Chapter Two #2
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he demanded as he stalked her.
He had felt rage often in his life. One couldn’t survive without that fire burning deep, but this was something altogether different.
“Swear to Christ, woman, I’m going to turn you over my knee and paddle some sense into you.
” He bit the promise out between his teeth because he felt like a rabid animal, and it was the only way he could say a thing.
She raised her vivid emerald eyes to his. He saw pain there. He also saw that sense of humor that he couldn’t resist. “Do me a favor and give me a rain check on that. Something interesting to look forward to, I suppose, but right now, I just want to lie down.”
“Not right there. You’re soaked. Let’s get you out of the rain.” He crouched low and slid his arms under her knees and behind her back.
“Um, I appreciate your help, but if you’re planning to put me back in the coffin, I prefer you just leave me right here. Moving kind of hurts.”
“Don’t be a baby. You’re the one who can’t seem to obey the simplest order.
What were you thinking? We’re not Bonnie and Clyde, for fuck’s sake.
” He lifted her easily. It wasn’t as if Lyric weighed much.
But his legs were shaking. So were his hands.
If he was being honest with himself, his heart was shaken.
Bog, this woman was going to be the death of him, and it made zero sense.
“Really? Bonnie sounds so much more down-to-earth than Lyric. I kind of liked the idea of a partnership. You know. I help when someone needs to save your life.”
“First I’m going to paddle your ass until you can’t sit down for a week, and then I’m going to strangle you.”
He yanked open the passenger-side door of the truck.
The driver’s side was smashed, caved in and useless to him.
He put her carefully on the seat. She was shaking from the cold.
Her clothes had to come off, and he had to take a look at her wounds.
All of them. The sight of her like that increased his anger, but he shoved it aside.
“Taking your clothes off. You can’t get hypothermia on top of everything else.” He dragged the jacket down her arms. She winced, her face going even paler than it had been. That dusting of freckles stood out even more, and he had the insane urge to kiss every one of them.
The problem was, he didn’t have anything to replace her wet clothes. It was freezing, and he was just as soaked.
Lyric closed her eyes, turning her face away from him, but she didn’t protest. He wanted to wrap her up, cover her with his body to stop the shaking. He needed to see to her wounds, ensure they weren’t life-threatening, but he needed heat.
The keys were in the ignition. The truck was wrapped around a tree, but if he could get it started, he would be able to turn on the heater. It wouldn’t last long, but it would help. Then he’d rummage through the truck and see what he could find in the way of anything dry that would help.
“Give me one second, babe.” He made up his mind as he stripped the jacket from her.
Her top was torn into strips and didn’t do anything to cover her slender form.
He had the insane urge to go put a couple of bullets in Chester just for the hell of it.
Bruises had already formed on Lyric’s face and around her breasts.
He shouldn’t have killed the bastard outright.
She had several old scars that looked suspiciously like a knife had made them, but how would Lyric ever have been involved in a knife fight?
And definitely, by the number of scars, on the losing end.
He pushed aside speculation and paid attention to the present problems.
The wound in her arm was superficial. Had to hurt like hell, but the bullet had only shaved a few layers of skin.
Relief flooded him. He caught at the waistband of her jeans.
She gasped as he tried to gently work them over her hips and down her thighs.
She didn’t cry out. She didn’t reprimand him or burst into tears, she just made that one single sound, a rush of air, pain flashing over her face, and she turned her head away from him.
“Damn it, Wildfire. You drive me insane. You don’t need to be all stoic. I can handle a few tears and maybe some screaming when it hurts.” He sounded like an asshole, his voice rough and scary.
“You sound angry.”
She didn’t turn her head back toward him, but he was standing above her and he could see her fantastic lips curve slightly. For one moment her dimple showed. He dragged her jeans down to further expose the wound in her thigh. His heart took another hit. Yeah, this one had to hurt like a mother.
“You think? Glad you’re able to comprehend. You had no business getting yourself shot.”
