by Susan Stoker
“I’m left-handed,” Dane said sadly, staring blankly down at the hand holding the pen.
“Can you sign with your prosthetic?” Bryn asked, realizing she knew next to nothing about how they worked, and vowing to get on her computer the second she got home to learn everything she could about arm and hand prosthetics.
At her question, Dane dropped the pen and sat up straighter on the barstool. He brought his left arm up from where it had been resting in his lap and pulled the long sleeve of his T-shirt up, exposing a stump just below his elbow where his arm used to be. He wasn’t wearing his prosthetic. He smirked at her, obviously expecting her to be shocked or disgusted.
“Okay then, that’s a no. Fine. You’ll have to sign with your right hand. Go on now.” Bryn held his gaze, waiting patiently.
“You didn’t even blink. Seen a lot of these, Smalls?”
“Smalls?”
He grinned. “Yup.”
“What’s that?”
“You.”
“Me?” she asked dumbly.
“Uh huh,” Dane nodded vigorously, too enthusiastically, and Bryn had to throw an arm around his waist to keep him from toppling off the chair. “You’re small. Tiny. Teeny. Little. Cute. Smalls.”
“The average height of an American woman is five-five. I’m only a few inches below that. I’m not that small,” Bryn protested.
“Yeah, you are,” the bartender interjected. “Now, can you have him sign the damn slip so you can get him the fuck out of here?”
“I can sign,” Dane sighed. “Give me the pen.”
“It’s right in front of you,” Bryn told him.
“Oh, yeah.” With that, Dane grabbed the pen he’d dropped earlier, bent over the paper, holding it still with the stump on his left arm, and painstakingly signed the credit card slip with his right hand with a childlike scrawl. He wasn’t kidding, he definitely had been a lefty. He looked up at Bryn when he was finished. “Can’t see to add a tip. And can’t write worth a damn with my right hand anyway. Can you do it?”
Bryn knew Dane was drunk. Knew he had no clue who she was, otherwise he wouldn’t be so nice to her, but it felt good that he was trusting her to add a tip onto his bill. She could be in cahoots with the bartender and add an exorbitant amount and he’d never know until it was too late. Memorizing the feeling in her chest, pleasure that Dane was trusting her, she merely nodded and took the pen from him, adding a twenty percent tip, figuring the bartender probably deserved it. She slid it over to the impatient employee.
He glanced at the amount she’d written in and nodded his thanks, probably thinking he’d be screwed by the extremely drunk man and the unknown woman who’d come to pick him up.
“You need help getting him to your car?”
Bryn picked up Dane’s credit card and slid it back into the slot in his wallet. She glanced at the address on his driver’s license, relieved to see it wasn’t too far away and that she recognized the street name. It wasn’t in the city of Rathdrum, but was only a few miles away. She closed the wallet and eased it back into Dane’s back pocket.
“Careful, Smalls, I might think you’re hittin’ on me.”
Ignoring Dane for the moment, she turned to the bartender. “Yes, please.”
“Give me five.”
Bryn nodded and turned back to Dane and held out her hand. “Keys.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do I know you?”
Bryn’s heart rate sped up. God, he couldn’t recognize her now. He’d never get home. She shook her head and lied. “No.”
“You look familiar, Smalls.”
Bryn smiled at his continued use of the nickname he’d christened her with.
“You don’t know me.” Bryn wasn’t lying. He’d seen her, but he didn’t know her. No one did, really.
Raising his hand, Dane grabbed another handful of her long hair and brought it back up to his nose and inhaled again. “God. You smell so good.”
“It’s my shampoo. And I hate to say it, but anything would smell better than this dump.”
Dane’s eyes twinkled as they looked at her. Their heads were close, even with him sitting and her standing. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
“You ready to go home?” Bryn whispered, feeling off-kilter at the tender look in his gray eyes. The last time she’d seen them, they’d been shooting daggers at her. She much preferred his current look than the one of hatred he’d aimed her way at the grocery store.
“Yeah, let’s go home.” His voice was low and seductive.
