by Skye Warren
She peeked an eye open at him. “Why was she hiding you? There must be something wrong. And don’t tell me your scars. I wouldn’t even have known if she’d mentioned you over the phone. Are you married?”
“No.”
“A criminal?”
“Definitely not.”
She made a humph sound. “Your watch looks expensive.”
It had been a gift from his father, sent in the mail since they hardly saw each other. Especially since the accident. He had always looked like his dad. Not anymore. He cleared his throat. “Erin thought you wouldn’t like it that my family’s wealthy.”
Silence. Then, “She was right. I don’t like it.”
“I’d like to set your mind at ease, if possible.”
“Well, I hope you don’t think you’re going to throw your money around and get what you want.” Dark eyes pierced him. “Or that you can hurt her because you’re rich.”
The only thing he wanted, he already had in the form of her daughter. Did twenty bucks in the cafeteria line count as throwing it around?
“No.” He bit his tongue to keep ma’am from coming out. It wasn’t a slight to her age, just a sign of respect that had been drilled into him in the military. “I would never hurt Erin.”
“Or making demands on her—”
“Of course not,” he cut in.
“Trying to control her. Make her wear what you want and put her hair up. Parade her in front of your rich friends and then cheat on her behind her back.”
“Absolutely not,” he said, his voice hard. He wanted to reassure this woman, but he would not be responsible for the sins of a thousand men before him.
“Well.”
“Well,” he repeated. “I assured her that I’d win you over with my charm. Since I don’t have any charm, we’ll have to come to an understanding instead.”
She paused. “Are you threatening me?”
“I would never presume to.” At least partly because he had nothing to threaten her with. In fact, he wanted to get along with her, he hoped to. But he wasn’t going to let anyone get between him and Erin, not even the woman who’d raised her.
Her expression was mildly pissed off. And amused. He’d seen that exact smile on Erin, and it meant he was off the hook. Of course, that didn’t prove anything.
Erin liked him a lot better than this woman did.
She managed to look intimidating from her supine position. “It’s no business of mine what’s in your bank account, but if you hurt her, I will find you.”
He let the threat hang in the air. She was short and slight. At a disadvantage financially and socially. There was nothing she could do to him, and they both knew it, but the intensity, the worry in her eyes squeezed a fist around his heart. He understood how much she cared for her daughter. He appreciated that she’d raised her to be strong, and smart, and confident.
Now that was his job. His responsibility, his privilege.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, because she’d given him an order and he swore to follow it. He would have done it anyway. Nothing was more important to him than Erin’s safety and happiness. But if it set her mind at ease, he let his resolve show in his eyes. She studied him—his direct gaze, his disfigured skin. She didn’t flinch, but then he already knew Erin had come from tough stock. They had seen the darker side of life.
“You’ll do,” she finally said.
It was faint praise, but it would have to be enough.
Now they needed to make sure she was discharged and healthy. He also needed to speak privately with Erin, to somehow make it up to her that he hadn’t been around when she needed him. He had a full day ahead of him, basically.
Turning to the plastic bags, he began to pull out options. “We have Jello. Yogurt with granola topping. Tapioca pudding. What’s your poison?”
She stared at him, unimpressed. Wordlessly, he found the container with his own loaded cheeseburger and flipped it open. The aroma of fries filled the hospital room.
With a relieved sigh, she accepted it. “You and I just might get along after all.”
Erin
The county hospital was an old building that, if Erin were honest, was better suited to a prison than a hospital. Its rectangular shape bled inward with concentric rectangular hallways. She stood on the outmost ring, where thin, barred windows drew afternoon light onto the grey rubber floors.
“Ms. Rodriguez.”
Dr. Parkins had grey hair, an ever-present clipboard, and a kind smile. What the building lacked in charm, the people made up for with their thoughtful care for her mother.
“Is my mom okay?”
“Yes, definitely. I’ve just been in to see her. Her condition is improving and we’re moving forward to the recovery phase.”
Relief swept through her. Her mother had seemed good during lunch, even making light conversation with Blake, but she was glad to have it confirmed.
“That’s wonderful. When can she go home?”
“She can be discharged as soon as tomorrow, but she’ll need a high level of care. She shouldn’t be up and walking around for another week or two.”
“I understand,” she promised. “I’ll stay with her.”
After a few more instructions, the doctor started to walk away.
“Um, Doctor?” She felt weird asking him this, but she’d made two full circuits around the hospital and hadn’t found what she needed. “Can you tell me where the restrooms are?”
He smiled kindly. “They’re on the other side, near the elevators. But there’s a smaller one down that hallway, third door on the right.”
She made her way down the small offshoot hallway and came in sight of a large, thick window with no bars. It overlooked the city, in all its glory—or lack thereof. She could recognize many of the old buildings downtown and even the stadium of her high school, which was larger and taller than the school’s building. The mostly flat skyline filled her with a sense of nostalgia for a simpler time and a smaller world. Now that she’d seen what lay beyond, she knew she’d never move back to this town.
