Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
“Kenna!” Smith’s deep baritone snatched her out of an uncomfortable sleep and she snapped upright in the seat, gasping when the seatbelt pulled painfully taut against her chest.
“What?”
“We’re here.”
“Where? The hotel?” She unbuckled her seatbelt and craned her neck to get a look at her surroundings. She didn’t see a hotel, only a smallish cottage.
“How quaint,” she exclaimed. “Is it a boutique hotel?”
He undid his own belt and shook his head, the expression on his face grim.
“Look, this is a popular tourist town, at the height of summer. All accommodations have been fully booked for months. You’re going to have to stay with me.”
“Oh no.” The prospect of sharing with Smith after everything he’d said just a short while earlier filled her with horror. “I-I couldn’t possibly impose on you in that way. What about the next town over? Or Knysna? I know it’s a longer drive, but…”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why drive that distance when we have a perfectly viable solution right here?”
“But…”
“Kenna, I’m not driving to Knysna. And you can’t drive. So give it a rest, okay? We can share space for one fucking night like reasonable adults.”
She swallowed down another protest and nodded reluctantly.
“You’re right,” she said through stiff lips, then forced a smile. “It’s not like this is some hokey, rom-commy one-bed situation.”
He grimaced and her eyes widened in alarm.
“It isn’t, right?”
“It’s not a very big cottage, Kenna. One bedroom. And, uh…one bed.”
“I’ll take the couch,” she said in resignation, bracing herself for protests, but she’d have to insist. He was only a few inches taller than her, but he was much broader and the couch would—
“Damned straight, you’ll take the couch,” he said, shocking her from the counterarguments she’d been preparing. “I didn’t ask you to come here and I’m not about to let you oust me from my bed. Again.”
Again?
“Now hold on a second, Smith! I never ousted you from our bed, you wan—”
“Ancient history,” he cut her off rudely.
“Clearly not, since you just brought it up.”
“Only to strengthen my claim on my own damned bed.”
“I didn’t expect you to give up your bed for me.” But she had expected him to want to.
“Good.”
“Great.”
After that weak comeback from her, he shoved open the car door and rounded the bonnet before she could so much as blink, and had the passenger door open a second later.
“Come on.” He held a hand out to her palm up and she stared at it for a few seconds before lifting her eyes to his face. He raised an eyebrow and waggled his fingers in an imperious beckoning movement that for some reason really raised her hackles.
“I’m not a dog,” she muttered resentfully and he stared at her in absolute confusion.
“What the hell are you talking about? Give me your hand so that I can help you into the damned house.”
Oh.
She kept forgetting about her toe, even though the pain was ever present and building with every passing moment.
Feeling foolish, she meekly placed her hand into his and he helped her from the stupidly high car before once again swinging her up into his arms.
“You don’t have to carry me,” she protested, even while looping her arms around his neck.
As she did, the familiar woodsy scent with hints of citrus hit her.
It took every ounce of willpower not to rest her head on his shoulder and bury her nose in his neck, where she’d find the spot that she absolutely adored.
A berth that moored the line of her nose perfectly, beneath which was a warm, welcoming cove where she could feel the ebb and flow of his blood throb strongly against her lips.
She had loved to lick and suck and occasionally bite that spot.
It had been so long since she’d done that.
She registered with a pang of renewed pain and regret that she would never be allowed access to that spot again and jerked her head back from the temptation just inches away from her mouth.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Not really.” Her voice was small, high-pitched, and nasally with tears.
God, she needed to get her shit together. Because falling apart wasn’t going to change anything and only result in humiliation for her.
“Pain really bad?”
“Yes,” she whispered, happy to have an excuse for the tears glowing in her eyes. He needn’t ever know that she was referencing a different pain entirely.
“Then let’s get you inside and get some ibuprofen in you.”
“Thank you.” This time she did drop her head on his shoulder, allowing herself a small, selfish moment of comfort. Just for an instant.
“Gonna to put you down for a sec, okay? Need to unlock.”
“I can walk from here,” she said.
“Sure,” he agreed, before unlocking the door and then picking her right back up.
Instead of wasting her energy and breath on protestations that would fall on deaf ears, Kenny’s eyes tracked around the interior of the small cottage in lively curiosity.
“This is really…” She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment, before settling on, “Cute.”