She pressed her lips together and tried not to come off the seat when he examined the wound. “I suppose it was okay for you to get shot.”
Bog, he wanted to shake her. “How many times do I have to explain things to you?”
She was shaking so much he was half-afraid she’d break bones.
He had nothing to cover her with, so he just reached over her and tried coaxing the truck to start.
It took several attempts, but the engine turned over.
It knocked like crazy, sounding as if it was going to come apart, but he didn’t give a damn. He blasted the heater.
There was a small first aid kit in the glove compartment, and he cleaned both wounds.
He’d address the head wound later, after he got her warm.
Butterfly stitches were the best he could do.
Later, if that didn’t hold, he’d use a needle and thread.
He could pull thread from anything if he had to.
He detested that she didn’t make a sound while he worked on her.
She kept her face averted and shook until she appeared to be having seizures.
He spent a few minutes rummaging through the double cab, looking for anything that might keep her warm.
He found a sleeping bag that had seen better days, but it would help.
An old flannel shirt that would cover her to her knees.
He really didn’t like her wearing another man’s shirt, but there was nothing else for it.
That just proved he had it bad, whatever the fuck it was.
He warmed the shirt up in front of the heater and then carefully lifted her into a sitting position so he could envelop her in it. Once he laid her down again, he tucked the rather disgusting sleeping bag around her.
“Babe, I’ve got a lot more to do to make us safe, but if I don’t warm up, I’m going to be in trouble.
We can’t afford that.” He had no idea why he was bothering to explain himself as he set aside his boots and peeled off his wet clothes.
“The fastest way to heat up is skin-to-skin. I’m going to lay down and put you on top of me with your shirt unbuttoned and then pull that foul-smelling sleeping bag over the two of us.
I have no idea how long the heater will last, but I do know we aren’t safe here.
Someone is going to come looking for them, and we don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when they do. ”
As he explained, he put the plan in motion, thankful she was so tiny.
He had a good hundred pounds on her, all muscle.
She was easy to maneuver, even when he was being careful of her wounds.
She didn’t protest or even stiffen up as he slipped the buttons loose on her shirt, pulled it open, and arranged her over his naked body.
When he had her skin-to-skin on his bare chest, he drew up the sleeping bag.
His head pounded, his body shivering continuously in the first stages of hypothermia.
Even his teeth were chattering, and his movements had become clumsy.
He needed this. As tiny as she was, as cold as her body was, the moment she was sprawled over him, he felt the difference.
Maybe not warmth of body, not at first, but something shifted in him.
Something hot and wild and possessive. Something he’d never felt before and didn’t want to put a name to.
Maybe there was no name for it, but when he wrapped his arms around Lyric and just held her to him, sharing skin, her breath on his chest right over his heart, nothing in his life had ever felt so right.
Scary right. The way he felt terrified him.
Keys didn’t feel fear. He hadn’t since he was a child and lived among monsters.
He hadn’t been able to control anything then, and when he finally could, he vowed to always be the one controlling every situation.
He didn’t want to have the relationships some of his fellow Torpedo Ink members had with their wives or girlfriends.
He didn’t want the baggage. The way he looked at it, women were a liability, using men’s cocks to get their way.
That was a huge no for him. He wasn’t going to have any woman tell him where to put his cock.
And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her lead him around by it.
Lyric hadn’t moved. She just lay over him, her soft breasts pushing into his chest. He’d found his answer to the question of real red hair when he’d removed her jeans and panties.
She had vivid red at the junction of her legs.
Her mound was pressed tightly over his groin.
If he weren’t so damned cold and she hadn’t taken two bullets and a hit on the head for him, he’d already be burying his cock deep.
He stroked a caress down the back of her head, feeling the sticky blood matting her hair. “That hurt?”
“Yes.” She murmured her answer, lips against his nipple. Her breath was warm. He was fast getting hot. This might not have been his most brilliant idea. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to shut it down.
His fingers tangled in her hair. “Don’t go to sleep,” he cautioned.
“Do you have to make everything sound like an order?”