Still, she felt gratitude for the mostly happy childhood it had given her.
A few chairs were lined up against the wall, and unlike those in the main waiting area, these were empty. She passed a utility closet stacked with white sheets and what appeared to be hospital gowns before finding the restroom.
After, she washed her hands and studied herself in the small mirror. No surprises there; she looked exhausted. She felt exhausted but also relieved. Her mother was well, even though there was her recovery to oversee. Blake was with her, even though they still needed to talk privately. Things weren’t perfect. Even better, they were real.
As she stepped outside, she almost averted her gaze when she noticed someone else in the hallway. Then she paused.
“Blake?”
He turned at the sound of her voice. “What are you doing back here?’
He had been looking out the large window, his body drawn in lines of tension, leaning toward the window as if he could break free. His eyes were clouded with something dark and unsettled.
She gestured vaguely. “The restroom. Are you okay?”
“Of course.”
Tension shimmered in the air. He looked on edge, his eyes sharp with an emotion she couldn’t name. “You know, with Doug. Nothing happened.”
“I know that.”
“I thought you might worry, since he drove me here.” He said all the right things, but she knew he wasn’t okay. It felt like walking off a cliff, that moment in a cartoon when you hung over the earth, waiting to fall. Her chest tightened. She forced herself not to reach for him.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“No. I’m not angry. I was just worried about you…”
His smile was dark with self-recrimination. “I was playing pool, if you were wondering.”
“Pool?”
“At the Faculty Ball. We went down to the basement. There wasn’t any cell coverage.”
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It sounded so simple, but she felt her unease move through her bones. He hadn’t been interested in another woman. He hadn’t been spending the past few weeks realizing he could do better than her. Of course not. He was too loyal for that, but it didn’t change the facts.
She wasn’t worthy of him. Too poor, too young. Too helpless that she couldn’t even drive home to her sick mother in a time of need. And he was a powerful man, probably drinking alcohol in some dimly lit parlor, talking about politics and knowledge.
“Do you want to go back to the waiting room?” she said, feeling almost shy.
“You go. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She had a memory of watching him stare out the window, of feeling his inner turmoil well in the air around him.
Only this was worse. More acute. Something was very wrong.
“Blake, you must be tired after that drive. Go back to the apartment and sleep.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here for you.”
Though he must be tired, she doubted that was the real problem. She stepped closer, noticing the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. The stubble on his jaw simply made him more handsome, but the shadows under his eyes gave him a vaguely haunted look.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
He waved dismissively. “It’s nothing. Just…hospitals. They have this effect on me. I’ll get over it in a minute. You can go in to your mother. I’ll join you soon.”
Her heart sank. He must have had horrible memories from hospitals.
Once, very briefly, he’d explained some of the treatment he’d gone through after the explosion. The skin grafts and reconstruction. Weeks in an enemy torture chamber and then months under a doctor’s scalpel. God.
Grief squeezed her lungs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry you even had to see me like this. That’s why I came out here. It doesn’t mean anything. It will be over soon.”
“You shouldn’t have to go through it alone,” she said softly. She couldn’t take away his waking nightmares, but she could hold his hand.
Turning away, he muttered, “Go.”
“I can’t do that.”
Taking his hand, she led him into the small linen closet and shut the door.
“We shouldn’t be here,” he said as he leaned against the wall.
Clearly he’d been holding it together for her sake, and for the sake of anyone watching. Even she felt relieved to see him relaxed, so she could only imagine his discomfort. Easing him, even for a moment, was well worth the risk of discovery.
He stared at her through lowered lids. “What now?”
The challenge in his voice raised her chin.
He wanted to push her away, she could tell, but he wouldn’t. He was incapable of leaving her any more than she could leave him. She brushed his lips with hers, enjoying the way he released a pent-up breath. The way she absorbed even small fractions of his stress into her body, giving him relief, easing him in the only way she could.
She feathered light kisses from one corner of his mouth to the other before he caught her bottom lip between his teeth. He tugged her, tilting her off-balance. She fell into him, but he was prepared; he caught her. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and took over the kiss, deepening it, alighting her with dormant arousal.
The thickness against her belly reminded her that it had been weeks since they’d made love. They would have today, if this hadn’t happened. No doubt they would have been ensconced in his bedroom, lounging on his bed, starving but with no desire to make the trek downstairs for food.
She put her hand to the ridge in his jeans, rubbing firmly. He sucked in a breath.
“What are you doing?”
She smiled against his mouth. “Giving you a new memory in a hospital.”
With long, even strokes, she worked him through the denim. A slight flush of arousal crept up his neck. Between the time apart and his emotional upheaval a few minutes ago, he was already at the edge, releasing soft grunts on every slide of her palm.
She squeezed softly, enjoying the way his eyes had gone from tormented to a very different sort of anguish. Her hand sped up until he was panting against her collarbone, his hips rocking gently into her hand.