Bryn shivered. “Keys.” She was still whispering.
“They’re in my pocket, Smalls. My front pocket.” He grinned shamelessly and leaned back in the chair.
Bryn looked down at his lap and gasped. The bulge in his jeans was huge. She whipped her eyes back up to his.
“Like what you see, Smalls?”
Straightening her spine, Bryn teased, “Wow, that’s a big key ring you have there, soldier.”
He laughed. The sound echoing around the now empty room. Shifting in the seat, he reached into his pocket and drew out the key ring. “Killin’ me, Smalls. Killin’ me.”
He held out the key ring, which consisted of two keys…one obviously to the shiny new truck in the lot, and the other looked like it would fit a house lock. “What you saw is allll me. And when we get home, I’ll show it to you up close and personal.”
Bryn grabbed the keys and blushed at the heat radiating off them, warmth from his body, his cock.
“Let’s go. I got shit to do.” The bartender’s voice was harsh and cut through whatever flirting they’d been doing, bringing Bryn back to earth with a thump. Dane wasn’t flirting with her, it was only because he was drunk as a skunk, couldn’t even see straight, and she was female. Men didn’t flirt with her. Ever.
“Thanks. It’s the big green truck in the lot.”
The bartender nodded and hauled Dane upright, putting his arm around his waist as he stumbled. They shuffled toward the exit, and Bryn hurried ahead to open the door. They made their way into the crisp night air and toward Dane’s truck. The bartender held on to his arm as Dane all but crawled into the cab of the truck. He slammed the door impatiently behind Dane and stalked back toward the bar without a word.
“Thanks,” Bryn called out.
The bartender waved his hand in recognition of her words, but didn’t turn around or slow his trek back to the bar.
Bryn didn’t watch him disappear through the wooden door, but walked around the truck to the driver’s side. She looked over at her car on the other side of the parking lot and shrugged. She’d have to walk back to pick it up when she got Dane settled inside his house, but that was fine with her. She’d just make sure Dane got home all right then come back. Not a big deal.
Climbing up into the seat, she grunted in dissatisfaction. Her feet didn’t come anywhere near the pedals and she could barely see over the dashboard.
Dane roared in laughter, holding his sides in mirth as he doubled over.
Bryn glared at him with her arms crossed, waiting for him to breathe normally again.
“Told ya you were small.”
Bryn wanted to be pissed, but she’d never seen anything so hot in all her life as Dane Munroe laughing as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Somehow, she knew it wasn’t normal. Not for him. “You done?” she asked, trying to sound stern, but knowing she’d failed.
“Yeah.” Then he chuckled again. “Okay, no. Seriously, I’m not sure you’re gonna be able to drive Mish May.”
“Miss May?”
“My truck.”
Bryn rolled her eyes. She had no clue why men named their vehicles. It wasn’t logical. She reached down to the side of the seat and smiled as she found the knob that would move it forward. She tilted the bottom of the seat down to bring her feet closer to the pedals and sighed in relief when they comfortably reached. Looking around, she spied a jacket in the backseat.
“Can I use your coat?”
&n
bsp; “You cold, Smalls? I can keep you warm.”
Bryn shivered. His seductive voice reached deep within her and curled around her heart. She couldn’t remember anyone ever speaking to her like that. Not once. Without breaking eye contact, she said in a low voice, “I need to put it behind my back.”
“I can support you,” Dane began, reaching his arm out. He stopped abruptly and scowled at where his arm used to be. “Fuck. I forgot. Yes, you can use my coat,” he finished, and sat back in the seat with his arms crossed over his wide chest.
Hating to see his good mood vanish, Bryn reached behind the seat for his jacket and said what she was thinking, as usual. “Thanks. This’ll work for the most part, but if you support my back as well, that’d help more. You can scoot over to the middle if you think you can’t reach. I don’t mind if you don’t.”
Dane looked at her with glazed eyes and held up his left arm. “I only have half an arm.”
“So?”
“So?” He looked confused.
