“Is there a reason why you’re clutching your side like that?”
“Yes,” he gritted between clenched teeth, the pain almost successfully veiling the sarcasm in his voice.
Her brow puckered, but it wasn’t because of the ache in her head this time. “Oh.” Her eyes widened. Realization dawned. It was belated, but it did dawn. “Oh God! How bad is it?”
Her headache was forgotten as her hands felt all over his face. It was heated and coated with a sheen of cooling sweat. His stubble scratched her fingertips. Noelle’s exploration halted there as she savored the discreet tingle that shot through her fingertips straight to her tummy. She was a sick, sick woman to be turned on by a man bleeding all over the place.
And only hours ago, she’d believed herself in love with another man.
Noelle gingerly probed beneath her defenses. She should be hurt, torn up inside. Yet all she felt was more anger at herself for being so stupid than at Gil for cheating on her.
The rough voice pulled her back. “Not there.”
Noelle was glad of the darkness as warmth flooded her cheeks.
“Is it just your side?”
“Mainly.”
“Are you going to let me check it out?”
“Are you a nurse or a doctor or a paramedic?”
She drew back as if attacked by a kitten. Her lips thinned. “No, but I do know basic first aid. Or do you think sheer macho willpower will take care of your injury?”
A rough sound rumbled from his chest. “I’m sorry.” Very gingerly, very slowly, he moved his hands away from his left side and said, “Here.”
Carefully, Noelle scooted down so she could better examine the wound. She pulled the black T-shirt from his jeans and peeled it up. A blade had sliced through the leather jacket and the T-shirt and left a long cut that wasn’t as deep as she’d feared. But it wasn’t as shallow as she’d hoped.
“We should get you to a hospital. You need stitches.”
The only response she got was an indecipherable grunt. She assumed it was a sound of protest.
She sighed. “Shouldn’t I call the police?”
He growled a very decisive negative.
“What is this aversion you have to the police? Is it cops in general or just the NYPD?”
“No,” he repeated more firmly.
“Why not? Your tax dollars pay for their services.” A thought occurred to her. “Uh, you do pay taxes, right?”
He slanted a narrow glance at her. “Yes.”
The taxi came to an abrupt stop and its occupants’ heads bobbled. The man next to her groaned and cursed. Noelle immediately skimmed her hands over his head and through his hair. She stopped when she found the subtle bump behind his left ear and winced in sympathy. Thankfully, there was very little blood.
“We need to stop somewhere where you can lie down and rest,” Noelle said. “Where do you live?”
He relaxed his clenched teeth enough to mutter, “No.”
Noelle tamped down her frustration and tried to sort through her options. No police, no hospitals, no personal residence. Alarm bells should be going crazy inside her head, but they were strangely silent. This man had saved her earlier tonight. She couldn’t believe that he would be a bad person. Perhaps he wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t someone she could blithely abandon. Turning to the driver, she instructed, “We need a hotel.”
“Where?”
“Something big,” she added, reasoning a large establishment wouldn’t take too much notice of two more guests.
The driver skillfully maneuvered the taxi through traffic for an untold number of minutes before stopping several feet from the front entrance of a massive yet elegant structure located on Fifth Avenue and 55th Street.
Noelle glanced at her fellow passenger and concluded he would draw too much attention at the check-in desk in his present state. “Wait here,” she instructed and exited the vehicle.
* * * * *
Sergio wondered if he’d lost his mind. He was trusting his welfare to a half-pint of a woman he didn’t even know. True, he probably had a concussion from the blow to his head, but that didn’t mean he had to depend on a complete stranger. The smartest thing for him to do would be to get out of this taxi and hole up somewhere safe until he could track down who wanted him out of the picture in a very permanent way.
Somehow, he was still sitting quietly in the back of the taxi when the brunette returned. As if from a distance, he watched her pay the driver, tipping him an extra fifty for his battered baseball cap, his first-aid kit and his promise to develop amnesia if someone questioned him about them. Without protest, Sergio let her pull the baseball cap over his head and straighten his clothing as best she could, all the while muttering that at least his clothes were dark so the blood wouldn’t be noticeable.
She led him inside the hotel, which he normally wouldn’t have even considered because his salary couldn’t cover a broom closet in here for one night. As they crossed the endless expanse of a brightly lit foyer that seemed larger than a football field and stepped inside the elevator, she stayed pressed up against his side, as if she thought he needed assistance staying upright. A wave of dizziness assailed him as the elevator car began its ascent. He tightened his hold on her. She smiled at the elderly couple sharing the car with them and murmured something that made them aim disapproving looks in his direction.
They got off the elevator before the other two passengers, but the dizziness only worsened. Sergio shook his head to clear it and instantly regretted his action. He was only thankful the nausea was controllable. By the time she located their room, he was putting so much weight on her that she stumbled and had to stop to regain her footing. She somehow managed to keep him upright until she opened the door of their room, led him the short distance to the bed and helped lower him onto it. Sergio closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep.
