“There are worse things in this world than getting shot,” he corrected me. “Your arm will heal, but I need you to focus on keeping pressure on the wound.”
Several cop cars flew past us and I swiveled my head, watching them drive by. All my life, I’d been taught to call 9-1-1 for help. Yet, here I was, gripping the strip of cloth Blaine had tied around my arm as we drove away from the police—away from the scene of a crime. I was trusting Blaine with my life and hoping if I held on to the cloth tightly enough, some of the pain would disappear. No such luck, but at least I wasn’t dripping blood anymore.
Blood.
From a bullet wound.
In my arm.
Where I’d been shot.
Holy crap.
“I was shot,” I whispered, realization setting in as I trembled in my seat.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Blaine tried to reassure me.
“I don’t think anything will ever be okay again.” I didn’t see how it was possible considering the situation I found myself in.
“Don’t fucking talk like that,” he swore. “I should never have brought you with me in the first place, but I sure as hell will make sure you’re okay.”
It was clear he was blaming himself for my injury. If I were in my right mind, maybe I would be blaming him, too. Maybe I hadn’t been thinking clearly since I met him. Whatever the excuse, the truth was, I didn’t blame him for the bullet wound in my arm. “Don’t even try to go there. You needed me with you so Serena’s co-workers would open up. If I hadn’t come with, Tasha might not have talked to you. And if she hadn’t talked, we wouldn’t have a lead right now.”
“And you wouldn’t have been clipped by a fucking bullet!” he roared.
Just like that, Mr. Calm and Collected left the building, replaced by Mr. Furious. I’d never seen someone so filled with rage before. I should have been terrified, but it was hard to be scared of a man who was this pissed off in my honor. Instead, it set off a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
I held my breath until Blaine’s focus shifted away from me to his phone. He called someone and explained the situation, asking for directions to somewhere he could take me to get my arm looked at. We drove through downtown and into what was most definitely a bad neighborhood with boarded up storefronts and graffiti on the buildings. I didn’t understand why we were there until Blaine parked in front of a small clinic.
Everyone’s eyes were on us in the waiting room, but it didn’t take long before we were ushered back, even though it was already full when we arrived. As we were shown into an exam room, Blaine insisted we stay together—not that anybody was putting up much resistance to the idea. The clinic was small and didn’t seem to have the same rules about privacy as a hospital would. Surprisingly, the doctor joined us a couple minutes later.
Without the help of a nurse, he removed the makeshift bandage to reveal the bullet hole in my arm. “You are aware I need to report this to the police, correct?” the doctor asked after examining the wound.
Blaine looked around the examination room before answering. “I’m aware you’re supposed to report bullet wounds to the police, but I think need is too strong a word. Looks to me like there are other things you need more than the paperwork you’ll have to fill out if you make that call. Things I can help you get so you’ll be better equipped to provide care to your patients in the future.”
The doctor’s eyebrow arched in surprise as his gaze swept over us again. “What you’re asking of me doesn’t come cheap.”
“You name your price and I’ll make sure it gets paid.”
My jaw dropped at Blaine’s response, but the doctor took it in stride. He pulled his prescription pad out of his pocket and jotted something down before tearing it off and handing it to Blaine. After a quick glance down, Blaine nodded. “Consider it done.”
“Okay,” the doctor agreed before turning to me and shifting gears quickly. He was clearly more accustomed to situations like this than I was. “You’re lucky. It looks like there isn’t any bone or neurovascular damage, but you are going to need stitches.”
“I’ve never had stitches before,” I admitted nervously. The idea of this man sticking a needle in my throbbing arm, over and over again, freaked me out.
The doctor patted my hand gently. “I’ve given thousands of them in my time. I’m going to inject you with a local anesthetic before I stitch you back up so you won’t feel a thing.”
I felt the sting of the shot before he cleaned out my wound and stitched me up. At Blaine’s insistence, he followed that up by poking, prodding, and x-raying me to ensure I hadn’t done additional damage when I went down. We were both relieved to hear my wrist wasn’t broken, nor were my ribs cracked. I had a small bump on the back of my head, but no signs of a concussion. The bruises were bad enough to where I was going to be sore for a while, but the doctor gave me a prescription to help with the pain, along with an antibiotic to prevent infection.
“You’ll want to keep your arm elevated. Protect the wound while showering so it stays dry and change the bandage twice daily. I’d like to see you back in three days. If that’s not possible, then you should see your doctor for follow-up care,” he instructed, giving additional details about signs of infection and emergency care while I listened intently. “Any questions?”
I had about a million of them, but apparently Blaine thought he had it all covered. “I’ll take care of her.”
“That just leaves the matter of our payment arrangement,” the doctor reminded Blaine.
“I can wire it to you from my phone right now.”
I listened as the doctor gave him his account information and tried unsuccessfully to peek over Blaine’s shoulder so I could see how much he was paying for the doctor’s silence. I was worried it was a ton of money because he wouldn’t let me see and then he bundled me out of there before I could ask any more questions.