“Yeah, so?” Bryn reached out and grasped his biceps and squeezed. “You feel strong enough to hold me. You said I was small. So what’s the problem?”
Dane narrowed his eyes at her. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“No.” Bryn didn’t pretend to not know what he was talking about. “And it shouldn’t bother you either. Dane, you’re extremely good-looking. You’re strong and buff. And even though you’re drunk off your ass, you’re still a gentleman. I don’t care if you touch me with your stump. It’s not like it’s contagious or anything. And besides, I’d like us to get to your home in one piece, and you helping support my back as I’m driving Miss May would be appreciated.”
He looked confused, and Bryn almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“I’m left-handed.”
“Good. That means that arm is stronger then.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah. Okay then, I’m starting the truck.”
“You can drive a stick shift?”
Bryn laughed. “Now’s a fine time to ask me that. Yes, I can drive a standard transmission. I wouldn’t think you would want to with your missing hand, but I suppose since you still have your elbow, it’s easy enough to steer while you’re shifting with your right hand. Now, buckle up.” She turned to stuff his jacket behind her and sat up straight. She could’ve used something to sit on to make it easier to see over the huge hood of the truck, but she didn’t have too far to go. Besides, if she sat on the jacket, her feet wouldn’t reach the pedals. She’d make do.
Putting the truck in reverse, Bryn looked behind her to make sure no one was there, and jerked when Dane’s arm touched her upper back. She glanced at him. He moved over to the middle seat and put one leg on either side of the gear shift.
Bryn swallowed hard. He wasn’t smiling, his serious and piercing gray eyes fixed on her face. “I might be missing my hand, but I’m still all man. And real men drive stick shifts.” He paused, then continued. “You’re sure we haven’t met? I feel like I remember you.”
“I’m sure.” She reached out and grabbed his knee, then blushed and moved her hand to the gearshift, which was what she’d been aiming for. “Sorry. I was trying to shift.”
They both looked down, and just like that, drunk, flirty Dane was back. “Gotta say, Smalls, I’ve wanted your hand between my legs since you walked into the bar…but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Bryn shifted into first gear and brought her hand back to the steering wheel. “Hang on, Dane. I’ll have you home in no time.”
He didn’t say anything, but Bryn knew he hadn’t passed out. She felt the hard length of his biceps against her back and the stump of his arm, just below his elbow, was pressed against her left side. If he leaned over just a couple inches more, he’d be touching her breast with what remained of his arm. As she turned or shifted gears, Dane pressed his arm into her, supporting her and helping her stay upright. The warmth from his skin, even through his shirt, seeped into her very being. Not having experienced much body contact in the past, Bryn tried to memorize the moment as she drove Dane home.
She didn’t think he’d remember anything about the night, but knew it was an experience she’d never, ever forget. Not even if she lived to be one hundred. How could you forget the moment you were treated as a normal, desirable female for the first time ever?
Chapter Three
Dane was still conscious when she pulled up to his house, thank goodness. He pressed the opener, and she pulled into his spacious garage. She couldn’t see his house very well in the dark, but it was surrounded by a couple acres of land, if the long driveway was anything to go by, and looked to be a one-story house.
She jumped out of the truck and went around to the passenger side. Dane practically fell out of the cab and laughed like a maniac as they stumbled inside.
“Where’s your room?”
“Down the hall. First door on the left. I can’t wait to see your tits.”
Bryn almost dropped him at his words, but managed to steer him in the right direction. She helped him to his bed and winced as he fell forward onto it face first.
“Get up onto the mattress, Dane,” she begged, knowing she wouldn’t be able to lift him into position if he passed out with his legs hanging off the bed as he was.
It took some work, but eventually she got him rolled over onto his back and more or less lying properly on the mattress.
“You comin’?”
“I don’t think so. You gonna be all right?”
Dane pouted. “I don’t even get a peek at your tits? It seems only fair.”
“I don’t understand what looking at my breasts has anything to do with me helping you home, and making sure you didn’t drive drunk and kill yourself—or anyone else.”