Chapter Two
Before he opened his eyes, Sergio knew he wasn’t in his own bed. It was too soft, the sheets too heavy and the room too warm. He held still long enough to reassure himself he was alone in the strange room. He opened his eyes. The room was pitch-dark. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Then he shifted to the edge of the mattress and sat up, swinging his legs over the side. His head swam and he stilled—and remained still when he heard sounds beyond the room. His eyes went unerringly to the door. Forcing himself to ignore the pain, Sergio rose to his bare feet, silently walked to the armoire beside the door and flattened himself up against it. He readied himself, muscles loose.
With a soft click, the door opened and closed. Then a slight, dark figure moved past him. Sergio leapt into action and, in mere moments, he found himself with his knee digging into a narrow back, one hand wrapped around a slender wrist, keeping the arm twisted high up between small shoulder blades and the other hand buried in a mass of hair, pushing the face into the mattress.
Muffled sounds came from the figure beneath him on the bed. Sergio clenched his fingers in the thick, silky hair as the fog in his head cleared and the memories surfaced.
“Oh, shit!”
He released his captive and instantly heard her gasping desperately for oxygen. Another expletive escaped him as he reached for the lamp on the night table and flicked it on. Golden light spilled over the room. Sergio stared at the woman half lying on her front on the bed. Before he could reach her, she rolled over onto her back.
Long, dark curls the color of rich chocolate fell over her face and she impatiently swept them back. Her chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Her face was very pale. Like earlier when he’d first seen her, Sergio found himself tracing those delicate features with his eyes. Smooth forehead, subtly arched brows, high cheekbones, small nose and a mouth—with its top lip slightly fuller than the bottom—that made him want to do more than just look at it. And like earlier, he found his body hardening with the kind of instant lust he thought he’d outgrown after his teenage years.
Dense, dark lashes lifted and green eyes gl
ared at him accusingly. They didn’t deter the fantasies he was currently having about her lush mouth and what he wanted her to do with it, where he wanted her to put it. Then she closed her eyes and forcibly evened out her breathing.
“I think I now know why you don’t like cops,” she finally said, still not looking at him. Not yet completely recovered, her voice was a little husky, a little breathless, and Sergio’s jeans became torturously tight.
He attempted to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. I…” His voice trailed off.
She waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll live,” she said, even though her expression said otherwise as she sat up. She shrugged off her coat, then reached behind herself and rubbed the small of her back where he’d planted his knee.
Remorse flickered through him. Slowly, as if afraid she’d bolt, he sat down next to her, brushed her hand aside and took over rubbing her back. She moaned. He splayed a hand across her middle, telling himself he needed to brace her so he could apply more pressure on her back. Another moan. This one was low and drawn out. It was a sex sound, and he could barely keep from covering her mouth with his to capture the next one. Sweat popped out on his brow.
“Where’d you go?” he asked.
“Shopping,” she replied. “You needed clothes…and I needed a lot of female things.”
Sergio’s hand stopped and his abdomen muscles tightened. Female things. Bras, thongs, garter belts and stockings paraded through his head. All in black lace. He was barely able to suppress a groan.
Thinking the impromptu massage was finished, she sighed, a note of disappointment in the sound. “Thanks,” she murmured and reluctantly pulled away from his touch. She then eyed him critically. “If you’re well enough to jump me, you’re well enough to get out of those clothes and get cleaned up. Then I can look after your injuries,” she said, gesturing to his head and his side. “Your head’s probably killing you, so I got some painkillers. I’ll let you have a couple after your shower, just so you don’t collapse in the tub if they’re too strong and knock you out.”
Sergio touched the bump behind his ear and realized his dizziness was mostly gone. He was grateful the concussion was very minor. He glanced down at his side, peeled back his damaged shirt. The wound had been cleaned and bandaged, but the gauze didn’t cover the entire wound and was stained with blood.
“I couldn’t do much with you unconscious,” she explained, bending down to probe at the bandage. “You’re not exactly a lightweight, so I couldn’t turn you over to do a proper job. You should shower then let me have another go at that knife wound.”
He could feel her breath on his skin as she breathed, like a subtle tease. “You going to kiss it to make it better?”
She drew back in a flash, posture ramrod straight. Sergio watched raptly as color rose in her cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a woman blush. Wasn’t it something that had been bred out of the gene pool already? Or was that only in New York women?
Somehow he knew she wasn’t from around here. She dressed like a New Yorker, spoke like a New Yorker, took charge like a New Yorker, but there was just something different. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was just there.
Cheeks still flushed, she calmly met his eyes and said, “In your current condition, you shouldn’t get too excited.”
* * * * *
Noelle fell back on the king-sized bed after he vanished behind the bathroom door and closed it. Lust swirled through her, culminating at the apex of her legs. She clenched her thighs together and had to fight not to reach down and touch herself. With her hormones clamoring for attention, she desperately wanted to masturbate herself to climax but knew she’d be mortified if he walked in on her.
Despite herself, Noelle closed her eyes and pictured it. Touching herself, and him walking in. He’d watch her, but not for long. He didn’t look like the type who’d enjoy being on the sidelines. He’d offer to help. But how? Would he cover her hand with his and feel her as she stroked herself? Would he brush aside her hand and take over completely? Would he put his fingers inside her? Or would he drop to his knees and explore her sex with his mouth?
