Chapter Thirteen
He was being a jerk, and he didn’t know how to stop.
The thought was crystal clear in his mind as Tanner made his way back to his room, but he still didn’t turn around and go back to try to make things up to Evie.
Instead, he shut his bedroom door and dragged off his clothes and crawled back onto the bed.
The last few days of his life had been hell, pure and simple. He’d thought having some time to himself—some privacy—would help relieve the growing pressure in his chest, but being alone had only made things worse.
In the enforced darkness behind his bandages, his thoughts had become equally dark. He’d tried to think about what needed to happen next—meetings with his agent, conversations with his sponsors—but he kept getting trapped in thought loops that led nowhere.
He’d had so many plans.
He’d been having such a good year, winning events, piling up the prize money. He’d been on track for what he’d hoped would be the season of his career.
And now he was here, his bull-riding career over. It wasn’t just that, though. The past few days had given him a crash course in what it would be like to have compromised eyesight. If they took his bandages off and his left eye was ruined, his life was going to become a lot more complicated.
He had no idea if he could even drive if his left eye didn’t come up to scratch. Did they let people get behind the wheel with only one good eye? The thought of losing his driver’s license made him feel sick to the core. He couldn’t rely on either Helen or Johnny B to be his chauffeur every time he needed to be somewhere. He couldn’t be beholden to them like that, a burden.
He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime over the last few days.
Being helpless and reliant on other people for his simplest needs made him feel like a child, something no person in their right mind would relish. Sitting to pee, spilling food on himself, hearing the pity and worry in people’s voices…
It was more than a man could stomach. And the fact that it was Evie seeing him like this, babying him like this…
He didn’t want to be her patient. He wasn’t a victim. A few days ago, he’d been the guy who’d introduced her to oral sex and made her feel so good she’d been limp as a rag doll. Now he was the guy she had to help walk across his own living room.
It was fucking intolerable—and yet he had no choice but to tolerate it.
In the small corner of his mind still capable of rational thought, he knew this was only temporary. He knew he was lucky, that it could have been a million times worse, and that there were people out in the world struggling to cope with greater burdens than this with far fewer resources.
It helped, a little, but it was hard not to get caught up in a million what-ifs when he had nothing to do but lie in the dark and brood.
He tried to sleep for what felt like a long time. Dinner sat like a rock in his belly, and after a while his head started to ache. He rested a hand on his forehead, willing it away, but it only got worse. He had no idea where his meds were. In his luggage, he guessed. Evie had taken care of all of that, and he’d shut her out since he got home.
The thought of fumbling around trying to find where Johnny had left his suitcase, and then rifling through his things trying to find a pack of painkillers made him want to kick something.
He sat up, then pushed himself to his feet. Pissed at the world, determined to prove to himself that he could do one thing for himself, he opened the bedroom door and started up the hallway, one hand gliding along the wall.
There were painkillers on the shelf above the fridge. He’d find them, run himself a glass of water, then go back to his room. Like an adult who could look after himself.
He stopped when he reached the living room doorway. There was a wide-open expanse between the hallway and the kitchen island, with nothing to glide his hand along to find the way. Swearing under his breath, impatient with his own caution, he started walking, both hands held out in front like a freaking mummy in a horror movie.
After what felt like way too many steps, his groping hands found the island bench and he followed its edge until he estimated he was opposite the fridge. He struck out again, one step, two, three. The cool metal of the fridge door met his fingers. He reached up and patted along the shelf above the fridge until he found the familiar blister pack of painkillers. One step to the left took him to the cupboard with the glasses in it. He grabbed one, then turned to go in search of the sink.
He found it with minimal fumbling and set the tablets and glass down so he could use both hands to press some painkillers from the bubble packaging. It was dumb, but he was starting to feel a ridiculous sense of achievement when he reached for the glass to fill it at the sink.
His hand encountered nothing but air. Frowning, he widened his search. Everything happened in a flash after that—the press of cool glass against his elbow, his too-late attempt to halt the sweep of his arm, the slide of the glass across the counter.
And then the explosive crash of the glass smashing to the floor.
*
Evie had no idea how long she’d been asleep when the sound of glass shattering jolted her awake. Her heart pounded against her rib cage as she tried to orient herself, then she remembered where she was and bolted from the bed, not stopping to pull anything on over the tank top and panties she’d worn to bed. Her instinct was to go to Tanner’s room, since it was just the two of them in the house, but the sound had come from the living area. She was almost certain of it.