“Yeah, I think the local vet owns it. Was the only place available, because it’s usually reserved for long-term rentals.
But Tina and the vet are friends.” He shrugged.
“Tina and Harris did offer me one of their spare rooms, but since I’ll be here for a while, I figured it was better to rent a place for a few months. ”
“Exactly how long do you plan on staying?”
He didn’t reply as he unceremoniously plonked her down onto the sofa.
“Oh my God, Smith! No. I’m filthy.” She started to get up, but he planted a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Stay right there,” he commanded.
“At least get a towel for the sofa.” She stared at the impractical blush-colored upholstery. Who had a pale pink sofa? In a property they rented out to random strangers?
Kenny cringed, knowing she was smearing a combination of sweat and red dust onto the pretty seat.
“Don’t move, I’ll get a towel if it bugs you that much.”
He retreated and, unable to comply with the dictatorial demand that she remain seated when she knew she was ruining the sofa, Kenny leaped up, careful not to place weight on her injured foot.
Smith reappeared seconds later. His lips thinned when he saw her, but he thankfully made no comment as he draped the bath sheet over the seat and the back of the couch.
Kenny sat before he could tell her to. He sat down next to her and made a twirling gesture with his index finger.
His meaning was unmistakable and knowing that it would be best to just comply at this point, Kenny swung sideways.
He wrapped a capable hand around her right ankle and guided it into his lap.
“Your—”
“Don’t say it,” he cautioned. “My jeans can withstand a little bit of dirt.”
She clamped her lips around the protest and dropped her chin as her gaze fell on the large hand still curled around her ankle. His touch burned into her skin and Kenny resisted the urge to squirm.
When he removed his hand she nearly cried out in protest at the loss of his touch. But he didn’t go too far. Instead he efficiently unlaced her sneaker and then closed a palm around her bare calf to support her leg while he used his other hand to tug the shoe from her foot with the utmost care.
She was unable to prevent the moan from slipping out when he freed her foot. The shoe had been acting as support by keeping the digit in place. Without it, she could feel just how badly her toe was injured.
She screwed her eyes shut, against both the pain and the impulse to look. For a doctor, she was pretty squeamish about personal injuries.
“How does it look?”
“Not great.” His succinct reply didn’t tell her much and she knew she was going to have to take a peek to gauge the extent of the damage herself.
She sat for a moment, eyes still closed, belatedly realizing that Smith had one hand gently cupped around her bare heel and the other rested just above her knee. The fingers of the latter hand were gently—almost absently—stroking over her goose-fleshed skin.
She gnawed at her top lip, steeling herself, and opened her eyes.
Her gaze immediately collided with Smith’s.
He’d been staring at her, an inscrutable expression on his face.
He quickly averted his gaze, and as if he’d only now become aware of the fact that he was caressing her, snatched his hand away from her knee.
“What do you think?” he asked, his focus now on the foot still resting on his hard thigh. There was an odd rasp in his voice.
Kenny forced herself to look, then swallowed down a surge of nausea at the sight of her clearly broken toe. It was swollen to twice its original size and badly bruised.
“I think it’s going to need to be x-rayed. It looks like a bad break.”
“Pain? One to ten?”
“About seven.” She paused for a second before adding, “And a half.”
His lifted his eyes to meet hers again, his gaze piercing and perceptive.
“So an eleven, then?”
Her chin wobbled as she gulped down some air before nodding.
“Yes.”
“I have no idea how you managed to walk on this,” he said, sounding a little shaken as he looked down at her foot again.
“Honestly? Neither do I. Adrenaline, probably.”
They sat in silence for a few moments longer before he exhaled gustily and lifted her legs off his lap. He got up, dragging a cushion over to elevate her feet.
“Do not move. I’ll get you some ibuprofen. Then we’re going to the emergency room.”
“No,” she protested. “It’s late. We can do that tomorrow. Nothing’s going to change between now and then. It won’t get worse if I stay off it. I just need to ice it and keep it elevated.”
“They’ll have stronger painkillers.”
“I can cope.”
“Yeah, we’ve established what a trooper you are, Kenna,” he snapped, acid in his voice. “You can cope with anything, can’t you?”
Not everything. Not his blatant hatred and hostility.
She remained mute as she held his gaze and felt a brief flicker of satisfaction when he was the first one to break eye contact. He muttered something under his breath and strode from the room to the open-plan kitchen without a word.