Rush_Hector & Millie

by Marianne Knightly

“Hey, man, you need help?” Daley rushed over and snuck under Hector’s other arm.

  He had briefed the staff, so they all knew he wore prosthetics. He hadn’t gone into detail, but he’d said enough so they’d know what to do if he needed help. “Chair.”

  Low and Daley hefted him up, then adjusted their hold on him.

  “Sure you don’t want your office?” Low asked.

  It was probably better. He no doubt needed to adjust his prosthetic, but damn, he needed to be out here, seeing to his business and his customers.

  Low spoke quietly, but Daley probably still heard. “I can take care of things out here, man. Don’t worry.”

  Don’t worry. His business could be ruined from day one and the man who was his silent business partner, his friend, his brother had his back again. Would he ever stop owing Low? Would he ever be able to pay him back?

  They helped him down the hall to the office. He staggered a little on his right foot but made it to the chair inside the room. When he was alone, he dropped his face into his hands.

  What was he going to do now?

  Months of work had led up to this day. Months of dealing with contractors, permits, city bureaucracy, licenses, hiring staff, and finding new suppliers since Piers had ticked off any they’d had…it had been months of eighteen-plus hour days to get the pub to where it was. Months of hard work and sweat, months of giving it everything he had.

  With one brick, it felt ruined.

  He felt ruined on top of that.

  Gritting his teeth, he rolled up his pant leg. His stub was aching and felt scraped raw. He probably landed it on it badly. He popped off the leg and checked it—nothing broken or out of shape.

  He sagged against the chair and let out a breath of relief. With his next prosthetics already taking months to finalize, he was worried he’d be living on one leg if it had gotten damaged significantly.

  The socks he wore on his stump, on the other hand, had ripped. The socks helped fill in the space so the socket in his prosthetic fit better, but they hadn’t held up in the fall. He pulled them off and was relieved to find that the liner underneath his socks was twisted but relatively fine. He rolled the silicone liner off and checked his skin—a little inflamed yet fine otherwise.

  He’d need a couple new socks, at the very least.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have an extra set in his office, something he’d rectify as soon as possible.

  Fortunately, since he lived above the pub, he had some upstairs. But, he’d have to ask Low for his help. Again. Would he ever feel like a whole man who could handle things on his own without help?

  A knock came at the door. Thinking it was Low, who’d seen him without his prosthetics—he’d actually seen him much worse—he told him to come in.

  But it was Amelia.

  “Hector? I just—Oh!” She closed her eyes and put a hand over her glasses, as if she’d just caught him naked, and accidentally kicked the door shut. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to, uh…I’ll just, um…”

  Some people might be offended by that reaction but, from her, it was just cute.

  Even with all the shit that had just happened, she was making him smile.

  Low was right; she did bring him peace. He just hadn’t realized how much until that moment.

  “Amelia, it’s all right. I’m not naked.”

  Her hand stayed right where it was. “I know, but maybe you want privacy?” Her other hand reached blindly behind her for the doorknob.

  He chuckled. “Open your eyes.”

  “Um.”

  His voice went low and serious. “Amelia.”

  She stilled. Then her hand lowered slightly. One glasses-covered eye peeked out between two open fingers—and seriously, he wanted to laugh straight out at that—and her hand finally fell away.

  Her eyes, however, then moved to the ceiling.

  He would not laugh. He would not laugh. “Amelia, baby, come here.”

  She shuffled forward a little.

  Since they were alone, he decided he wanted her closer.

  Her body was stiff and stick-straight, but he grabbed her hand and tugged her.

  She yelped and finally looked at him, just in time to catch herself from falling against his chest.

  Since he wanted her even closer, he pulled her into his lap.

  “Hector!”

  “Settle in.”

  She pushed against his chest, but he kept a firm arm around her waist. “We’re at work!” she hissed.

  “Been wanting to kiss you all day, Amelia. Gonna let me?”

  “I—what?”

  He glided a hand up her spine; she trembled.

  Her breathy voice went straight to his cock. “Hector.”

  He held her hand against his chest, his thumb idly rubbing it. “May I kiss you, Amelia?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled.

  Then he kissed her.

  Slow, they were always slow. One day—hopefully soon—he’d finally show her fast and hot and hungry.

  For now, he was content with slow and steady.

  She was getting more confident in their kisses now, showing more initiative and taking what she wanted. He fucking loved it.

  He moved his lips down to her long, slim neck and peppered her pulse with kisses. He had dreams about this neck. Dreams of his face buried against it, while he was buried in her. Dreams of his face sleeping against it, his body tangled up with hers. Dreams of her neck on his shoulder, while she curled up against him.

  Of course, they were naked in a lot of these scenarios, but not all of them. When they’d sit on her couch and watch something mindless, he wanted her curled up against him like that, fully clothed. He wanted that feeling of just being with someone, of being with her, day in and day out. Something about her called to him. He wanted to protect her, soothe her, slay dragons for her.

  She was exactly the sort of girl everyone overlooked. He knew it and he’d done it before with other women like her. Amelia was shy and unassuming, just trying to get by. Yet, he knew that if he stayed steady she would give him more love than he could ever imagine. She’d been denied love all her life, it seemed; people like that had a lot of love in them. Since he’d lived through something similar, he knew.

