“Sorry, I was daydreaming.” And that little fantasy was costing him. He shifted in his seat in an effort to ease the pressure his jeans were exerting on the mother of all boners. One thing was for sure, there was no way he was getting a wink of sleep tonight unless he jerked off. Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
When they pulled up to Cat’s tiny ranch a minute later, she turned to him. “Thanks a lot for the ride…and also for the whole Heimlich thing. It could’ve been really bad. I’m really glad you were there.”
He didn’t meet her gaze, sure the truth was plain on his face. That had scared the shit out of him. “Yeah, me, too. Come on, let’s get you inside,” he said, swinging open his door.
“Oh, Shane, you don’t need to walk me up,” she called after him when he stepped out of the car.
“It’s late and dark and the ground’s covered in ice. You didn’t even leave your light on. Just come on.”
She got out, and he rounded the car to her side, slamming the door behind her. It got him close enough to smell the citrus in her hair, which had his already-primed body tightening even further.
They walked side-by-side up the narrow walkway, arms brushing with each step. When they got to her porch he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Try to get some sleep. You look tired.”
“Want me full of energy so I can pimp you right tomorrow, huh?” she said with a tight smile.
He nodded. “Something like that.”
She started up the stairs and he turned to go, but a muffled oath had him whipping back around just in time to see her scrabbling for the railing. Too late. Her feet flew out from under her, and she went down like a bag of rocks. He managed to catch her from behind around the waist and stop her from hitting her chin on the concrete, but barely.
She hissed in a breath then exhaled a “Motherfucker!”
His heart thudded in his chest, and he lifted her gently to her feet, taking the brunt of her weight. “Did you break anything?”
She peered down in the moonlight with a mournful nod. “My Seven jeans.”
Blood welled up under a jagged tear just above the knee, and he wanted to shake her. “Who cares about the jeans. Does anything hurt?”
“My wallet’s going to hurt when I have to replace those jeans,” she quipped weakly. She was playing the tough guy, but there was no mistaking the wince on her pale face when she pulled away from his grasp and tried to stand on her own.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, Cat. Lot of good I did, walking you up and then letting you fall down the stairs.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I was bound and determined to go down, I guess. I’m just glad you caught me and saved my teeth. That could’ve been really ugly.”
He held her arm, leading her the rest of the way up. “Do you have any rock salt to melt the ice? Wouldn’t want you falling down the steps again in the morning.”
“I don’t think so.” She held out her hands and frowned at her torn gloves. “Guess it’s a good thing I had these on, too.”
“Yeah, it’s your lucky day, and it’s about to get even better. I’m coming inside, and you’re getting at least half-naked so I can see that knee.”
She paused, hand on the doorknob, to glare at him. “Why do you need to see it? I’m a grown woman and more than capable of taking care of it myself.”
“You’re going to let me look at that knee, or I’m going to bend you over mine.”
The thought came with a mental snapshot that momentarily derailed his altruism, but he managed to tamp it down fast. She still stared up at him suspiciously.
“Cat, you’re being ridiculous. I’m pretty sure I can handle the sight of you in your underwear without losing my shit.”
Lie. He wasn’t sure of that at all, but he needed to see that she took care of that cut, and he wasn’t about to let her stop him. “I want to clean it so I can get a good look. See if you need stitches. Your brother would deck me if I left you like this and you got lockjaw or something. Although you unable to jabber might not be so terrible,” he added just loud enough for her to hear.
She scowled at him but opened the door. “Fine. But I’m telling you right now, I’m not going to the ER for a tetanus shot no matter what. I hate them. They hurt for like a month,” she said with a sniff and stepped into the foyer.
He sincerely hoped she didn’t need one, since throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her to the ER could seriously hurt his chances of seeing her naked anytime soon. He said a silent prayer to the wound gods and followed her inside.
Chapter Five
Well, this is a grim way to end the evening, Cat thought bitterly. The scrape on her leg was stinging like the blazes, but her injured pride stung worse. Two times in one night, she’d managed to both humiliate herself and require rescuing. She may have mentally relegated him to the friend zone, but the rest of her hadn’t gotten the memo, and she was fairly mortified at having horked up nut-chunks and taken a dive down the stairs in front of him. That her favorite jeans had succumbed during battle only made it worse.
Now, she sat on her toilet seat in bedtime boxers and a sweatshirt while Shane squatted in front of her, rubbing what felt like acid-treated shards of glass into her wound. “Shit, ouch!” She tried to pull away, but he had a firm grasp on her calf, pinning her in place.
“Stop moving.” His tone was clipped and commanding. She wondered if that worked on the people he usually rescued because it wasn’t doing shit for her.
“Stop torturing me, and I’ll stop moving,” she said through clenched teeth, gripping the sides of the bowl tighter when he only increased his efforts. “Seriously, is this fucking necessary? My butcher has gentler hands.”
“Your butcher handles dead meat, so he can afford to be gentle. I’m trying to get the grime out of this scrape so it doesn’t get infected. Now will you shut up for a second and let me concentrate?”
