It was going to be OK. She was going to be OK.
Exhaustion started to creep over him now, as if by acknowledging that she was alright, he’d given his body permission to start to relax. He fought it, though, since he needed to give her some more antibiotics in less than an hour, and if he fell asleep, he might sleep right on through. No way he was doing that to her. She was depending on him.
She needed him.
He dragged the chair from across the room over next to the bed, plunked down in it. He extended his long legs in front of him, raised his arms overhead, gave a stretch, grimacing at the pull of his overtaxed muscles. He wished hard for a long, hot bath, but he wasn’t about to leave Shay for longer than one minute at a time. Not until he was sure that she was out of the woods. She’d been through enough, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to make it all end for her. He’d made her that promise when he’d seen her slumped and unconscious on the cold stone ground, and he was determined to see it through.
For the rest of his life, Warren was going to remember the nightmare descent from that lonely cave, back to the cabin. What should have been a thirty-minute brisk walk had been a ninety-minute journey from hell.
He’d hauled her up and over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. It hadn’t been ideal, and he’d known it damn good and well: she was fragile and injured, and banging her around against his hard, broad back wouldn’t have helped her much. In an ideal world, he’d have cradled her in his arms against his chest, so gentle and careful. She’d have been able to feel his heartbeat, and he’d have been able to look down and see her face. He’d have been able to talk to her, to reassure and soothe her.
Instead, he’d dragged an unconscious woman down a frozen mountain in the dark, slipping and sliding the whole way, cursing the lack of paths and snagging branches overhead. Shay was a slim woman, but she was a tall woman, too, and although she couldn’t have weighed more than one-hundred-and-thirty pounds, he’d felt every one of them after an hour. He’d lugged fifty-pound bags of grain at the mill for years, done it for eight-hour shifts, six days a week, so he knew he was strong. But carrying a hurt woman down a steep, snowy mountain was a whole different thing.
Warren had gritted his teeth against his screaming, protesting leg muscles, his throbbing abs and lower back, and carried on putting one booted foot in front of the other. He’d taken it steady and calm, watching where he put his foot every single time. The last thing Shay had needed was to be thrown to the ground from his towering height, maybe even getting crushed under his weight as he slipped and fell backwards on top of her.
He’d reached the cabin at last, and as soon as he’d opened the door, he’d rushed her to his bedroom. That had all happened two days ago, but in some ways, it felt like only minutes had passed. Now, he settled his hands on his large thighs, stared at Shay some more as she slept in his bed, all snuggled down in a patch of late-afternoon sun, safe and relaxed.
It was a sight that he could get used to.
She looked so… right in his bed. Like she was meant to be all stretched out next to him at every sunset, and sleeping peacefully next to him at every sunrise. Like she was meant to be the last incredible thing that he saw at night, and the first perfect thing that he saw every day.
Like she was meant to be his.
He’d just finished having this totally bizarre and impractical thought, when she started to shake again, worse this time. He shot to his feet, then fell to his knees next to the bed. He reached out to touch her, and she was cold. Like, freezing cold. So cold that he was more worried now than he’d been when she’d been burning up like a furnace.
Quickly, he gave her the shot of antibiotics, wrapped her in the blankets more tightly, then stoked the fire until it was roaring high and hot. He grabbed the extra blankets that he’d taken from the linen closet, piled them on top of her. But it was no good this time, and he knew it. Her shaking was making the whole damn bed rattle, and her teeth were chattering so hard that he worried about her breaking them.
Goddammit.
Nothing beat body heat, and the most effective way to distribute it was skin-to-skin. He hesitated for a few seconds, then peeled off his t-shirt and jeans. He lifted the mound of covers, slid in next to her. She shuddered and rolled away, moved away from him automatically, but he hauled her up against him, his front pressed to her shaking back.
“Shay,” he said roughly as he caged her in his strong arms. “C’mere, honey.”
“Unnnhhhh,” she muttered, twisting in his embrace to face him, her eyes still shut. “What –”
“Shhhhh.” He pushed some blonde tendrils away from her pale cheeks, tucked them behind her ears. “Hush now, baby. I’ve got you, and you’re OK.”
“Cold,” she whispered against his throat. “So cold.”
“I know.” His grip tightened. “Just stay here, and you’ll warm up.”
Her hands came up to grasp his large upper arms, held on. Warren closed his eyes, lowered his lips to her forehead, dying to kiss her. He’d kiss her over and over, harder and deeper, until she heated up under his hands and lips. Until she was writhing and begging for more: more naked skin, more pleasure, more passion. More of him.
As his cock started to stir, he gave both it and himself a stern talking to. Just what the hell was wrong with him, anyway? Why was he going to mush over a woman that he’d heard speak exactly twenty words, and approximately half of those were while out of her mind with fever? Is this what happened when he didn’t have sex for over three years? He started lusting after the first cute female that he saw in her underwear, even one who was seriously ill?
Jesus Christ, now there was a depressing thought.
He had to be a better man than this. He had to be better for Shay.
