CHAPTER THREE
Chloe made herself wait a full hour before carefully easing open the bedroom door to check on Ethan. She’d used the free time to text Clay to catch him up on what had happened—including the fact that she now had a houseguest. She’d also fired up her laptop and caught up on emails as she mentally paced the floor, worrying about Ethan and what could happen with him here, with her. Alone. Together.
In spite of the obvious pain and effort it had caused, Ethan had removed the scrub bottoms and they lay in a small heap on the floor near the head of the bed. He’d also managed to pull back the covers and was now lying beneath her peach and green sheet. He’d thrown aside the matching lightweight blanket she used at night. The colors in no way made him look any less masculine. In fact, they somehow enhanced his dark, male beauty. One hand was spayed across his flat stomach and he had his other arm thrown across his eyes.
She bit her lip and eased slowly back out of the room. She wouldn’t disturb him as long as he was sleeping.
“Chloe?”
She opened the door wider, her eyes unwillingly adoring his long frame. “Yes?”
“Do you have a couple of aspirins or something?” He hadn’t moved and his voice sounded oddly subdued with his eyes and half of his face still hidden behind his arm.
The thick bandages on his left thigh were clearly identifiable through the thin sheet. Fortunately, nothing else was. She knew his wound had to be throbbing by now. “No, but I have your pain medication.”
“Don’t want it.”
“Tough cookies. I’ll be right back.” She left the room and was back in just a few minutes carrying the pain medication and a glass of orange juice. The medication said it was better to take with food, but she didn’t think he would have much of an appetite. “Here.”
She stood by the side of the bed, waiting patiently until he lowered his arm. “Can you sit up?”
“I’m not a damn invalid,” he grunted as he slowly eased himself up. He rested his weigh on one arm as he reached for the medication. “Give me those damn things.”
Chloe held out her hand, palm open and he took them, throwing them in his mouth as he reached for the glass of juice. She watched, fascinated as he swallowed the pills and proceeded to drink the entire glass without stopping for a breath.
“That was good.” He smiled as he handed the glass back to her.
“Good,” Chloe answered, her attention riveted to where the sheet had eased away from his body, revealing that he had not only taken off his scrubs but his underwear as well. The top of one naked hip was clearly visible.
“Could you get me a glass of water?”
“Sure.” She mentally shook her head, wondering when she’d become the queen of the one-word answers. Damn, the man rattled her cage but good.
She went to the bathroom and rinsed the orange juice glass then filled it with water. Returning to the bedroom, she set it on the nightstand. “Do you want something to eat now?”
He shook his head. “No, just sleep.”
“I’ll try not to disturb you then.” Again, she turned to walk out of the room and, again, before she could, he stopped her. This time he grabbed her hand, entwining their fingers.
“Thanks. For everything, Chloe. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?” His eyes seemed to bore into hers, seeing into the very depths of her soul.
She eased her fingers from his. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Right. Help your fellow man and all.” He gave her what appeared to be an almost angry glare and flopped onto the bed, sprawling on his back, careful to keep his leg as still as possible. His huge body seemed to take up every square inch of her bed.
“That’s right,” she answered softly, wanting nothing more than to tell him exactly why she’d rushed to the hospital and brought him to her house, when, in reality, other arrangements could have been made. Not easily, but they could have been.
Taking one last look at his masculine form, she left the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her, wondering, not for the first time, if she’d made a huge mistake by bringing the man of her dreams into her reality.
*****
Chloe awoke the next morning, tired and grumpy to say the least. What little sleep she’d gotten had been filled with dreams of guns and violence followed by really grown-up dreams of her and her invalid guest. Thankfully, her couch was comfortable, and she didn’t wake up feeling as if she’d slept on a bed of rocks.
Yawning widely, she made her way slowly to the kitchen. Was this how a mother felt the first night home with a newborn? She’d sworn to herself that she’d heard him moving around all night long. But every time she’d checked, he’d been sleeping like the proverbial baby. She’d hesitated about waking him up to take his pain medication, but figured if he was in pain, he wouldn’t be sleeping.
