Chapter Twenty-Three
“Get out here. I need to talk to you,” Garrett yelled through the bedroom door.
At first, he’d been content to let her little act play out, but he’d soon realized he would never get to sleep if he didn’t check her over. He needed to make sure he hadn’t misinterpreted the level of her injuries. So he’d gone back out of her bedroom and relocked it.
She pulled open the door a crack and offered him an innocent smile. “What do you need?”
He walked away without answering, just gave her a stern look. He needed her out of that room and into the kitchen where the light was bright enough to see if she was spurting blood from her back like a whale.
Also, he didn’t trust himself in her bedroom. If she looked up at him again with the help-me eyes and the I-trust-you smile, he’d end up kissing her.
While he’d had an excuse for kissing her before—albeit a lame one and not technically an excuse—he had no reason to kiss her now.
No matter how much he might want to.
Thankfully, she opened the door followed him down the hall. On the island in the kitchen was a medical kit which he kept well-stocked at all times.
“Let me see your hand,” he demanded. He should have been nicer about it, but he couldn’t fathom why she hadn’t chewed him out, or so much as uttered a single complaint. What was wrong with her?
“It’s fine,” she said as he took a bag of ice from the freezer and handed it to her. She eyed the bag, not taking it.
“It’s for your shoulder. The one the rifle kicked the shit out of all day.”
Reluctantly, she raised the bag to her shoulder.
“First take off your shirt,” he ordered.
Her eyes went wide. “No! Why?” she asked when he just waited.
“So I can see the wound on your back. The one that’s gushing blood,” he said through clenched teeth.
Her eyes went even wider. “How did you—”
“It’s my job to protect you, Sam. I wouldn’t be doing a very good job if I saved you from Howe but let you fucking bleed to death.”
She swallowed. “No. I’ll be fine.”
God. Was she being modest? Or just stubborn? Modesty was overrated when one was about to expire from blood loss.
Sure, he had wondered on more than one occasion what she looked like naked. She was put together pretty well, and he was a man with a working dick and eyes. But he wasn’t trying to get her naked.
At least, not at the moment.
“Sam, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not trying anything here. I need to see how bad your injury is. Now take off the damn shirt.”
She huffed and pulled off the shirt. She peeked down at her pink lacy tank top and her cheeks turned an adorable, even darker shade of pink. She held the shirt in front of her chest as he moved around to her back.
“What the fuck?” He frowned down at the mess of tissues and electrical tape glued to her back.
She swiveled around on the chair and snapped, “What?”
“Your first aid skills could use some work.”
“You don’t have any bandages in the medicine cabinet.”
He rolled his eyes. “Right. Because a bandage would have made all the difference.” He pulled off the electrical tape, trying to be gentle. “I’m going to have to stitch this up.”
“Do you know how?” she demanded.
“Sure. I took a class. What’s this tattoo?” It had been under the makeshift bandage—some kind of winged creature, but now there was a huge gash taking out its head. “A dragon?” He squinted as he tried to make it out.
“Yeah. It was cool until I realized I was a cliché,” she said sardonically.
He chuckled. Even in pain, she had a sense of humor. “Well, the dragon has officially been slain.” He moved around her, took her hand, and examined it more closely. “This will be okay to just glue.”
Her jaw dropped. “Glue?”
“Yep. It might hurt a little when I clean it properly.”
“A little?” She bit her lip, looking more sexy than worried.
The sight made his dick stand up and take notice. “I’m giving you a shot for the pain and one to numb your back. I’ll take care of your hand while the shot takes effect.”
She paled a little when he picked up the hypodermic needle. It was small, but he knew from experience it was going to hurt like a bitch.
“Get ready. One, two—”
“Ouch! Son of a— You didn’t even say three.”
“You would have flinched if I had.”
“I would not.”
“Everyone flinches when you get to three. Everyone.”
He did his best not to stare at her breasts as he took her hand to clean it. She’d forgotten to hold up the shirt and it had slipped down precariously.
God help me.
After cleaning the cut thoroughly with three different substances, he pulled out a tube of normal, run-of-the-mill superglue. He pulled off the red cap and squeezed.
“Did you know superglue was originally invented for this very purpose?” He shared that stupid bit of trivia while he waved her hand in the air, wanting to distract himself as much as her.
