She hadn’t thought she would see him again—he’d been furious. So had she.
“I guess I owe you an apology.” Hell, she couldn’t even make that sound gracious she thought. She sounded like some stupid, surly teenager.
“You don’t. Eat up.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” Jeesh, could she try and sound like an adult?
His mouth quirked as her stomach gave a rumble like thunder.
He picked up the fork and scooped some scrambled eggs up, offered it to her. She opened her mouth obediently. Before she knew it, it was all gone, and she nibbled on a piece of toast as he took the tray out to the kitchen, the dogs padded out behind him.
He was going to drive her crazy with his quiet patience and his subtle smell that made her want to rip his clothes off. If only she had the energy—and no pain. Her heavy eyelids closed.
The next time she woke was to the sight of flowers and Michael, who sat in her rocking chair in the corner of the room, absorbed in reading a file.
“Where did these come from?” she croaked. He cast his eye around the room and smiled.
“You had a couple of deliveries, Lydia and Sam. The store that was raided.” He flicked a hand at another bunch “The mayor’s office.” He stood up, walked to the side of her bed, moved her legs over, and sat on the edge.
She glanced around the room. “I’ve never had flowers bought for me in my entire life.” She clamped her mouth shut quickly in case he thought she was pitiful. She hadn’t meant it that way. Just…no one had ever bought her flowers.
“Four boys are in your gym waiting for you to wake up. Do you feel up to visitors?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m not an invalid you know.” She tried to sound positive, but it came out flat and sullen.
“You took a fair hit and from what Jack says, you’ve taken to flying.” Amused, she twitched her mouth, but she didn’t have the energy for a full smile. “You must feel like a punching bag.”
She tested herself by stretching a little, and he was right, she ached everywhere.
“What are you doing here?” She had to know.
“I said I’d stay until Ethan comes over later.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s working till then.”
“No…I mean, why are
you here?” Their eyes met, and for the first time she noticed his were the first to fall away.
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to get you into bed for some time; I’ll have to settle for this.” He smiled, his expression a little sad as he lifted his hand to smooth down her rumpled hair and despite everything, she couldn’t resist kissing the palm of his hand as he slid it down her good cheek.
“Thank you.”
He leaned away from her as they heard the stomp of male feet coming along the hallway. James, one of the many deputies from the station, popped his head around the bedroom door.
“Is she awake yet? Can we come in?” She closed her eyes imagining how terrible she looked.
“Give her ten minutes. I’ll bring her through to the lounge.” The guy hesitated until Michael stared at him long and hard. Bill glanced at him. He had a way about him that made people obey. It made her wonder what kind of paper-pusher he was.
“I think you better leave too, I’m not sure what I’m wearing.” Her voice sounded low and gruff, and her cheek felt like a ball of cotton had been shoved in the side of her mouth. It didn’t seem to want to move. As a thought occurred to her she glanced at him. “Did you put me to bed?”
“Love to have had the pleasure…Mac would have skinned me if I had suggested it. He put you to bed.” He smoothed the covers down was silent for a moment, and then with a wicked glint in his eye, inquired, “Why don’t you let me have a quick peek and see what you’ve got on? You could slip out of bed, and I can check that you’re steady on your feet.” His grin was wolfish.
“I don’t think so.” She pulled the sheet up and stuck her face underneath, feeling her cheeks heat as she saw what she was wearing. Michael jiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Nothing?” he inquired hopefully.
She shook her head. “Very little.” She watched his face as he closed his eyes briefly and breathed in deep as though she had caused him pain. Tempted to stroke his cheek, she stretched her hand out.
He leaped up from the bed, rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Dressing gown?”
She turned her own hand movement into a quick flick of her fingers toward her wardrobe. Embarrassment filled her chest at her fumbling attempt to touch him.
He searched her closet until he found a blue gown, threw it across her bed, and continued on to the bathroom. He called over his shoulder, “Tell me when.”
“I’ll be fine; you can leave now.”
“Just tell me when, dammit.” His voice sounded strained and rough-edged. She heard him turn the water on full as she emerged from underneath her covers. She only hoped he didn’t cop a peek. She felt ridiculous and stupidly self-conscious.
“Okay.” A black wave washed before her eyes, and she felt herself sway as her brain imploded.
He scooped her into his arms; a concerned frown crossed over his face.
“Put me down. I’m too heavy.”
“Light as a feather.” He blew out a breath, dipped her toward the floor so her stomach somersaulted as he feigned dropping her. She grabbed him around his neck, clung limply, as he grinned.
Weak, she felt so damned weak, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she could feel a strange prickling sensation at the back of her eyes, and her throat was tight. She’d rather burn in hell than cry.
Her body slid down his as he stood her on her feet again by the side of the bathtub and waited for her to move.
“I’ll be fine, thank you.”
“Do you want me to lift you in?”
“No…”
“Damn.” He turned on his heel and walked out.
She groaned with relief as the heat of the water washed over her and started to relax her muscles. She could hear him rustling around in her bedroom, as he muttered to himself.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to find something decent for you to put on while all these boys visit.” She wondered what he was doing in there. For a long moment there was nothing but silence until his strained voice said, “Jesus, Bill, who would have…you have the sexiest underwear I’ve ever seen.”