After a stop at the pharmacy for my prescriptions and dressing supplies, we were finally pulling into the parking garage at the hotel. Blaine helped me up to the suite and got me settled on the couch. It was late afternoon and I was sore and tired. I wanted nothing more than to medicate myself into a deep slumber and wake up in the morning to a world where nobody thought I was dead and bad guys weren’t shooting at me.
“Food, meds, and then bed,” Blaine barked out.
“How about I skip the meal, take a pain pill, and crash?”
He shook the bottle of pills, rattling them. “Doc said you take these with food, so you’re gonna eat something before I hand them over.”
I was sitting on a couch with a bullet wound in my arm and my body half covered in bruises. My brain was spinning from everything that happened today and his words and dominating tone should have pissed me off instead of turning me on. Heck, even if he stripped down naked I shouldn’t feel anything other than pain right now, but my body apparently wasn’t willing to listen to reason. Neither was my brain. Not when it came to Blaine.
“I guess I’m going to let you cook for me after all.”
A smile spread across his face, giving him an unexpectedly playful look, making him even more attractive. I felt like it was my reward for being able to focus long enough to recall exactly what I’d said during our argument earlier. “Then I guess I better do my best to make sure it doesn’t taste crappy.”
“Can you manage sandwiches? Or something else quick? I don’t think I’m going to be able to last much longer without that pain pill you’re holding hostage.”
“Absolutely, baby.” I shivered at his use of the endearment. I’d liked it when he’d called me baby when we were at the real estate office, but I thought it was just part of our act. Hearing him say it again here, in the suite, when we were all alone, was even better. It was just for him and me—not because he was putting on a show for someone else. It made the word more meaningful, as though something had shifted between us when I was shot.
“I’m going to change while you’re making lunc
h.” My clothes were destroyed. I wanted the bloody mess off my body and thrown in the trash. Unfortunately, it was a heck of a lot easier in theory. I was starting to feel the pain and it took me longer than I thought it would to get out of my clothes, leaving me standing in just my panties when Blaine knocked on the door.
“Lunch is ready. You need any help in there?”
I grabbed the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around myself before answering the door. “Do you have a button-down shirt I can borrow?”
Blaine’s eyes flared with heat as they scanned down my legs, traveling back up again and pausing at my chest like maybe he had x-ray vision and could see through the blanket. “Only the one I was wearing when I hopped on the plane, but you’re welcome to borrow it.”
When he bent over to dig through his bag, my eyes were drawn to his ass, lovingly hugged by his jeans. My reaction time was slow and he caught me staring when he turned around with a white dress shirt in his hands. His smug grin was enough for me to know he had a good idea of exactly what I’d been looking at.
“Thanks,” I whispered, looking down at the floor as I felt heat sweep across my cheeks.
“Get settled in bed and I’ll bring in the sandwiches.”
Taking the shirt from him, I waited until he walked out of the room to drop the comforter back on the bed. When I’d asked to borrow a shirt from him, I wasn’t expecting a tuxedo shirt—especially not one that smelled like him. It perfectly suited my purposes though: big enough so it hung mid-thigh and I was able to roll up the sleeve past the bandage on my arm. With the buttons, I didn’t have to worry about pulling it over my head later if the pain worsened. The best part was it made me feel like I had him wrapped around me.
I was pulling the covers around me when he came back into the room, carrying a plate stacked high with sandwiches in one hand and a tall glass of milk, of all things, in the other. “Milk?”
“It will speed the entry of the pain pills into your digestive system and minimize stomach upset.”
My nose scrunched up. Milk was one of my least favorite drinks. “You seem pretty knowledgeable about medical stuff.”
“Being a SEAL, you learn a bit about medicine. Putting pressure on a wound, stitching a cut, sinking an IV. You have to be prepared for all kinds of things in the field.”
“They teach you big, bad tough guys to drink milk in the SEALs?” I asked as I took a sandwich from the plate.
“Nah,” he answered, shaking his head. “My mom taught me that trick when I was a kid.”
Blaine’s voice held such warmth when he mentioned his mom. It showed a softer side to him—one I found appealing. “Were you sick often when you were little?”
“I was as healthy as a horse when I wasn’t breaking one bone or another.”
It was difficult to picture him as a young boy. His personality was larger than life. He was too commanding to think of him as someone’s beloved son, but I felt like I could listen to him talk about his childhood for hours. I kept asking questions as we ate our sandwiches in bed. When mine was half gone, Blaine handed me two pills. By the time I finished, I was fighting to keep my eyes open and my words started to slur as I tried to learn as much as I could about Blaine while he was willing to answer my questions. Eventually, he stretched out on the bed, his back against the headboard, and pulled me against his chest. Between the warmth of his body, the soothing sound of his voice, and the pain pills, it was impossible to resist the pull of sleep. I drifted off. And then the dreams came.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept, but the room was dark when my body jerked as I awoke with the sound of gunshots ringing in my ears. My heart was racing as I frantically searched the room until I realized it was just a bad dream. The moment Blaine’s arms closed around me, I felt protected and safe—like he was standing guard between me and the world. No other man had ever safeguarded me in quite the same way, except maybe my dad. The extremeness of our situation might have been partially responsible for my feelings, but I didn’t care. I was invested enough to want to see what happened next. Then I gazed into Blaine’s eyes and saw the tortured look as he stared at the bandage on my arm and I knew—even though this thing growing between us was still undefined and incredibly new, his feelings were as deeply engaged as mine.