“I was not aware. I can die happy now, knowing I’m schooled in all things superglue.”
“Actually, the goal is to make sure you don’t die, remember? Do you want me to write that down and hang it on the fridge so you don’t forget?”
She blew out a weary breath. “How long until the trial, again?”
Rather than answer, he laughed. “Pull your fingers up just a tiny bit,” he instructed, and she did as he said. He smeared the glue across the gash in her hand.
She always did what he said now. Most of the time without question or complaint. After that first day, he’d never had a more agreeable client. It made him wonder…
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as he pressed her flesh together. He made sure not to get stuck to her. The last thing Ms. Modesty would appreciate would be having a man stuck to her.
Which reminded him not to look at her beautiful breasts.
He walked deliberately behind her back. “Can you feel this?” He touched her skin next to the gash.
“I can feel the pressure of your hand.”
“Okay, I’m going to get started. You might notice a little tugging, but it shouldn’t hurt.”
She nodded, and the pulse at her throat picked up when he touched her. She was responding to him…which made his body respond right back. He determinedly ignored it. Just a normal male reaction. It didn’t mean he had to act on it. In any way.
Under no circumstances could he allow things to get out of hand. This was a job. He couldn’t mix business with pleasure.
Especially not this business. For very good reasons.
“Do you mind telling me why you didn’t mention you were hurt?” he asked, now that she couldn’t ignore him or get away.
“Sending me out there was a test, right? I didn’t want to fail,” she said.
“You got back to the house. You didn’t fail.”
“It took me hours, and I needed stitches. I just don’t—” She closed her eyes and stopped talking.
“Don’t what?” he pushed as he worked behind her.
She took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to give up on me. I don’t want to be a problem. Or you might get sick of dealing with me and leave. I— I need you.”
He paused in his sewing and came around to stand in front of her. All this time he thought she was being agreeable, it turned out she was terrified he would abandon her if she acted like herself.
Was he really being such a bastard to her that his cold behavior had made her believe so little of him?
Guilt swept through him. He’d only been trying to be professional. Obviously, he still needed to work on that.
Bending down in front of her, he caught her green gaze. “I told you, you’re going to have to trust me. That means trusting that I won’t leave you to fend for yourself. Ever.”
“But why would you do this for me?” She bit her lip again, but this time he didn’t have a sexual response.
This woman had been through hell, and it seemed she expected it to get worse. That a stranger had no reason to be kind to her.
Except, he hadn’t been kind to her. He’d been gruff and bossy. He knew gruff and bossy would keep her alive, but now he saw the cost.
She was broken.
And he’d helped do it.
It would be nearly impossible to save the life of someone who didn’t care enough to want to help herself. He needed to do better.
“The world doesn’t have a lot of good people like you in it. We can’t spare you.” He moved back to his stitching and kept his focus there as he tied off the thread and gave her another shot for the pain.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her shoulders moved up and down as if she were trying to relax into the idea that she actually mattered.
“I’m afraid the dragon isn’t doing too well. It kind of looks like a Pekinese with a long, pointy tail,” he said as he stood back.
“The Girl with the Pekinese Tattoo,” she said, choking on a small laugh. “At least it’s original.”
He reached for her shirt, and helped her pull it back on.
“Damn, I must be slipping. I don’t think I’ve ever helped put a girl’s shirt on before,” he kidded, partly because he wanted to see her blush again.
He put the ice pack on her sore shoulder and went to the refrigerator to pull out a bowl of soup with plastic wrap over the top. She was smiling again as he stood in front of the microwave heating it up, then brought it over to the table.
“Thank you for everything.” Her voice was quiet as she looked up at him through her dark blond eyelashes.
He smiled back, and something dark and lumpy inside him began to melt a little. “You’re doing really well, Sam. It’s not part of the tough instructor routine to praise the soldier, but I think you should know that what you did today was pretty damn amazing.” She needed to hear that.
And he honestly meant it.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“How long have you been afraid of the dark?” he asked as she took a sip of the beef noodle soup.
She glanced up, startled. “How did you know?”
“The hotel room. You opened the drapes a crack to let in the light from the parking lot. Plus, your only issue with taking the gun back seemed to be the darkness.”
Her jaw dropped. See? It helped to pay attention.
“I’ve been scared of the dark my whole life, I guess,” she confessed, then gave an embarrassed shrug.
