Chapter 2 #2
“I guess we’d better check your wound, then. It might need cleaning again before leaving it overnight.”
Her smile is a bit resigned, but I don’t care. I have what I want.
“I’ll help you get out of that shirt.” Her voice is brisk and professional, but she approaches me as though I’m a tiger and she wants to pet the big murder kitty, but is aware of how dangerous that impulse is.
Lowering herself, she sits next to me, careful to ensure no part of her is less than an inch from me.
“How is it feeling?”
“The pain hasn’t kicked in yet. Not properly.” There’s still too much adrenaline pumping around my body from finding Callie, being close to Callie, and anticipation of her touch. Probably from the gunfight, too, though that feels like a long time ago.
Callie removes the sling first, then helps me shrug off my suit jacket. I unbutton my shirt with leisurely intent.
I catch her watching me, and she darts her gaze away, focusing on her knees as though they’re the answer to everything. The cufflinks snap off, loud in this big quiet house.
Without comment, she helps take off my shirt sleeve, her gloved fingers warm and careful as she does so, and the relief that my skin doesn’t crawl at someone’s touch is indescribable.
I want her touch all over me.
While she begins to unroll the bandage, which has almost bled through, a dark stain shadowing the white, I tug down the shirtsleeve on my uninjured arm to see if she’s interested in the rest of my tattoos, and remove my shirt entirely.
Her gaze gets caught and her hands still as she notices I’m bare to the waist, apart from the one stark bandage over my black ink. She swallows.
But it doesn’t take her away from her task. “A bit of bleeding is to be expected at this stage. There’s some swelling developing too, but that’s normal. There was lots of irrigation by the doctor, is that right?”
I grunt.
“And they did an X-ray?”
“Plus dozens of other things. Jack insists I passed out, but I’m fine.” I roll my eyes. He sees me as a father figure ever since I took him in when he was a reckless kid of eighteen who was on the way to killing himself. But he had potential, and I could see it.
“Jack’s the man who was talking to you earlier?”
I nod.
“He was right that you should get checked. You’re not invincible.”
“Want to bet?” I growl.
Huffing with laughter, she continues fussing over the dressing, describing what she’s doing. Normally I hate chatter, but Callie’s I don’t mind. I actually kind of… Like it.
It’s a while before she’s finished to her satisfaction, having put clean dressings on. We compromise on me using the sling without putting my shirt back on, because Callie is insistent that I shouldn’t move my arm, and I’m not going to sleep in a shirt.
A strand of her hair has fallen from her ponytail, and is over her face, almost in her eye.
I’m compelled.
With my uninjured arm, I reach out slowly.
Really gently, so she could move away if she wanted to.
I hook the light hairs with my big stubby fingers, and sweep it from her face.
Her gaze remains locked on mine, her eyes wide.
A scared creature caught by a predator. Her hair is almost as fragile and whisper-soft as she is herself.
It covers my finger for a second, and my heart does some absurd beating, dancing thing.
I touch her cheek as I move the hair until it’s tucked behind her ear, running my fingertips over the outer shell.
Every part of her is perfectly made. Not scars or flaws for this girl. She’s just naturally this fresh and lovely, even after a full twelve-hour shift, being reverse kidnapped, and then finding herself having to do yet more work.
I am a terrible, moralless person. I knew this about myself. It’s been obvious for decades.
But I have a twinge of regret. She deserves better than me. She should have a man who is as kind and gentle as she is.
Maybe she does.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” My tone is unnecessarily abrupt.
“No,” she replies, as soft as a little woodland creature.
I’m relieved, but also confused and pained for her.
Almost as if her feelings matter more than my own.
The hurt is worse for how unfamiliar it is.
I’ve had three gun incidents before, and a knife wound.
They’re inconvenient. They’re bad. But I’ve never had any discomfort in my heart.
I don’t like it when anything happens to my men.
I take safety seriously for all of them. I care.
But I don’t feel. I’ve never been in love.
I can’t be now, I reassure myself. This girl is under my protection while my arm is healing, and that’s all. It’s unusual that having her touch me is pleasant, and that’s the only reason I have this need to have her skin next to mine.
It’s not just unusual. It’s incredible. But she’s an innocent girl who’s half my age, so that’s all this can ever be. A ruthless man who wants her as his nurse, and a sweet young thing who will live her life and forget him. Me.
Probably this is a passing whim. Maybe it’s my brain latching onto her because I don’t want to deal with the two idiot sons of Loughton who are doubtless taking power, and the arranged marriage that’s still the best solution to that whole mess, even though they tried to kill me during negotiations.
It’s a distraction from the inevitable pain of my wound, and the depressing reality of marrying a girl to try to make peace.
I almost believe my own lie.
“It’s only until I’ve healed.” I withdraw my hand, and it’s a worse ache letting her go than the hole in my arm. “After that, you’ll be free.”
I can’t keep her forever.