“Tanner? You okay?” she called as she stepped into the dimly lit space.
A darker shadow shifted in the kitchen. “I’m fine. Go back to bed.”
“What happened?” she asked, fumbling for the light switch. He might not need light right now, but she did.
Her fingers found the switch and light flooded the room—just as Tanner made an impatient noise and moved forward.
“Shit.”
It wasn’t so much what he said but the pain beneath his words that made her rush around the island bench. Shards of broken glass covered the floor—and Tanner had stepped right into the worst of it.
“Don’t move,” she said, one hand reaching out to grip his arm urgently. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and his bandages, about as vulnerable as a person could be as he stood balanced on one leg, his injured foot suspended an inch from the floor. “Not another inch, okay? You’re right in the middle of a whole lot of broken glass.”
He swore again but followed instructions, his chin tucked against his chest as he waited, frustration in every line of his body.
“The countertop is just behind you, here,” she said, taking one of his hands and showing him where the support was. He’d have better luck keeping his injured foot off the floor if he had something to hang on to.
Once she was confident he was safe, she raced back to her room, shoving her feet into her boots. She ran back to the laundry room and heaved a sigh of relief when she found a broom in the first cupboard she opened.
“I’ve got a broom, won’t be a second,” she called as she raced back to the kitchen.
Blood dripped onto the floor from his elevated foot, and she bit her lip, wondering how badly injured he was. Carefully she brushed the broken glass away from him, going over the area multiple times. Then and only then did she drag one of the dining rooms chairs over into the kitchen.
“I’m going to check how bad it is, but you need to sit first, okay? I just put a chair behind you,” she said, taking his hand off the countertop and transferring it to the chair.
“I’ve got it,” he said gruffly.
He sank into the chair, and Evie checked the floor for stray fragments of glass before sinking to her knees and grasping his ankle.
She winced when she saw the shallow slice across the arch of his foot, but the anxiety churning her stomach eased a little as she inspected it closely and saw there didn’t appear to be any glass remaining in the wound.
“You’re lucky,” she told him. “It’s a clean cut, shallow, and I can’t see any glass fragments.”
“All right. Thanks.” He tugged on his foot, and she realized he was trying to stand.
As if.
“Are you kidding me? You can’t just walk off. I need to clean the wound and make sure I’m right about the glass. Then I need to do something about the bleeding.”
Tanner’s jaw worked, and she could almost hear his teeth grinding.
“Fine.”
“Do you have a first aid kit in the house?” she asked.
“The master bathroom,” he said.
There was so much anger simmering beneath his calm exterior, he was almost vibrating with it.
Feeling more than a little angry herself—why did he have to be so bloody pigheaded?—she marched up the hallway to his bedroom. She found the first aid kit beneath the vanity and returned to the kitchen with it and a towel in time to catch Tanner rubbing the temple near his bad eye. Her gaze went to the packet of tablets on the countertop next to the stove and suddenly she understood. He’d woken with a headache, and come in search of a glass of water and some pain relief. He’d made it to the kitchen, he’d even found a glass—and then he’d fumbled it somehow.
His one attempt at independence, and it had gone pear-shaped in seconds.
Her anger and frustration drained away instantly. Without saying a word, she crossed to the cupboard and found another glass. Filling it at the sink, she brought it to him along with the packet of painkillers.
“Here,” she said, wrapping his hand around the glass. She slipped two tablets into his other hand.
He stilled, then nodded his thanks and quickly swallowed the tablets.
She took the glass from him, then knelt at his feet and unzipped the kit. She was pleased to find a couple of sterile saline sachets, and she used the scissors in the kit to snip the corners and clean his foot. A closer, more painstaking inspection revealed she’d been right about there being no glass fragments, and she dabbed the cut with an antiseptic solution.
“Give that a second to dry and I’ll put a bandage on it,” she told him.
His heel rested on her bent knee, and she held his ankle in place. She could feel the tension in him still, the muscles of his ankle flexing as he fought to control the impulse to reject her ministrations.
Why won’t you let me help you?
The words filled her throat, but she didn’t dare give voice to them, because she didn’t have the right. They weren’t friends. They were two strangers who had found pleasure in each other’s arms a couple of times and then been thrown together by terrible circumstance.
Except Tanner didn’t feel like a stranger to her. He wasn’t some hot guy she’d had a one-night stand with, someone she’d look back on in a few years’ time with a wistful sigh for the good time he’d shown her. He’d stepped up for her when she’d been at her lowest ebb. He’d offered her empathy and pushed her to find closure with Troy. He’d whispered praise in her ear as he stroked his body within hers, and he’d held her afterward as if she mattered.