“Is that the only thing? The dark?” If there was something else she wouldn’t be able to handle easily, he needed to know.
She nodded.
“What about heights?”
“No.”
“Spiders?” He could barely say the word without cringing.
She smiled. “I hate them, but if it comes down to them or me, I’ll put up a good fight.”
He pursed his lips. “Hmm. I thought all women were afraid of spiders.”
“So you have noticed I’m a woman?” she mumbled as she glared down at her chest.
Yes. He’d definitely noticed she was a woman.
Could she really be unhappy with the size of her breasts? He supposed a lot of normal-sized women were a testament to irrationality of society. But he liked her small, firm-looking breasts. Especially when they had been barely covered by a thin lacy camisole while he was stitching her up.
“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” he said, and ran his finger along her jaw. She looked up at him, and for a moment he got lost in her eyes.
They seemed to welcome him, urging him to come closer.
So he did.
Her breath brushed enticingly over his lips.
He was nearly home when she laughed and sagged to one side. “Damn, you’re hot.” The words were slightly slurred.
He frowned. Shit. He’d hoped she would have eaten more of her soup before the sedative took effect. It was mild to help with the pain, but on an empty stomach…
On the other hand, he couldn’t kiss her when she was out of it.
Saved from himself. All for the best. He shouldn’t even have been thinking about kissing her.
Josiah Thorne would have his hide if he caught wind of that sort of behavior from one of his senior inspectors.
“Hel-loo?” Sam giggled.
Garrett hiked his eyebrows. “How are we doing?” he asked.
She started to laugh again…then slid from her stool and landed right in his arms.
Not exactly the way he’d planned it. He’d only meant the sedative to help her have a restful night’s sleep. She needed it.
Now she was giggling like a drunken coed. He’d figured she was a lightweight. He hadn’t realized how light.
“You are…very…nice-looking,” she murmured as he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to her room. “But tough. And kind of mean.”
He placed her on the bed. “I am not mean.” He was okay with nice-looking and tough.
“Uh-huh. You don’t like me.”
“Of course I do.” He liked her plenty. Too much, in fact. She was strong and determined and self-confident. Except for that one area—her looks.
He couldn’t understand why she never saw that her asshole of a boyfriend had just been manipulating her into thinking she wasn’t attractive so she wouldn’t leave his ass.
No doubt the jerk had said lots of things to make her feel self-conscious. Nothing blatant—that would have made her see the guy for what he was. Subtle insults. Garrett had seen it before in witnesses. Intimidation by insult was a common method of control.
He wished Sam had known what the guy was up to. She should know how beautiful she was. Had no one ever told her?
“I might look like a boy. But I’m a girl.”
With that, she slid off her pants and threw them at him.
He ducked out of the way, but not before he’d gotten a glimpse of her long legs and the neon green lace panties.
Goddamn. He might have looked longer than he should have, but he managed. “Listen to me, Sam. You do not look like a boy.”
But she hadn’t heard him because she’d fallen backward onto the bed and was already out cold, snoring softly.
He went over and gingerly positioned her on her side, and propped a pillow along her back so she wouldn’t roll over on her fresh stitches. After covering her with the blanket, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Because that was what people did when they tucked someone in. He was pretty sure…
Her damp hair smelled like peaches and cream, and with an inner groan he vowed to never let her pick her own shampoo again. He stroked her cheek and smiled at the thought.
She was exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, but in sleep she finally looked peaceful. He wished she could always look this way. It wasn’t fair that she was running for her life. She deserved better.
He admired her in ways he’d never expected. She gave everything her best shot…even when everyone else in her life had let her down. She was better than the lies.
Like Lance, for example. Garrett knew from his own investigation that the loser had already cheated on her three times before he sent the text that night. Garrett hated the bastard.
But he also knew he was no better, himself. He was lying to Sam, too. A lie so big it made Lance look like a saint in comparison.
But Garrett had no choice in the matter. He was stuck in a bad situation. Unfortunately, Sam would be the one to pay.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered before he left her room.
God, how he wished things were different. If he’d been a normal guy who’d met her at a bar on a normal night in the normal way, they might have had a fighting chance.
But as it was, he didn’t deserve her trust, or her smiles.
And especially not her kisses.
When she found out the truth he was keeping from her, she would hate him.
And he wouldn’t blame her one bit.