Chapter 9
Blaine
“I’m okay,” she whispered, chanting it over and over again.
Her voice shook and I could see the panic she was trying to hide from me. She’d been so peaceful when she fell asleep in my arms a few hours ago. Cuddling had never been my thing, but I found myself laying there with her until I eventually fell asleep, too. When she started to twitch, I woke up and tried to soothe her, knowing she needed as much rest as she could get to help speed the healing process along. I knew I should step away and give her some time to regroup, but I couldn’t force my body to move. Wanting to put her at ease, I kept my breathing slow and willed my body to relax. After a few minutes, her breathing slowed to match mine.
I took a deep breath, drawing her scent into my lungs as I ran my palms over her back. She’d been shot. A bullet had ripped through her silky soft skin and it had happened under my watch. I didn’t know if I would ever forgive myself, or if she would ever forgive me for putting her at risk.
“It’s almost time for another pain pill,” I murmured into her hair.
“Not yet.”
“Now, baby,” I insisted. “I don’t want you in pain.”
“I’ll take one in a minute, but they muddle my brain and I want you to know this is me talking and not the medication,” she mumbled into my shirt before tilting her head back and looking me straight in the eyes. “Please don’t blame yourself for this.”
“Who the fuck else should I blame?” I growled.
“The person who shot me,” she replied, like it was the obvious answer.
“It’s not that simple, Delia,” I sighed. “I’m the one who gave Serena the contact who helped her check into the hotel under your name in the first place. The one who talked you into not calling the police. I drove down to that real estate office because it would make it easier for me to get the answers I needed and then I let you walk outside without me—without any protection.”
“It doesn’t seem that simple to me,” she argued. “Serena’s the one who made the decision to use my name, not you. She pulled me into this, not you. Everything else after that is on me. Ultimately, I make my own decisions. So, if you aren’t willing to blame the bad guys for this mess, then I guess you’re going to have to share the responsibility with me.”
She was hopped up on pain meds, her face was pale, her eyes were bruised, and she had a bullet wound in her arm, yet I didn’t think I had ever seen a woman look more beautiful in my life as she argued with me. Suddenly, the danger I’d unwittingly dragged her into didn’t matter. The fact that we’d only known each other for a day didn’t make a difference either. I wasn’t able to keep my distance any longer, not after watching her hit the pavement after taking a bullet. Not after that brief moment when I wasn’t sure where she’d been hit—whether she’d live or die. All that mattered right now was my need to touch her. I had to show her I cared. Show her I wanted her.
Reaching up to cup her cheek with one hand, I swept my thumb gently over the bruise forming on her cheek. She drew in a deep breath at the touch of my fingers. Her gaze flicked down to my mouth before moving back to my eyes. Her pulse fluttered faster in her throat. As I recognized the heat in her gaze, I felt an intense wave of possessive desire shoot through me.
Sliding my palm to the back of her head, I was driven by my need to protect this woman. To make her mine in the most primal way. Leaning down, I covered her mouth with mine. I captured her soft gasp, sliding my tongue along the seam of her lips and driving it inside when her lips parted beneath mine. When she made a soft sound in the back of her throat and pressed her curvy body against me, my hardened cock twitched, pressing against my zipper.
I was aching for
her. Nothing would make me happier than to peel away her clothes and taste every inch of her. I wanted to make her beg for my cock. She moaned and I realized it wasn’t in pleasure but pain. With a groan, I pulled back and searched her eyes. Although they were heated with desire and glazed over from our kiss, I knew she was in pain. As deeply as I regretted it, now wasn’t the time to move this any further.
I moved away, but her whimper of protest was almost enough to make me change my mind.
“Don’t you want me?” she whispered.
“You have no idea how much I want you,” I assured her. “Unfortunately, now’s not the right time for this.”
“But...” I pressed my finger to her lips and then the ringing of my phone saved me.
“I need to take this call. It’s probably Brody letting me know when his flight lands,” I explained, reaching over to grab the bottle of pain medication from the nightstand. “It’s time for another pill. I’ll get you some water and a snack.”
I swiftly pressed my lips against hers one last time before leaving the bed and answering the phone. “You on your way?”
“Already landed.” His answer should have surprised me, but it didn’t. He was probably out the door and headed to the airport fifteen minutes after I asked him to come. “I’ll be at the hotel in about fifteen minutes unless you need me to pick something up on my way.”
“I think we’ve got everything we need.”
“Then I guess the cozy twosome will be a threesome sooner rather than later.”
Brody’s sense of humor was quirky and it never failed to amuse me even in the direst of situations. But I didn’t find his use of the word “threesome” in reference to Delia the slightest bit funny. He didn’t give me a chance to bust his ass over it before he hung up, though. The bastard.
“You forgot my water and snack,” Delia said. I turned to find her standing behind me in the doorway, still dressed in my shirt, her arm cradled protectively against her chest. “I could really use it. My arm’s starting to throb again.”
Identity Crisis Page 8