Before the accident, she’d been warning herself to be sensible, not to get carried away with the way he made her blood fizz and her body sing. She’d been determined to be sophisticated about their liaison, to walk away from her hours in his bed and his arms and not look back.
But then she’d seen him get kicked in the head and go down like a dead man, and all she’d been able to think about ever since was his happiness and wellbeing.
It wasn’t rational; it wasn’t reasonable. That didn’t stop it from being real.
Reaching for a sticky bandage, she peeled off the strips and secured it over the cut. It took two to secure it properly, and when she was done she allowed herself the small luxury of keeping her hands on his leg and gazing up into his face. He stirred restlessly and she lifted her hands, releasing him.
“Okay, we’re done,” she said.
He was on his feet instantly, using an outstretched hand to find the countertop and orient himself. Evie pressed her lips together and packed away the first aid equipment, disposing of the empty sachets and wrappings as he made his way to the hallway.
“Thanks for playing nurse,” he said as he was on the brink of leaving the room.
“My pleasure,” she said quietly.
Then he was gone. Evie stared at the floor for a minute, feeling defeated and lost, her chest aching. She couldn’t stand seeing him like this when she’d seen him at his best. He’d been fearless, courageous, devil-may-care cocky. Larger than life.
She gave herself a little shake. He would be okay. She had to believe that. The Extreme people had flown in a specialist to operate on his eye. He’d had the best care, and he had a good chance of making a full recovery. She was going to go on believing that until she had evidence to suggest otherwise, even if it killed her.
She was about to head back to bed when her gaze fell on the glass and pill packet she’d left lying on the counter. His meds wouldn’t do him much good out here, and he shouldn’t have to go looking for them when he needed them.
She filled up the glass, collected the pill packet and made her way to his bedroom. The door was only half closed, and she pushed it wide with her foot, opening her mouth to let him know why she was forcing herself on him yet again.
What she saw made everything in her go very still. Tanner sat on the side of the bed, his head in his hands. His shoulders were hunched forward as though he was bracing himself for a blow from an unseen assailant.
He wasn’t being attacked, though—he was bracing himself against the power of his own feelings. Everything about his posture radiated misery and defeat and fear, and something in Evie snapped.
“Screw it,” she muttered under her breath.
She crossed to the bed and dumped the glass of water and the tablets. Before he could react to her presence, she stepped close and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and back, curving her body over him so that as much of her was holding as much of him as possible. Predictably, he tensed, but Evie didn’t back off, she simply tightened her embrace, ducking her head to press a kiss to the back of his neck. She would hold him like this until the sun came up if she had to. Whatever it took to let him know he didn’t have to suffer through this alone.
She could feel the tension in him, the war he was fighting within himself—and then suddenly he softened, his body twisting toward her, his big arms coming around her as he pressed his face into her belly. His hands curled into her tank top, pulling her closer still, holding her as though his life depended on it. She could feel his shoulders rising and falling as he drew in ragged breaths, fighting an upswell of emotion.
They still weren’t close enough for Evie. She couldn’t get her arms around him, couldn’t press her body against his the way she needed to. Making a small, wordless sound of frustration, she swung her leg over his and climbed into his lap, wrapping both arms and legs around him. Tanner’s grip increased until her ribs ached and it was hard to breathe, but she simply held on, her cheek pressed to the good side of his head as he rested his forehead on her shoulder.
He was trembling, and so was she, and for long, long minutes they simply held one another. Only when his grip eased a fraction did she speak.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said. “No matter what, it’s going to be all right.”
His hands tightened momentarily, then he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the slope of her shoulder, his mouth hot against her bare skin. She soothed a circle on his back, tucking her chin to press a kiss to his shoulder, too. His hands slid beneath her tank top, flattening against her back, his fingertips digging lightly into her flesh as he held her close. She kissed his shoulder, then his neck, offering wordless comfort, unable to convey the way she was feeling in any other way. His hands smoothed up and down her back, and when he kissed her again she felt the hot lap of his tongue against the side of her neck.
She sucked in air, startled by the realization that he was hard beneath her, his big, thick erection a brand against her inner thigh. For a moment she hesitated, and then she gave in to the continuing press of his mouth against her skin and the silken sweep of his hands up and down her back.
He needed this. She needed this.