Her foggy brain couldn’t handle that conundrum so early in the morning. She gave a huge sigh of relief when her coffeemaker kicked on. It wasn’t that she was up earlier than normal, but her routine was shot. Normally, she hurried to the shower as soon as she rolled out of bed and by then her coffee would be waiting.
Taking down a cup, she shuffled to the refrigerator where she looked at her store of flavored coffee creamers. What did she feel like today? Hazelnut? Vanilla? Chocolate? She grabbed the hazelnut, her mind immediately turned to how she was going to manage to make sure Ethan didn’t try to walk on his leg and go to work?
Did they have daycare for grumpy federal agents who had gotten shot in the line of duty?
Probably not.
And, speaking of which, she needed to go check on him. Again.
Thankfully, she hadn’t put away all of her laundry from last weekend and had managed to find a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to wear to bed. Would Ethan be scandalized to realize he was sleeping on the same sheets she’d slept in naked as a jaybird?
Or would he be repulsed?
She realized that would be the most appropriate reaction. The type of naked women he’d want to sleep with certainly looked nothing like her.
Easing the door open, she intended to take just a quick look and back out, much as she’d done what seemed like a thousand times last night. Instead, she hurried inside, realizing he was in the throes of a dream. And not a very good one at that. He tossed and turned, moving his head from side to side as he gripped the sheet in his powerful hands. If he kept thrashing around like that, he was going to tear out those stitches.
“Ethan?” She placed her hand on his shoulder and immediately regretted the decision as she was grabbed by the arms and tossed to the other side of the bed. His big body covered hers and his massive forearm pressed against her throat, threatening to cut off her airway.
“Whoa now, big boy,” she gasped, easing her fingers between his arm and her throat in an attempt to loosen his hold. It was like that ant trying to move that rubber tree plant. Wasn’t gonna happen.
“Ethan.” She said his name loudly, hoping to snap him out of the nightmare state he was in.
Not that she minded his warm body on top of hers, but the arm against the throat was a bit much. And if she wasn’t mistaken, his body was doing what she’d heard all men’s body did in the morning—especially if pressed against a female form—no matter how curvy that form.
“Ethan!” She raised her voice and his eyes snapped open.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was a deep, sleep-coated growl.
“I think that’s my question.” Her fingers tugged at his arm. “Could you give a girl a chance to breathe?”
“What?” He glanced down, and she knew the second he realized their true positions. He immediately flipped over, grabbing the sheet as he did.
Chloe laid there a moment, enjoying the sensation of being in bed with a man. And not just any man—Ethan Hollister—the star of all her risqué, romantic fantasies.
“Did I hurt you?”
She turned her head, gasping as she realized he had turned his head so that his face was right next to hers.
“Umm, no.” She resisted the urge to reach out and trace her fingers down his long, linear nose. The nose of a Roman deity, she thought absently.
“Good.” He ran his gaze down her body and she was immensely glad she’d slept in her bra. Usually, when she got home from work, it was the second thing she took off—her shirt or dress being the first. She hated wearing a bra but knew it was a necessary evil in her fight against gravity. Her breasts were way, way too big to go without one. And, if she hadn’t been wearing one right now, she knew he could tell how aroused she was from the intimate contact with his body by just one glance. Her nipples were hard, hurting points.
Better not to think about that. “How’s your leg?”
“Hurts like hell.”
Of course, that answer had her jumping up from the bed. “I’ll be right back with your medication.” She hurried from the room faster than a jackrabbit with a hound dog on its tail.
Ethan allowed himself a smile that quickly turned into a grimace as he moved. His leg was hurting, and he finally realized he was not going to bounce back from this as quickly as he’d thought. Images from his dreams still swirled around in his head. His dream had been about the shoot-out, but so much more. He’d found himself trapped in an abandoned house surrounded by bad guys. But this time, Chloe was there, and he’d been unable to protect her. This time, she’d been the one to take the bullet.
He shook his head, clearing it. It had only been a dream, he reminded himself sternly.