She felt a tiny spasm and bolted into a sitting position. Jesus Christ, something was seriously wrong with her. Seven years with Gil and not once did he turn her on as much as…as…
She didn’t even know his name. She wanted to jump the bones of a man who was still nameless to her.
Noelle glanced toward the leather coat she’d draped over the chair in front of the little writing table. Giving into curiosity, she bounced off the bed, felt inside the jacket and pulled out a thin wallet. The black leather was soft and supple with use. She flipped it open and only found a thick wad of cash and a driver’s license issued by the New York State Department of Motor Vehicles. The photo looked like a mug shot. He was definitely not the preppie kind of guy she thought was her type. She read the name to the right of the photo—Rome Mendez.
She now had a name for her object of lust.
Noelle put the wallet back then spun quickly around, feeling a twinge of guilt. The guilt spurred her to sweep her coat from the bed and hang it up inside the closet. Next, she picked up her shoulder bag and, after a quick wipe with a tissue from a box on the writing desk, deposited it on the luggage bench situated in front of the window. She took a moment to ensure her Burberry hadn’t sustained any real damage from the scuffles she’d been involved in earlier. The two large Bloomingdale’s shopping bags went on the floor next to the luggage bench. That done, Noelle looked around but there was nothing else to tidy up except for the bed, and she knew that would be a wasted effort.
Noelle found the hotel slippers and arranged them on the floor. Then she took off her ankle boots and socks. The jeans and cropped cashmere sweater followed. She fished inside one of the carrier bags and pulled out a nightgown. It was black and simple. The soft, stretchy fabric ended just above mid-thigh. While she swapped her thong for the matching bikini panties that came with the nightgown, she told herself that she hadn’t bought the ensemble with Rome in mind. She’d bought it because she needed something to wear to sleep and this nightgown was like the other ones she had in her highboy at home.
Really.
As the inner debate continued, Noelle neatly folded her clothes and placed them on the luggage bench next to her shoulder bag. Once done, she swept back the heavy drapes, saw the scene outside and whistled. The hotel courtyard beyond the panes of glass was covered in a thick layer of white. And more snow was coming down and coming down fast. Noelle smiled, something inside her lightening up. It looked like the beginning of a hell of a snowstorm. She pressed her splayed hands on the window, enjoying the chill.
“There’s no snow where you’re from?” came Rome’s question from behind her.
“There’s plenty of snow in winter where I’m from. At least when Mother Nature cooperates. Sometimes there’s snow in June,” she explained without taking her eyes off the dazzling display outside the window. “I just love snow. Especially new snow. It covers everything and makes it all sparkly and clean and pretty.”
Knowing she sounded like she was twelve years old, she reluctantly pulled back, letting the drapes fall back into position, and turned around. And would’ve fallen backward had he not wrapped an arm around her waist. She hadn’t expected him to be so close behind her. Her hands automatically came up and pressed against his abdomen.
He yelped. “Your hands are like ice!”
However, instead of pushing her away, he gathered her closer. His erection was pressed between their bodies, long and hard and hot enough to sear her through the thin nightgown.
Noelle could feel the embarrassing wetness seeping from her sex. Her hands, which were quickly warming from contact with his skin, slid across to his sides and down. One hand met wetness that felt just different enough from water. It took her brain a moment to comprehend.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, wriggling out of his grasp. He reluctantly released her and she turned an
d reached for her shoulder bag. She fished out a sealed bottle of aspirin and tossed it to him. “I think you have a minor concussion, but those should be okay. There’s a water bar beside the armoire.”
Rome crossed the room and Noelle followed him, first-aid kit she’d purchased from the taxi driver in hand. She tried very, very hard to keep her eyes from falling below his waist. It was damned difficult. The man was moving around in his birthday suit, for Christ’s sake. She’d have to be a saint not to be tempted by all that smooth, olive-toned skin and the delicious play of toned muscle underneath it. He had his back to her and if her eyes wandered over hard, muscled buttocks and lingered, she was only human. And it wasn’t like she did anything more than look. And lust.
She waited for him to pop two pills and down three-quarters of a bottle of water before directing him to sit on the bed. He was no longer fully erect, but his penis was still thrusting up from a thick nest of black pubic hair. She considered draping a towel over his lap, but that wouldn’t help. Noelle took a long, measured breath. She just had to be detached.
“Want me to get a towel?” he asked, sounding pretty amused.
She scowled at him. “How much rubbing alcohol do you want on that cut?”
He winced, but the small smile playing around the corners of his mouth remained.
Noelle turned her attention back to the knife wound. Then she bit down on a corner of her lip and went to work. She gave the area a swipe with an antiseptic wipe, staunched new bleeding with a pad of gauze and, once the bleeding trickled down to a negligible amount, applied butterfly bandages and more gauze before taping him up. He needed stitches, but she knew she was too much of a wuss to puncture his skin with a needle and thread. She checked the bump behind his ear and left it alone after deeming nothing she had on hand could speed up the healing process there.
A Naughty Little Christmas (Cowboys, Cops, and Kilts: 8 Seasonally Seductive Romances from Bestselling Authors) Page 11