Chapter 5
Cersi took her time in the shower partly because it was the size of her first apartment and was absolutely exquisite, but mostly because her arm was so damn sore that it took like nine-hundred hours to wash her hair with only one hand. That pissed her off too. She’d just gotten her hair done, and now she was forced to wash it because it was caked in flaking blood and it couldn’t be helped. Sonofa… Now she’d have to make another damn trip to the salon because there was no way she’d be able to do what needed to be done to get her hair back on point with just one hand.
Heaving a sigh, she turned her head and looked at her wound. The bullet hole in her shoulder had been stitched up nicely. She wasn’t surprised at all that the beast in the other room knew how to do stitches like a surgeon. He seemed like the kind of guy that would know how to take care of bullet wounds. He was dangerous and sexy like that.
Yeah, too bad he’s gay.
And of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? Sexy as all get out, he was her exact type. Dangerous and broody but just enough gentleman in him to take care of her wound and not rape her when she was unconscious…
Oh, good fucking Christ!
Shaking her head, she snorted and rolled her eyes at how she’d just been giving Tyson credit for not raping her like it was an actual virtue or something.
“And this is why you’re single,” she self-admonished.
It took her nearly as long to dry off and wrap her hair in a towel turban as it did to get washed up. Once dressed, she sauntered out of the bathroom, ignoring the way the material of her fuzzy peach sweater tugged on her exposed stitches. The choice of top hadn’t been practical, but she looked really good in it, and for some reason she wanted Tyson to think the same. Thinking of him, she slammed to a halt when she nearly collided with where his big body was planted against the wall just outside the bathroom door.
He turned his bright green gaze on her and asked with a worried frown to his brow, “You alright? I was just about to force my way in and check on you.”
“Hard to do most everything with just one arm.”
He nodded, eyes dipping to her shoulder.
“Where’s my jeep?” she asked. The question had been eating at her the whole time she’d been showering.
“It’s here.”
She noted he didn’t tell her where exactly it was, but that was okay as long as it was on-site.
“And where’s Vesa?” she prompted while he was in a giving mood.
With a snort, he shook his head. “I told you, she’s safe. How about we worry about you right now?”
***
In the sitting room, Tyson paced and tried to shake off Monster’s excitement at knowing Cersi was in the bathroom naked with warm water sluicing over her body. Christ, he was pathetic.
When the bathroom door finally opened, Cersi stepped out dressed in another pair of hip-hugging jeans and an oversized peach sweater that looked really soft. Her feet were bare, and she’d washed all her make-up off. Her hair looked different too. It was still curly, but a little more fuzzy—isn’t that what the girls called it, maybe it was frizzy? Anyway, it was a lot more natural looking, and he instantly decided that he liked her like this better than when she was all dolled up. He doubted many people got to see her like this and that made him feel special.
He followed her into the heart of the suite, and when she stopped to frown at him over her shoulder, he crossed to the kitchen and turned. Casually he tossed a menu on the table that stood between them. “What do you want to eat?” He was trying to play it cool, but Monster was clawing up his insides demanding they feed her. He’d heard her stomach growl at least a dozen times since she’d roused and Monster was taking it as his personal responsibility to take care of her needs, which was a bad fucking idea. Doing anything for this woman encouraged Monster to think that they had some form of claim on her when they didn’t. Just gotta get her fed and to BlackLodge, he told himself inwardly. He could do that. He could get a meal in her and tend her wound and get her to BlackLodge where she’d be someone else’s problem…couldn’t he?
Cersi pursed her lips and did that sexy catwalk thingy across the room until her red-tipped nails settled on the menu.
Without looking at it, her eyes lifted to his. “Lobster tail with drawn butter, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans with béarnaise.”
His mouth ticked up in the corner. If she thought ordering expensive food was putting a burden on him, she was wrong. He had plenty of money, certainly more than he knew what to do with. It sat in a savings account and gained interest because he didn’t need fancy shit, but if Cersi did, it was fine with him.