But, he had been shot. He slowly stretched out his leg, refusing to give in to the pain that spiked through his body.
“Here you go.” Before he knew it, Chloe was once again standing by his bed, holding out a glass of juice and two white pills.
“Don’t want them.” He ignored the medication and reached for the glass of juice.
Chloe drew the glass back, giving him what he had come to think of as the hundred-yard stare that women gave to men. “You are going to take these.”
She thrust out the hand holding his medicine and he simply covered it with his, folding her fingers back over the pills. “No, I’m not.”
He grabbed the juice from her hand and swallowed it down as he had before. He sat the empty glass on the bedside table and proceeded to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “And now, if you don’t want to watch me to walk buck naked to the bathroom, I suggest you exit the room.”
With a threatening flick of his wrist, he indicated his intention of removing the sheet, which was all that stood between his nakedness and Chloe’s fast fading modesty.
“Wait!” Chloe pressed her hand against his and Ethan silently cursed. She was damn close to touching a part of him that didn’t care about the pain in his leg. “You can’t go to the bathroom by yourself.”
The growing urge to go to the bathroom, made him snap. “Look, Chloe, unless you really do want to see me in my birthday suit, I suggest you leave. Because I am getting up.”
In a very real sense.
Chloe gave what he could only describe as a squeak and headed for the door. As he threw back the sheet, she yelled, “Use the damn crutches!”
Ethan, despite not wanting to show any weakness, did the smart thing and grabbed the supports. He realized about ten seconds later that if he hadn’t, he would have wound up flat on his face, with no choice but having Chloe help him up—naked or not.
It took ten excruciating steps to make it to the bathroom. By the time he did, small beads of sweat lined his upper lip. He looked longingly at the shower but knew that wasn’t possible. As quickly as he could, he did his business and flushed the toilet. Next, he turned to the sink and ran some hot water in the bowl. With hands he hated to see were trembling just a little, he used some of her unscented hand soap to scrub his face and neck. Once finished, he gave himself a quick once-over, while leaning heavily against his crutches. He needed a shave. And a toothbrush. Opening the top drawer of the small vanity, he found one still in its plastic packaging. As he brushed quickly, he couldn’t help but wonder if the extra was just in case, or if Chole had overnight company often.
The thought was not a pleasant one.
Mentally girding his loins, he opened the bathroom door for his trek back to bed. He looked down and realized the bandage on his leg had gotten a little wet from his impromptu birdbath—and it was stained with blood. He hoped he hadn’t reopened his wound.
Making it back to the bed, he lowered himself down, sighing in relief once again as the pressure was taken off his leg. Yep, still hurt, but didn’t feel like someone was sticking him with a knife. He saw the tape and bandages Chloe had left on the bedside table and quickly changed his bandage. His wound was still stitched tight with just a faint amount of oozing blood. He’d heard enough of his colleagues talk to know that was normal for a gunshot wound, so it didn’t bother him.
Propping himself against the headboard, he waited for Chloe. And waited. And waited.
When ten minutes had passed, he yelled, “Chloe? Where are you?”
Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, a small crack appeared at the bedroom door. “I’m here.”
She pushed the door completely opened with her foot and strode inside. In her hands, she carried a large wooden tray. From it emanated the distinct smell of coffee—and bacon?
His stomach gave a loud rumble. He straightened the sheet over his legs. “Great. I’m starving.”
“I thought you might be.” Chloe sat the tray across Ethan’s lap. While she’d waited for him to use the bathroom, she’d used the time to fix him something to eat. He was a big man and he had to be starving by now. She’d scrambled three eggs—unsure if he liked them fried—popped some toast in the oven and quickly microwaved some bacon she’d bought for a BLT earlier that week. It was the best she could do under the circumstances. She usually didn’t go shopping until the weekend.
She’d given him a glass of milk and a cup of black coffee, knowing that’s how he liked it.
And now she was going to give him a piece of her mind. His earlier actions couldn’t be tolerated if they were going to continue with the current situation.