Water sloshed over the side of the bath as she jerked upright.
“Are you going through my underwear drawers?” She squeaked at him.
“Well…yeah.”
She imagined him picking up the little scraps of underwear she loved so much, could almost see him study her flimsy, black, lace bra with tiny pink bows and a matching…oh please don’t let him say anything.
“Christ, you wear thongs.” He groaned.
“Get out of my drawers, you pervert,” she shrieked.
He popped his head around the corner with a wide smirk on his face and a scrap of black lace dangling from his fingertips. She sank under the bubbles, desperate for the water not to tidal wave over the side.
“I’m not a pervert, darling, just a red-blooded male with a very good excuse to go through a lady’s underwear drawer.” His wolfish grin made her think he was about to leap on her the moment she emerged from her bath. He might not even wait that long. His laughing green eyes promised something more as they scanned her barely covered body.
He ducked back out of the bathroom.
He’d called her “darling”. Warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the water spread and pooled in her center.
*
His unsteady fingers rifled further. He’d wanted to climb right in the tub with her, and if they hadn’t had company, that was just where he would be. He wouldn’t have even taken the time to remove his clothes.
She was unbelievable. He ran his fingers across another little slip of a bra. Who would have thought? For all her hard-ass attitude, Bill wore girlie underwear and lots of it. He picked up several sets, all matching, pretty pink, pale blue, ivory, very sexy red and black. All neat and tidy, in perfect rows. He selected the virginal white satin bra and matching thongs—there was nothing but thongs—and set them to one side, leaving the black set where they were with a little twinge of regret. He needed as much control as he could get, and he thought if he gave her innocent underwear and covered her up, it might help. With a long sigh, he glanced around her bedroom. Who the hell was he trying to fool? She could be wearing a black plastic trash bag, and he would still want her writhing naked under him.
He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep his hands off her, but it wasn’t doing him any good. He’d broken out in a hot sweat, and the pain from his constant hard-on made his knees weak and his brain thick and sluggish. The only thing he could think about was sex with Bill. Sex. With. Bill.
Worried his sharpshooter, top communications, highly intelligent operator brain had turned to slush, he huffed out another breath. He had to get out of here.
He opened another drawer and found a practical, short-sleeve T-shirt in pretty pink with matching pink-and-gray plaid pajama bottoms, reinforcing his belief that the woman was an enigma.
He laid her clothes out on the bed and turned to check on her as he heard sounds of her emerging from the bath.
“I’m coming in to get you now.” He knew he sounded impatient. It wasn’t her fault.
“Shit, no…wait, I have to wrap a towel around me.” He heard her whimper as he imagined her twisting her body to wrap the towel around herself. Closing his eyes, he gave himself a moment to calm down. It didn’t work.
“Are you ready? Because I’m not waiting any longer.” His patience at an end, he walked in as she tucked the end of the towel down between her breasts. Lust, hot and hard, surged to the surface as his gaze skimmed up her sleek, wet legs. She took a step back, held up a hand to ward him off.
“Michael.” Her voice warm and husky was a contradiction to her movement. She turned fully toward him, still held out her hand. His fingers touched hers, slid across her palm, onward to feel her rapid-fire pulse on her wrist, one small tug, and she stepped closer.
He couldn’t resist another quick glance down at her legs and felt the blood leave his head as he sucked his breath through his teeth to sto
p the sudden rush of nausea. His eyebrows slammed down, his raging lust flattened in an instant.
“What the hell is that?” He took hold of her shoulders and turned her, crouched down on his haunches, pulled the bottom edge of the towel upward. She slapped his hands away with a sharp crack.
“Stop it.” She tried to step back, but her knees came up against the edge of the bath. “Michael, what are you doing?” She hissed, “The boys are here, don’t do that! Someone might come in.”
She seemed more concerned at being discovered half-naked in his presence than she did about the enormous bruise showing from under the edge of her towel.
He held her still by placing one of his hands around her hip, and he lifted her towel with his free hand to expose more of the dark black-and-purple bruise that ran across her thigh and completely covered her buttock. He ignored her hands as they fisted around the towel, dragging it down at the front to protect her modesty.
“Have you seen this?” He stared up at her. The fury he felt almost bubbled over until her sharp brown eyes met his.
“Well yeah! Umm, when I got in the bath, yes of course I did.”
“Why didn’t you say?”
“Because if I had, you probably would have raced in while I was still in the tub. I’m not exactly at my best here, Michael.”
He grunted in agreement, stood up.
“Does it hurt anywhere else?”
She bobbed her head in a jerky shy movement. She puzzled him with her sudden inability to speak. She turned her back and dropped the towel slightly so it exposed the bottom of her shoulder blade. He sucked his breath in through his teeth and clucked his tongue as he gently touched the surrounding skin of the deep oval-shaped purple bruise. Looked like a size thirteen to him.
“How the hell did you get that one?”
“I think it was Jack’s boot. I landed on it, but don’t tell him for God’s sake. He feels bad enough about me getting injured.” She turned back to him and swayed. He stroked the silky-soft skin of her shoulders. His groin throbbed, but her tired brown eyes gave him the inducement he needed to leave her alone.
He scooped her up once more and moved into the bedroom with her, plopping her on the side of the bed, he turned his back to let her get dressed.