He took command of himself now, to hell with his straining cock and dirty fantasies. He breathed deeply, tucked her head under his chin. Her body trembled against his, and he turned all his attention to her, to what she needed.
Warmth, softness, safety.
He could do all of that for her, give her all of that. Hell, yeah, he could.
Warren shut his eyes, and just held on to her. Held on until they both tumbled in to sleep.
**
The first thing that Shay felt was warmth. It surrounded her, a soft cocoon of blue summer sky. Like a pillow made of lazy sunbeams. She wondered when was the last time that she’d ever felt so safe and comfortable.
She opened her eyes. For almost a full minute, she just blinked and stared, totally unable to process what she was looking at.
The warmth was a man in bed with her, a man holding her snug against his chest. Oddly, it was a huge, muscular man. Most oddly of all, it was the huge, muscular man that she’d smashed with a frying pan on her way out the door as she escaped him.
That was when the penny dropped, and all hell broke loose.
With a cry of shock and horror, she sat straight up, fighting to extricate herself from his arms. But even before he’d opened his eyes, nailing her in place with his fierce blue gaze, he gripped her more tightly. Shay struggled against him, knowing it was hopeless even before she began: the power in that body was immense.
Feeling that she had literally nothing else at her disposal to do, she screamed, and that was when he loosened his iron hold. She scrambled backwards, hit the wall with her back, tried to get to her knees. A burning, shooting pain in her right leg stopped her dead, and she actually felt the color drain from her face.
He saw it. He grabbed her again, and she struggled hard. She was tiring, though, tiring surprisingly quickly, and suddenly, the room was swimming and spinning.
“Stop,” he ordered, in that deep, harsh voice that she remembered all too well. “Stop or you’ll rip out your stitches.”
She froze. “My stitches?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do I have stitches?
”
He looked at her closely, his mouth a set line in his hard face. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?” she asked, not sure that she wanted to know. “Did you – did you hit me?”
Those amazing eyes flashed in rage, and he let her go at last. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I – I don’t know.”
“No. I did not hit you.” Every word was a snarl. “I’d never lay a hand on you to hurt you, Shay, so don’t you ever say something like that to me again.”
She fell silent now, confused and uncertain. She shifted, and that was when she realized that she was just in her bra and panties. Horrified, she snatched the bed sheets, yanked them up and over her body. Panic flared again, and got exponentially worse when she saw that he was just in boxers. How she’d missed that astonishing fact was beyond her, now that she’d taken it on board.
“Where are my clothes?” she squeaked, tearing her eyes from the smattering of blond hair covering his broad expanse of chest. She did note the massive bruise, though, and felt a stab of regret at having marred that gorgeous landscape. “Where are your clothes? Did we – did you –”
“No. We didn’t, and I sure as hell didn’t.”
“Oh.” She took a shuddering breath. “So…”
“So. If you promise to sit still, I’ll tell you everything that happened.”
She hesitated, still fighting to push down her fear. Absently, she rubbed the bruises and cuts on her wrists. “And you won’t… hurt me?”
“Hurt you?” There was a light, teasing note in that gravely voice now. “Hey, I’m not the one who went all Ninja stealth-attack, and bashed someone over the head with a frying pan. That was all you, baby.”
“Uh.” She blinked as she took in his grin. It made him even more handsome, if such a thing was possible, and she tilted her head at him, liking the way he called her ‘baby’. It felt strangely familiar, for some reason, and gave her a warm feeling in the pit of her belly. “Yeah, OK. Point taken.”
“Damn right.” He touched the bruise on his cheek. “Direct hit, hellcat.”
“I can see that.”
“Mmmm-hmmm.” God, that little growl was sexy. “You got me.”
“I do believe you got what you deserved,” she said, feeling the need to show some spirit and defend herself a little bit here. “You are the guy holding me against my will.”
“I’m also the guy who saved you from dying of infection, or possibly bleeding out in a mountain cave.”
Shay stared at him. “Bleeding out? Infection?” That was when it all came back to her in a bolt of memory. “Oh, my God. The mountain lion.” She stuck her leg out with a wince, gazed down at the bandage on her lower leg. “These are the stitches that you were talking about?”
“Yep.”
“You stitched me up?”
“I did. I also gave you a few shots of antibiotics. You were burning up with fever for two days.”
She took in his tattoos, his muscles, his ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ vibe, and she felt her face crinkle in puzzlement. “Are you a doctor?”
“No. But I was raised on a farm, and my mama taught me how to tend to the animals. I can inject drugs, figure out appropriate dosages, do stitches, deliver babies.” He paused. “Well. I can deliver baby horses and cows. I’d hesitate to deliver a human baby.”
Shay shocked herself when she laughed. He smiled back.
“Anyway,” he said. “I brought you back here and took care of you.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Three days.”
“What?” she said, stunned. “Three days?”
“Yeah. It’s been touch-and-go, but you turned the corner late last night. Slept well for the first time.”
She glanced down at herself again. “And we’re both half-naked because…”
“You were freezing cold, off-and-on,” he said, all matter-of-fact about sitting there in just his underwear, all hot, hard man and rippling muscles. “I had to warm you up.”