“Look, Ethan,” she began resolutely, “we’re kind of stuck with each other at the moment and I’d appreciate a little cooperation so, if you don’t mind, stop doing your impression of a sulky, little boy.”
Ethan knew the words should have made him mad as hell, but they didn’t. How could they when she was standing by his bed looking like a fierce dragon ready to blow a puff of fire on him. He picked up a piece of bacon and barely stopped himself from shoving the entire thing into his mouth at once. His hunger warred with his pain.
Alongside the feelings this woman had always aroused in him. He’d known her for over a year and the intensity of his attraction had only grown over that period of time. Which was totally unusual for him. He was an enjoy-the-moment-until-it-stopped-being-fun kind of guy. To date, his longest length of amusement with one particular female had lasted about three months. After that, something about the women he dated started to bother him.
But not Chloe. The longer he knew her, the more fascinating he found her. There was just something about her that called to him. Was it her intelligence, her no-nonsense attitude, her curves? He didn’t know and hadn’t allowed himself to really answer that question. Just as he hadn’t acted on the fascination for many reasons. One, she was Clay’s assistant. He and his friends had made a pact long ago, bros before, um, women. Two, Chloe was a ‘take home to mama’ kind of girl. She didn’t sleep around—well, at least he didn’t think so. He’d bet the extra toothbrush was for…well, situations like this. She was kind and thoughtful, and a little bit of a prude—if not strict as a Sunday school nun, he thought with a smile. And three, he wasn’t certain that if he let himself get to know her on that next, intimate level, he could walk away pain-free.
And that turned his mood around on a dime. Yeah, she might be enticing to look at and smelled damn amazing, but he didn’t need or want a woman in his life. Besides, his job was his only lady. And she demanded full-time attention and fierce loyalty. There was no room for anyone or anything else.
He threw the remaining bite of bacon back onto the plate. “Just hand me my damn pants and I’ll take my ‘little boy’ attitude and get out of your hair.”
Chloe put a hand on the tray, stopping him when he went to set it aside. “Stop being a difficult butt, Ethan, and eat your breakfast.” She shook her head at him. “Not everything has to be a pissing contest. It’s just that this is a very tiny space and we have to learn to live in it together for a while, so a little cooperation would be appreciated.”
Knowing she was right but unable to admit it, he simply gave her a hostile glare and stuffed a bite of eggs into his mouth. The succulent taste of the fluffy goodness with just the right amount of butter and seasoning had his stomach demanding more. In spite of her standing over him like a mother hen, he managed to demolish the food in just a few minutes, admitting grudgingly as he handed the empty tray to her, “Thanks, that was really good.”
“You’re welcome,” Chloe summoned a smile as she took the tray from him. “Cooking is one of my better skills.”
“If that was any indication of your culinary talent, I can’t wait to see what’s for supper.” A huge yawn overtook him, and he blinked against a sudden feeling of pain-free languor. With a sinking feeling in his full stomach, he looked up, his gaze going fuzzy but still able to catch the guilty look on Chloe’s face. “Dammit, woman, you drugged me.”
“I had no choice, Ethan. You wouldn’t take your medicine willingly and I didn’t want to leave you in pain.” Chloe bit her lip as she watched him struggle to keep his eyes open. “Just lie back and get the rest you need. I’ve left a sandwich in the refrigerator for you in case you get hungry.” She inched toward the door as he sunk down onto the soft pillow.
“Chloe?”
She turned, her heart going soft at the slumberous look on his handsome face. “Yeah?”
“I don’t think cooking is your only skill.”
Although he’d probably be upset if he remembered his drug-induced compliment, Chloe couldn’t help the smile that stretched her lips at his words. She closed the door quietly and went about the business of getting herself ready for work. Before she left, she checked in on him once more, her breath catching at the picture of him lying there on his back, the thin sheet barely covering the essential area of his maleness from her gaze. His body was tanned all over, well-muscled and perfectly proportioned. All the way to work she alternated between mentally writing a romance novel where a Greek Adonis fell for the Pillsbury Dough girl and wondering how in the world she would ever be able to sleep in her bed again.