Dane looked stunned for a moment, then laughed once again. Throwing his head back and guffawing as if she’d said the funniest thing he’d ever heard in his life. When he finally had control over himself, he moved his hand to the button of his jeans and fumbled, attempting to undo them.
After watching him struggle for a moment, she ordered, “Move. I’ll do it.” She wasn’t happy with how much difficulty he was having, trying to undo the stubborn button with only one hand. It was just one more thing she hadn’t ever thought about, but seeing firsthand how hard it was made her suddenly more aware of how tough doing simple everyday things must be for Dane.
She made quick work of the button and pulled down the zipper. “There. You gonna be able to get those off by yourself?”
“No,” he retorted immediately. “I need your help, Smalls.”
Taking him at his word, Bryn immediately went to his feet. She unlaced his boots and pulled them off. She peeled his socks off, then ordered, “Lift your ass and I’ll tug.”
“Aw man…that’s not what I meant.”
“Up, Dane.”
He lifted his butt off the bed, and Bryn pulled his jeans down his legs and laid them on the floor. “There. Now your shirt.”
He merely stared at her. All humor off his face now.
“Dane?”
“I don’t take my shirt off to sleep.”
“What? Why not? It’s a scientific fact, supported by a dissertation by Milton Grumball, who graduated Magna Cum Laude from Harvard in nineteen eighty-four, that men sleep better naked.”
He blinked at her, then the right side of his mouth twitched. “Was that a joke or a fact?”
She grinned for a moment, but said, “It’s a fact. Arms up.” Her voice was no-nonsense, and she moved to the head of the bed and waited for him to comply.
For the first time in her life, Bryn felt tall as she hovered over Dane on the bed. She looked into his eyes and saw hesitation and uncertainty. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want you to see me.”
“But you wanted to see me.”
A spark of interest blossomed in his eyes, chasing away the insecurity that had lingered. “True. How about a trade?”
Br
yn thought about it for a moment before clarifying, “You’ll take off your shirt if I show you my breasts?”
“Yes.”
“Deal. You first. Arms up,” Bryn repeated.
Dane lifted his arms as if in a trance, not taking his eyes off her face. Bryn felt herself blushing, but helped lift his shirt up over his chest and off his arms.
She got a good look at his left arm for the first time. It actually looked a lot less…injured…than Bryn expected. She’d only gotten a quick glimpse in the bar, and wasn’t sure what she thought it would be like, but it really did appear as if his arm just ended halfway between his elbow and where his hand should be. The skin over the stump was healed and, other than a few raised pink scars, was smooth. She had no idea what had happened to him, but she figured he was probably lucky he hadn’t lost the arm above his elbow. The range of tasks he could still perform would’ve been more restricted if he didn’t have his elbow, in her limited opinion.
Thoughts of how a prosthetic fit onto his arm and how it worked swam in her mind. Tilting her head, she wondered what the stump felt like, how much feeling he had in it, if he experienced phantom pains…and a million other things.
Bryn reached for his arm without thought.
He jerked it away from her. “Don’t.”
“I want to touch it,” Bryn insisted, her desire for knowledge overcoming the unwritten societal rules that said you weren’t supposed to touch people’s pregnant bellies or scars.
“Why?”
“It’s amazing. I’m fascinated.”
“It’s hid-hidemous…ugly,” Dane got out.
“It is not,” she exclaimed harshly. “Don’t say that, Dane. It’s a miracle. I can’t imagine what happened to you, but I’m impressed at the doctors who worked on you. They did a great job.”
As if her words were hypnotizing, Dane didn’t move away when she reached toward him a second time.
Running her hand over the stump on his arm, Bryn whispered, sitting on the mattress next to his hip, “It’s smooth. Does it hurt?”
“Not really. Not anymore,” Dane said in a low tone.
Bryn examined his arm, lost in scientific facts and images in her mind. She even bent down at one point to run her cheek over the skin, amazed at how soft it was. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been running her hands over his stump and examining it when Dane finally slurred, “Your turn, Smalls. I showed you mine—show me yours.”