“Oh. Right.”
She bit her lip as a memory of something sweet and light moved over her skin. This man had held her, hadn’t he? Her body knew it, knew it intimately. She had no memory of any of it, nothing beyond some hazy sensations and some murmured words, but her body was humming at how it had felt to be touched by this man.
He’d been incredibly gentle, she knew that much, and more than anything that had happened over the past few days, that surprised her the most. She hadn’t expected goodness here, in this place. Not with him; certainly not from him.
“What’s your name?” she blurted out.
As soon as the question left her lips, her eyes widened. She hadn’t thought at all before asking him that, hadn’t even known that she’d wanted to ask the question. It was out there now, though, and suddenly, she found that she really wanted the answer.
He regarded her steadily. “You want my birth name or my road name?”
“Well, that depends,” she said slowly.
“On what?”
“On who you’ve been these past three days. Everything that you’ve done for me – did you do that as a member of the Fallen Angels doing a babysitting job for the club? Or did you do all that as yourself?”
“That was all me, Shay,” he said, so husky-soft that she believed him. “There was nobody here but us. I promise you.”
She smiled, and his heart almost cracked open at the sight.
“Then tell me your real name,” she said.
“Warren. Warren Kane.”
“Warren.” She liked saying his name, she was shocked to find. It suited him, and it didn’t, and she had no clue what she meant by either of those things.
Those blue eyes were gazing at her, and the tenderness she saw in them unnerved her suddenly. What the hell did an outlaw biker know about being gentle and tender and caring? And why was she so ready to believe that she was safe with him? Nothing about this man was safe, and the sooner she got her head straight about that, the better.
Flustered, she averted her eyes, scrambled to find a neutral subject that didn’t involve talking about their state of near-undress. Her gaze fell to the bandage on her leg again.
“This cabin has all that kind of medical stuff?” she said. “Antibiotics and syringes? A suture kit?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“So what is this place, then?”
“It’s whatever it has to be at the time.” He gestured at her leg. “We have a full-on medical kit here, so sometimes we use this place when a Fallen Angel is injured on a job. They can heal up and recover after some minor surgery. But this place is also a hide-out when the heat is on, a place to relax and recharge, a place to meet in secret away from the clubhouse…”
“A place to hold a hostage,” Shay interrupted him before she could stop herself.
He gave her a hard, narrow look. “Yeah. That too.”
Silence fell between them now, the warmth between them cooled, and they both remembered just what the hell they were doing there. Their eyes held, trying to read each other’s faces and thoughts, then they both looked away at the same time.
Shay may have been stupidly grateful for one hot minute that the man had helped her, but she had to remember that the only reason she’d been injured in the first place was because she’d been escaping him. He was one of her captors, and no matter how sweet and gentle he’d shown himself capable of being when she was hurt and helpless, he was a bad guy. A criminal. A one-percenter. A killer. A violent, brutal man whose only allegiance was to his brothers, and to his club. He’d turn on her without a second of thought, and beat her near-to-death if he was told to do so, undoing all of the healing that he’d so carefully and patiently bestowed upon her.
And speaking of the healing: he hadn’t taken care of her because he gave a good
goddamn about her. No, his job was to keep her in one piece until her fate was decided. He’d seriously fucked up by letting her knock him out and run, and he’d had to get her back, had to nurse her back to health for the negotiations. She was only useful whole and alive, after all. Her bleeding out in a cave would mean that the Fallen Angels would have exactly zero leverage over her brother. None of this was personal to him, and she’d better not forget that again.
Actually… one part of this was personal to him, she knew. If he’d let her get away, or if she’d died, then his own President would have ended him with a bullet to the head. No doubt about that, since that was how these idiots rolled. So Warren Kane was only interested in saving his own ass – and that had meant saving hers.
She was bitterly sorry for her moment of softness now. Sorry that she knew his real name, sorry that she knew any name that he went by at all. Sorry that she’d allowed herself to see him as human, even just for a minute.
Well. That wouldn’t be happening again.
From Warren’s side, he reminded himself that this was Crusher Alcott’s sister – and that made her both a useful pawn and an enemy of the club. He had no idea what Ace and Kirk Jensen had planned for Shay, but he knew that they’d want her off their hands as soon as possible. Getting attached to a woman who was going to just up and disappear back to her real life one day soon made no sense whatsoever.
Well. Getting more attached than he already was, at least.
“So, girl,” he said, aiming for barely-civil, even though it hurt him to be cruel and dismissive to her. He’d held her slim curves to him as she'd slept, inhaled her scent of vanilla, touched her silky skin. How the fuck did it make a lick of sense to be cold and aloof now? “It’s past noon. You gonna laze around some more?”
She did need some more sleep; of course she did. It killed her to admit this weakness to him, but she had to be smart about this. If she was going to make her next escape her last one, then she had to get her strength back. She had to rest up, eat, and take a good look around the cabin. Since the cell service out this far was non-existent, there had to be a land line in here somewhere. Probably in one of the locked rooms, down the hall near the bathroom.
Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) Page 6