She bit her lip and turned her head when hot tears sprang to her eyes. What was she crying about? She’d had stitches a half dozen times in her life, not to mention the two broken bones she’d earned on the roller derby track a few years back. This injury was nothing in the scheme of things. But for some reason—maybe lack of sleep, maybe excess of Shane, maybe both—her emotions were bubbling up like cheese under a broiler.
“Almost done.” He swiped some clear goop on it and sat back on his heels. “Looks like a pretty deep cut in the center there, but with the scrape surrounding it, stitches would be really uncomfortable. The bleeding’s slowed a lot, so I don’t think that’s necessary. Let’s bandage it tight and then when you come over tomorrow, we’ll take another look, okay? As long as we keep it clean and covered until it starts to heal, I think it will be fine.” His eyes met her in a frank stare. “You’re going to have a scar, though.”
She released her death grip on the porcelain. “That’s okay, I have several. Beats having to go to the hospital.”
“When was your last tetanus shot?”
“Three years ago. Cut my foot open on a rusty chunk of rudder in Montauk when I was surfing.”
“That works. They’re good for ten years for this type of thing.” He stood and tossed the dirty Q-tips he’d been using into the trash can and set the antibacterial cream on the sink. “You going to bed soon or what?”
“As soon you leave. I’m exhausted, and I think the combination of choking and then falling shook me a little. Why?” She eyed him warily, not sure where he was headed but pretty sure she wasn’t going to like it.
“I want to bandage this in a way that allows you to sleep how you’re used to. Part of the scrape is on your knee and anytime a cut is on a joint, keeping it covered is going to be a pain in the ass.” He scooped up the roll of gauze and tape and held out a hand to her. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed and you can show me how you lie.”
She stared up at him, a flash of the last time they’d been near a bed together racing through her mind like a Cinemax flick. “Uh, that’s okay. I sleep flat on my back, legs straight.”
“For real?”
No. Not for real. But she had no intention of getting in bed with him nearby. She nodded vigorously, ignoring his outstretched hand and pushing herself to her feet with a wince.
“That’s creepy. Do you fold your hands over your chest like a corpse?”
“No. But I do sleep in a coffin,” she deadpanned, skirting around him for the door. “We can do the bandage in the living room. I’ll get some scissors.”
To her relief, he followed without any argument. She made her way gingerly to the kitchen, grabbed some scissors from a drawer, then settled onto the sprawling velvet couch with her leg outstretched. “Do your worst,” she muttered, and pinched her eyes closed.
“Stop being a drama queen. This part shouldn’t hurt.”
He couldn’t have been more wrong. It was killing her already, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. Now, without the promise of pain to distract her, the thought of his hands all over her legs sent a shiver through her, and she gritted her teeth to suppress it. It was a no-go and she could feel the goose bumps breaking out on her skin.
“Want me to turn on the fireplace?” Shane asked. His voice was coming from her feet now, where he was likely kneeling as he’d been in the bathroom. Semi-hysterical laughter bubbled as “while you’re down there” jokes ran through her mind, unfiltered. She didn’t trust her voice to answer him, so she just shook her head, resolutely keeping her eyes closed.
The whir of the tape and snip of the scissors seemed to echo through the quiet room, and she wished she’d turned on the TV. It felt like forever before he started the actual bandaging, but when he finally did, the reality was far worse than she’d even anticipated. The hand he used to steady her leg while he worked was big, hard, and intimate. And every time she thought he was done, he came back to adjust, add more tape…more touching. She wanted to look down so bad. To see if the calloused pads of his fingertips were absently caressing the soft skin on her inner thigh, or if she was imagining it. Either way, another rush of chills ran over her, and the breath caught in her throat.
“Cat?”
Shane’s voice was low and husky…strained. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared into his. The look she found there sent her senses reeling. Stark, unapologetic need. The tension poured off him, and he leaned forward until their faces were only a few inches apart.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
“I’m n-not.”
“Then why wouldn’t you let me into your bedroom?”
“There was no need. I told you, I sleep flat on m—”
“Bullshit.” He reached out a finger and trailed it over her cheekbone. “I spent a large chunk of my teen years at your house. You don’t think I walked by your room sometimes and saw you sleeping like some ginger chinchilla, all rolled up in a ball?”
She drew back, his touch and that honeyed tone luring her toward a place she didn’t want to go. “Then why did you need to see if you already knew?”
“I wanted to lay the bandage on and see if it would be an issue. But don’t try to deflect. Why the lie?” He closed the gap between them, his breath feathering her lips. “And why the goose bumps?” The fingers on her thigh tightened and suddenly, every good reason she’d come up with not to kiss him died.
She let herself lean in that last scant inch, and his warm lips covered hers. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but the sweet rush of emotion clogging her throat wasn’t it. His smell felt as familiar as the sunrise, and she instinctively leaned into him, taking the kiss deeper. She traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, and he opened with a groan to meet it with his.