  You only had to watch her—and he’d watched her a lot—to see all the love she had to give. He’d seen her face light up when little kids were near, and she doted over babies and the stray cat in the back alley. He’d sat in her space, which wasn’t great, with furniture that wasn’t great, either, but all of it felt welcoming, loved, and cared for. She didn’t take things for granted and took care of what she had. She understood hard work, wasn’t afraid of it, wasn’t afraid to work for a good life. She’d take care of him and work hard to make a life with him, just like he’d do for her. That was the sort of partner he wanted.

  Now, he only had to convince her how good they’d be together.

  Kisses, he realized, were a good fucking way to start.

  She arched against him. “Hector?”

  He kissed the space at the base of her throat. “Hmm?”

  “Oh.”

  He kissed a line up to her ear. “Amelia?”

  “Hmmm?”

  His lips curved against her skin. “You had a question?”

  “I did?”

  His lips curved more. “What, baby?” He nibbled her lobe.

  Her breathing was labored. “I—oh!”

  A knock came at the door and they both stilled.

  His voice was even and serious. “Yes?”

  “Cops are here, boss,” Daley said, muffled through the door. “The Captain’s taking care of it, but they want to talk to you when you get a chance.”

  “I’ll be out soon. Let them know.”

  “Will do.” Footsteps retreated down the hall.

  She tried to get up, but he held her in place. “I should get up, help Beth on the floor.”

  “In a minute. First, I want to know how you’re doing.”

/>   Her mouth fell slightly open. “You want to know how I’m doing?”

  He nodded, a grin on his face again.

  “I’m fine.”

  Fine. Just what a man wanted to hear after a make-out session. “Glad to know my lips have such a lasting effect.”

  She blushed. “Hector.”

  “I’m just teasing, baby.”

  She was suddenly very earnest. Her hands dug into his shoulders. “You’re a great kisser. You shouldn’t think otherwise. I mean, I don’t have a whole lot experience, so maybe you are terrible, but I like it. So, don’t think that I don’t like it. Because I do. It’s just, we’re at work, and the cops are here, and there’s a prince down the hall, and—”

  Another kiss, this one hard and fast to shut off the ramble.

  When he drew back, she let out a soft, “Oh.”

  That, too, went straight to his dick. He shifted slightly in the chair.

  She jumped up. “Oh my God! I totally forgot about your leg. Am I hurting you? Is there anything I can do?”

  I totally forgot about your leg. It was the first time he’d ever heard that from a woman. Goddamn, but he liked it.

  Fuck, yes. Amelia was the woman for him.

  “You didn’t hurt me, but you can help me.”

  “What do you need?”

  He pulled his keys out of his pocket, thumbed through them, then held them up by two keys. “Can you run upstairs to my apartment? I need a new set of socks. The square key’s for the top lock, the circular one for the bottom. Socks are in my bedroom dresser, second drawer.”

  She slowly took the keys, a frown on her face. “Oh, sure. I didn’t realize socks would make such a difference.”

  She thought he meant socks for his feet. But, if she hadn’t had prosthetics or knew anyone who had them, she wouldn’t know he meant another type of sock.

  “Socks for my stump.” He held out the torn one and realization dawned on her face.

  “Oh my God. I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, you didn’t know. Now, you do.”

  She nodded quickly. “I do. I can get them.”

  “Thanks, baby.”

  She glanced down at his leg and frowned. “It’s all red. Do you need a doctor?”

  He shook his head. “It’s just inflamed.”

  She pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Be right back.” She rushed out of the room.

  He watched her go with a grin on his face.

  Millie unlocked Hector’s apartment. She couldn’t deny she was a little nervous. It was the first time she’d been in a man’s apartment, even if a man wasn’t in it. She gingerly stepped inside, wary of the unknown behind the door and conscious of her clumsy nature, which meant she could knock something over without meaning to.

  Once her eyes adjusted to the indoor light, she blinked in surprise. It was fairly clean. She expected a bachelor pad to be messy. Figures that Hector wouldn’t be a typical man. He wasn’t a typical anything, it seemed.

  She wandered through. It was still pretty sparse, and it was clear that some renovations had started but weren’t close to being finished. There was some basic furniture—couch, coffee table, dining table—but no shelves or knick-knacks, no books or pictures of family.

  She thought idly about his family, where they were and if he was close to them. He’d never spoken of them, but then she didn’t like speaking about hers, either.

  She walked past the living and dining and saw one picture attached to the fridge by a magnet. It was a well-worn photo, curling on two opposite corners. It featured a group of men in army uniforms. She spotted the Captain kneeling off to one side, and Hector kneeling front and center.

  Her finger gently brushed the image of Hector. She knew he’d lost his legs on a mission; he’d told all the staff that much. She wondered how long before that mission this photo had been taken. She wondered where the others in the photo were, and if they knew about his legs. She wondered—

  Shit! The socks!

  She’d almost forgotten the reason she was here in the first place.

  The door to the bedroom was just past the kitchen. She rushed in and blushed when she saw the bed, then looked around the room until she saw the dresser. He said they were in the second drawer. Was that second from the bottom, or second from the top?