Lifting the phone, he kept his eyes locked with hers the whole time he called down to the kitchen and placed their order. He got himself the exact same thing and just to prove a point, he ordered one of the most expensive bottles of white wine on the menu. When he hung up, Cersi shrugged her good shoulder.
“Shouldn’t have popped for the wine. I don’t plan on drinking any.”
Mimicking her, Tyson shrugged. “So don’t.”
Her eyes glinted as she studied him and he couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or interested. Letting his nostrils flare, he scented the air but couldn’t pick up anything aside from pain and agitation.
Annoyed it is!
She’d been trying to hide it, but he’d noticed instantly how her shoulders tensed when she moved. The sweater she wore was tugging at her stitches.
“Let’s get your wound bandaged while we wait.”
Cersi hesitated only a moment before circling the dining table and crossing to where Tyson stood by the kitchen island. The first aid kit he’d brought was already open.
As soon as she was near enough, he gripped her waist and hoisted her off her feet. Her good hand gripped his shoulder, and she gave a sharp little inhalation that had him wondering what sounds she’d make if he took other liberties. Settling her on the island, he released her and wordlessly ripped open a few packets of gauze pads, donned a pair of the smallest damn rubber gloves known to man, and began applying ointment to the raw shoulder she’d exposed by tugging at the sleeve of her sweater.
Cersi hissed when he smeared the ointment over her stitches, and when his eyes sliced to hers, she winced. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
But the scent of pain was growing stronger. It pissed him off. He didn’t know how to do this. Taking care of a woman was foreign enough, but an injured woman was way out of his depth. He needed to get her to BlackLodge where she could be Haddix’s problem.
Wanting to utter an apology, it never came out. Instead, like the dick he was, he growled, “And this is why we don’t shoot ourselves.”
Spine snapping straight, Cersi hurled back, “Well if you weren’t chasing me, I wouldn’t have had to shoot myself.”
His hands stilled, and he looked at her. “You’re crazy. You know that, right?” He was nodding, but Cersi was shaking her head.
“I’m a survivalist.” She jerked her chin toward her shoulder, “And it worked, didn’t it? I’m still here, right?”
A long snarl rattled its way up his throat, and he didn’t have the foresight to check it. Instead, he braced both hands on the counter on either side of her hips and growled, “Did it ever occur to you that I wasn’t going to harm you? Did it even flash through that pretty little head of yours for one second that I could be an ally and not an enemy?”
“An ally wouldn’t have wanted to meet on a dark pier.” She leaned forward. “An ally would have given me the information I needed over the phone. An ally would have helped,” she motioned toward her wounded shoulder, “not hurt.”
“N, n, n, n, no,” he was back to shaking his head. “You don’t get to blame this on me. You shot you!” He shoved back off the island and turned to walk away before whirling around and hurling and accusatory, “And me! You shot me too, let’s not forget that little gem.”
Cersi lifted a pad of gauze to her shoulder and pressed it onto her wound, but she was doing it all wrong, so Tyson crossed back to her and took over.
Eyes snapping haughtily, Cersi let him take over as she lifted her chin. “Well, you shouldn’t go around scaring people.”
His lips thinned into a grim line before he countered, “Well, you shouldn’t go around shooting people.”
Cersi’s tone was starting to rise again when she argued, “Well, you shouldn’t go around grabbing people.”
He stopped wrapping her shoulder with medical tape to frown down at her. “You were pointing a gun at me. Right. At me!”
“I thought you were a bad guy.”
He snorted and mumbled, “Maybe I am.”
Cersi was studying him though, and the look on her face said she didn’t buy it. Crazy little human. If she only knew what he was, she’d be running as fast and as hard as she could.
Blinking up at him, all emotion left her tone when she asked, “Where’s my sister?”
And here it was, the big question. Ahhh damn, how do I explain this?
“And why isn’t your wound hurting you?” She looked pointedly at his chest. “You lifted me onto this counter like I weighed less than nothing while it hurts me just to breathe. What the hell is going on?”
Fffffffuck!