Letting him go momentarily, she grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head. Tanner drew in a shaky breath, then his head lowered unerringly toward her breasts. She arched her back as he drew an already-tight nipple into his mouth, using lips, teeth and tongue to tease her until she was vibrating with need.
God, he was so good at this.
Somehow he seemed to know when she needed rough, when she needed gentle. She was wet with desire, could feel her pulse beating between her legs, and she tilted her hips and rubbed herself against him.
One of his hands slid between them, pressing against her through the thin cotton of her panties. She murmured her approval, and he slipped his hand beneath her underwear, sliding through her curls and into the heat between her thighs. Her body tightened as he traced the seam of her sex before plunging a finger inside her.
She was spread wide for him, unable to do anything except tilt her hips and try to remember to breathe as he stroked her.
“So wet for me, Evie,” he muttered against her breast before sucking her nipple with such ferocity the pleasure-pain almost made her come on the spot.
He was trembling again, but not from repressed emotion this time. Her own desperation was rising, and she set a hand on his chest, pushing him away, even though it left her breasts aching for more of his touch.
“Lie back,” she said.
He hesitated a moment, then he went down onto his back and Evie tucked her legs back under herself so she could come up onto her knees. It took her seconds to get rid of her panties, a little longer to dispense with his boxer briefs. Then she was rising over him, his big, hard erection in hand.
The first press of his hardness against her wet softness made her close her eyes and forget to breathe.
This. This was so good, so right between them.
She bore down, and he slid inside her, thick and long, filling her, stretching her. His hands glided up her sides to cup her breasts, and she planted her hands on his hard chest and started to ride.
She went slowly, even though the drumming in her blood wanted hard and fast. This was about more than getting off. This was about intimacy and closeness, comfort and caring. This was about need as well as want, and she was going to make it last.
His thighs lifted to meet her every time she sank down. The slide of his cock inside her, his hands on her breasts, the feel of his big body beneath hers… She got lost in the slow-building pleasure, her body ratcheting tighter and tighter.
“Evie,” he said, his hands sliding to her hips.
She gasped as he held her in place, thrusting up into her once, twice, three times. She felt the shudder of his climax hitting him, and then she was done for, her body tightening around his as she found her own peak.
Afterward, she fell forward onto his chest and he rolled them to the side, encouraging her leg up over his hip while he remained inside her. They lay breast to chest, hip to hip, damp with sweat and desire, hearts separated only by a few inches of bone and flesh.
His hands were splayed on her back and backside, holding her close, his breath hot and harsh against the side of her throat as they slowly came back down to earth.
Despite all the things that were up in the air, Evie had never felt so complete in her life. Tanner Harding did things to her she didn’t have words to describe. He made her chest feel too small for her heart. He made her body burn and sing. He made her want to stretch every second in his arms into an hour, a day, a month.
Even though they were plastered together, a chill prickled its away across her exposed skin as her body cooled. Groping behind herself blindly, she tried to find the covers so she could drag them over the two of them, but she came up blank.
“I’ve got it,” Tanner said, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.
He shifted, rolling away from her, and Evie swallowed a protest at the loss of his closeness. She half expected him to get out of bed or distance himself from her in some other way, but he didn’t, instead coming back to her with the quilt fisted in one hand, spreading it over both of them. She scooted closer to him when he offered her his shoulder, closing her eyes as he pressed close to her again.
The small gesture and the memory of the way he’d held her, the way he’d trembled with need for her, gave her hope and courage. After a few minutes she drew breath and staked her claim.
“I’m not going tomorrow,” she said. “I’m staying till next Thursday.”
Which meant she’d just made herself his houseguest for a full week. There was a short silence while he considered his response.
“Okay.”
She smiled in the darkness, then pressed a kiss to his chest. It wasn’t a marching band and a ticker-tape parade, but this was Tanner. Him letting her stay, him letting her in, was a big deal.
What it meant in the long term—if there even was a long term between the two of them—was another story. But she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, Tanner was hers and she was going to savor every moment of being in his arms again.
*
Sleep kept threatening to take him, but Tanner didn’t want to drop off yet. He wanted to enjoy the feel of Evie’s body curled against his side. He wanted to listen to her breathing and feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
She smelled good, like vanilla and flowers, and her hair was tangled beneath both him and her. When he turned his head and inhaled, he could smell her shampoo and feel the silky strands against his cheek.