“Erin, baby. You have to stop.”
“I know. You’re right.”
She dropped to her knees and unzipped his jeans. His cock fell out heavy, the head already glistening.
“Please.”
“I know,” she repeated in a whisper. She took him into her mouth, sucking off the precome and licking it up. She paused with her mouth encircling the head while her hand stroked the iron-velvet length of him. His stuttered groans drifted down to her ears, telling her how hard and fast he needed it. Very hard and fast.
Carefully, she worked him in deeper until the spongy head touched the soft cleft of her throat. She eased him out and then in again—farther in until the head pushed through the circle of muscles. His hips jerked suddenly and she gagged slightly. Before he could pull away or reconsider, she set up a swift pace—but she needn’t have worried. He tightened his fingers in her hair, asking for more, needing it.
His other hand was clenched tightly, his knuckles white. She reached for him. As soon as her fingers touched his, he opened his fist and held her hand. Their fingers tangled together, grasped each other, connected in a way more intimate than her mouth on his cock.
“Erin.”
That was the only warning he could manage before he shot warm, salty fluid into her waiting mouth. She swallowed down the copious amount, more than usual. With a shudder, he released one final spurt onto her tongue before sighing back against the wall. Lovingly, she licked up any traces of his come from his cock before righting his clothes.
Her eyelids felt heavy, her sex throbbing for attention, but she wouldn’t ask for anything, wouldn’t expect it. This had been a gift.
She’d never understood the way some people could say “just sex” as if it didn’t mean anything—sex had always meant everything. It meant trust and respect. Here, now, it meant love. If anything, it was too much, overflowing with emotion until she had to avert her face just to manage.
He turned her chin toward him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She shook her head tightly.
For a moment, he was still. She felt his gaze studying her, but she couldn’t have said anything. Finally he straightened and turned her so her back was against the wall still warm from his body. Without a word, he unbuttoned her jeans and tugged them down.
“Blake,” she protested. “We couldn’t.”
He raised a sardonic brow but didn’t reply. Of course, they had just done the opposite. Her objections seemed silly in that context, but she had done that out of comfort, both for him and for her. And besides, logistically it was far easier to perform on him than on her. But he had it covered. His hand slipped beneath the elastic band of her panties and down into her wet folds. She gasped at the contact and grabbed his wrist.
His other hand lifted the hem of her T-shirt and tugged down the cup of her bra. Cool air washed over her breasts, tightening the nipple. For a moment, he simply stared.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured, and she felt gorgeous. It was more than the word; it was in his expression and his hands. She felt worshipped. Cherished.
He sucked her nipple into his mouth, worrying the taut flesh with his tongue until she felt a gush of wetness slicken her where his fingers played. He teased her other breast while his fingers found a quick and maddening rhythm. Her mouth fell open and a sharp cry escaped her.
“Shh.” He put his hand over her mouth, muffling her helpless sounds while he drove her higher and harder.
Her hips swiveled onto his hand in a desperate bid for release. It eluded her, until she sobbed against his mouth. From the corner of her vision, she could see her breasts move as her hips undulated. T
hey drew him, his gaze, his mouth. He couldn’t stop touching her and licking her. She couldn’t stop rocking in excruciating pleasure. They were locked in shadows of arousal and agony, one bleeding into the other and then back again.
Finally he tore himself away from her breasts. He placed his lips above her ear, murmuring words of sex and longing. You’re so beautiful. So sexy. So wet all over my hand. I can feel how hot you are there, how tight, can you? Do you wish it was my cock inside you, filling you up? I do.
Her cries grew louder, and his hand clamped down tighter. Tears of need slipped from the corners of her eyes until he found the words to push her over. This sweet cunt, pretty cunt. It’s mine. This and all of you. You know that, don’t you? Now come for me. Let me feel this hot little cunt come all over me. And it did, her muscles clamping down hard as an explosive climax swept through her and left her breathless and wrung out.
As she slowly returned to earth, he pressed light kisses across her mouth, mirroring the comfort she’d given him. With short strokes, he calmed the quaking, shivery muscles of her sex.
“There,” he murmured. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She marveled at how easily he had turned the tides. How quickly he had turned his own reward into hers. She’d wanted to bring him comfort, but his happiness was too tied up in her own, tightly woven threads she never wanted to unravel.
When he pulled away from her, he licked her juices off his fingers. She stared in hopeless fascination. Tilting her head back, he kissed her deeply, pushing her own musky flavor onto her tongue and, she knew, tasting the salt of his own release.
Chapter Eight
Blake
Blake carried out the two bags of heart-healthy meals from the grocery store.
A small complication had kept Sofia Rodriguez in the hospital for two more days than the doctor had predicted. Erin had refused to leave except for brief showers, driving herself to exhaustion with the few hours of sleep she caught in the waiting area—but no amount of persuading convinced her otherwise. Erin was too loyal to do anything else.
He felt relief that both of them were in Sofia’s home, sleeping.