  She bit her bottom lip for a moment and decided to try the latter. She opened it, then shut it quickly, rattling the odds and ends on top.

  Wrong drawer!

  Good God. She’d seen his boxers.

  Yes, he was a boxers man. Not loose-fitting boxers, either. Oh, no. Not for Hector.

  No, he liked those clingy-you-can-see-everything-outlined boxers.

  She knew what his underwear looked like now. How could she ever look him in the face again?

  She took a deep breath, then oh-so-slowly opened the second drawer from the bottom. She only relaxed when she spotted what looked like the socks she needed. She grabbed one, then grabbed a spare, then grabbed a second spare. What if he needed more than one? There were still plenty left, so she chanced taking the extras.

  She closed the drawer, avoided eye contact with both the other drawer and the bed, and rushed out of his apartment and back to the pub. She knocked on his office door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Me.” Maybe he didn’t know who ‘me’ was? “Millie.”

  He sounded like he was smiling when he spoke. “Come in.”

  I will not think about his boxers. I will not think about his boxers.

  She entered slowly, keeping her eyes on the top of his head. “Here you go. I brought extras in case you need them.”

  He took them when she held out her hand. “Thanks, baby.”

  She turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. “Stay.”

  She remained steadfastly looking at the top of his head. “Oh, I’d better get back to work.”

  His voice went low and rumbly. “Stay.”

  “Okay.” It just popped out and she had no idea how. She looked around the office, her fingers toying with the hem of her sweater.

  “Sit down. Talk to me.”

  She plastered herself against the arm of the chair and slowly slid in before responding. “About what?”

  He shrugged. “Anything.”

  Her eyes veered cautiously to his hands, which were slightly stretching out one of the socks she’d brought. “Well, uh, I think the customers are okay. Captain was talking to the police just now.”

  He nodded as he put the sock aside and adjusted his stump slightly. “Yeah, he’s going to talk to them first, so I can get this sorted. I meant talk about you.”

  “Me?”

  He put something at the base of his stump—it looked like another sock but thicker and had a slim rod at the end—and started rolling it up, up, up his thigh. “Yeah. You.”

  “Oh, well, maybe this isn’t the time for it.”

  He glanced up at her, then back at his leg. “Maybe you’re right. We can talk more on our date.”

  “Date?” Her heart started beating faster.

  “How about tomorrow?” He shifted his pants higher as he pulled up the whatever-it-was, and she caught sight of some dark gray fabric clinging to his thigh.

  Boxers! She’d just seen his boxers.

  On. His. Body.

  Her head darted up to the ceiling. Oh God! Just because it was just the edge of the boxers didn’t mean it didn’t count. It was one thing to see them in a drawer, but it was entirely another to see them on him in person. It wasn’t like she’d meant to see either the drawer or the glimpse on him. But all of a sudden there was his olive-hued thigh, covered in a smattering of hair. His thigh wasn’t as thick as she’d expected it to be, but—

  “Millie? You all right?”

  Her voice was too high pitched. “Fine! Just fine.”

  Stop thinking about his thigh.

  And his boxers on his thigh.

  And his penis in his boxers.

 
Eep! Where had that thought come from?

  She jumped when his hand came to rest over hers.

  His lips were curved down. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  Now her lips curved down. “What do you mean?”

  He gestured to his stump. “Putting my leg on. I didn’t think it’d make you so uncomfortable or I wouldn’t have asked you to stay.”

  No, no, no. “No! I’m not uncomfortable about that. Not at all.” She glanced down at his thigh, and her brain immediately went to thoughts of his underwear and what was inside his underwear again.

  She blushed and moved her eyes lickety-split up to the ceiling.

  “Look at me.”

  She shook her head. If she looked at him, she’d just start thinking things again.

  “Baby. Look at me.”

  She took a short breath, then warily lowered her eyes to his. He wasn’t frowning anymore, but he was assessing her.

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  “It’s not you, it’s your thigh.” Her eyes widened, and she immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry!” she said, her voice muffled behind her hand. “So sorry!”

  He sat back in his chair, glanced at his thigh, then back to her. “Something wrong with my thigh?”

  Nothing. Not one damn thing was wrong with that thigh.

  She shook her head.

  He grinned, and she caught a hint of his dimples.

  Dimples. With that thigh and those boxers.

  She sighed behind her hand.

  He took hold of her wrist and moved the hand away from her mouth. “Why can’t you look at me?”

  “I didn’t mean to!” Damn it! Why couldn’t she stop blurting things out?

  “You didn’t mean to…look at me?”

  She spoke quickly and rambled on like the idiot she was. “I opened the wrong drawer! I didn’t mean to see your underwear. You said the second drawer and I thought you meant the second drawer from the top, so that’s the one I opened. But it was the wrong one, and I saw your underwear. And then I came down here, and I just saw your underwear again. But this time I saw it on you. And I didn’t mean to see that either, honest! And—Eep!”

  She was suddenly pulled out of the chair and into his lap. “Hector!”

  She began to pull back but stopped when his body started shaking. “Hector?”