He hadn’t meant to make love to her. He hadn’t meant to accept her comfort, either, but he was fast learning he had precious little resistance where she was concerned. The sound of her voice, the warmth of her touch, the way she did everything she could to preserve his dignity while offering him support…
He was powerless against his own need for her. A part of him hated that he needed anyone, but Evie was so sweet and addictive, the desire he felt for her so bone-deep and undeniable, he didn’t have a choice. The moment her arms had closed around him and her body had pressed against his, he’d been lost.
And somehow, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing. He’d needed her to cling to, to ground him, even though he’d have died before admitting it. Which probably made him stupid as well as stubborn, because having her hold him, and holding her in turn had eased something deep inside him. Knowing she could see his pain, that she accepted it and understood it, had allowed him to accept it, too.
What had happened was shitty—there was no getting around it. But it wasn’t the end of the world. He’d told himself as much before, trying to buck himself up, but this time the words hit home for him.
Probably because it was hard to feel anything but good when he had Evie lying beside him. She was sunlight and warmth in human form, and he knew himself to be a lucky, lucky bastard that she’d somehow tumbled into his life.
Even though sleep was tugging at him, making him heavy and lazy, he couldn’t stop himself from stroking a hand down her body. He pictured the feminine topography his hand was exploring—the hollow above her collarbone, the rising slope of her breast. The pale pink peak of her nipple, so touchable and fascinating to him. The soft under curve of her breast, the undulating ridges of her rib cage. Her belly, silky-smooth, the rounded jut of her hip bones. The warm, springy curls between her thighs. And then, in between…
His cock got hard again as his fingers brushed over slick, slippery heat. She was so damned responsive to his touch, as eager to find pleasure as he was to give it. Rolling toward her, he pressed his lips to her shoulder, then her upper arm. She stirred, murmuring sleepily, and he pushed her arm up to allow him access to her armpit. He inhaled the scent of her there—fresh and just slightly salty from good, clean sweat—then tasted her skin. A growl rose in the back of his throat.
She tasted so good. Like sex and woman and Evie. Hungry for more, he trailed kisses down her side and up onto her breast. Her nipple was already puckered into readiness and he pulled it into his mouth with a satisfied sigh. She stirred again, her hands finding his shoulders.
“I thought we were sleeping,” she said, her voice husky and confused.
“Let me,” he murmured against her skin.
She made a small, wordless sound, but her hands softened on his shoulders, signaling acceptance of anything he had to offer. Lost in the darkness behind his bandages, Tanner tasted his way across her body, marveling at the textures and tastes, every new discovery cranking his need for her tighter and tighter, higher and higher. Her belly muscles quivered as he laved the delicate skin there, alternating strokes of his tongue with gentle rasps of his bristled chin against her flesh.
He slid down in the bed, breathing in the musk of her desire as he settled between her legs. The skin of her inner thighs was impossibly delicate and soft beneath his hands. He circled his thumbs against her, marveling at her perfection. He leaned close to the heart of her, breathing in the unique scent that was only Evie.
Her hips jerked minutely as he made his first foray into the slippery folds of her sex. Salt and need and heat met his tongue and he curled his fingers into her creamy thighs and delved deeper. Her clit trembled on his tongue, and when he pulled it into his mouth Evie’s breath gusted from her in a rush of air.
Never had he felt so attuned, so connected to another person’s body. He could feel her rising tension, feel the electricity of it beneath her skin. Every subtle lift and circle of her hips translated itself to him. He felt every broken breath she drew, every ragged sigh she exhaled. When he slid a finger inside her, the clench of her inner muscles tightening around him made his cock swell hard and he pressed his hips into the bed, stringing out his own desire as he teased more and more pleasure from her.
Lost in a sensuous haze, he lapped at her, stroking into her with two fingers, his cock throbbing. She was perfect. Silk and heat and slick tightness. When he felt her begin to tighten around his fingers, he smiled against her intimate flesh and redoubled his efforts until her hips jerked and she gasped his name. She came in fluttering spasms around his fingers, the experience so erotic he almost came on the sheets.
Only when she was still beneath him did he lift his head. She was warm and boneless, and he smiled to himself as he drew himself back up alongside her. She reached for him, her hand wrapping around his still-hard cock.
“You,” she said, the words slurred with satisfaction.
“No,” he said, easing her hand away.
He didn’t need it, didn’t want it. There would be other times, and making her come, immersing himself in her desire, had been reward enough for him. It had been so good, it had almost made the accident worth it.
It was such a dumb, cock-driven idea, it made him smile. And then, finally, he let himself slip into sleep.