Page 33 of Your Worst Fear
I forced my eyes to the dash, not wanting to look at him, either.
He buckled me in, eyes on me as he seemed to hesitate. Why, I wasn’t sure. Then he shut the door and silence enveloped me.
If this wound didn’t kill me, humiliation would.
I was weak.
Henley gave me his sweatshirt from the back seat to keep pressure on the wound while he drove like a bat out of hell.
“Stay,” Henley commanded after pulling up to my house and getting out.
The fucking audacity of this man…
I unbuckled, ready to disobey, but I hissed in a breath when I tried to lift my arm to open the door. In my attempt, I noticed he’d torn the robe to my shoulder, exposing my skin.
He was at my side in seconds. He didn’t check the wound before scooping me into his arms.
“My arm is useless, not my legs,” I grumbled, feeling like a pathetic wet cat as he carried me to the door.
Then I remembered. “I left my keys in the locker at the spa.”
He maneuvered me to free one of his hands and slide it in the pocket of his jeans. A familiar clink of metal sounded, and I looked down to find him holding my keys.
“How did you get those?” I asked incredulously.
“I searched your locker,” he answered easily, sliding the key in the lock like he’d done it a thousand times before.
My eyes widened. “How long were you there?”
He shoved his way inside, kicking the door shut behind us. “Long enough to know you were being careless.”
“Careless?”I hissed. “I was at a fucking spa! I wasn’t expecting someone to hunt me down in there.”
He found my bedroom, walking us through it and into the attached bathroom. Harder than necessary, he plopped my ass on the counter and flicked on the light.
He busied himself digging through the drawers until he found the first-aid kit under the sink. “That’s exactlythe problem.” The box hit the countertop with more force than necessary, causing me to flinch. “What did you think would happen, Grace? Your boss, who made it clear he was getting impatient, would be fine with you going out for aday of relaxation?”
I went to cross my arms but quickly regretted it as pain enveloped my entire arm. I tried to mask my reaction, instead laying my hand on my thigh. “They’ve never cared what I’ve done before.”
He untied the DIY tourniquet and slid it off me. “That’s because you’ve never disappointed them before.”
I pressed my lips together. “So you think I’m a disappointment.”
He studied the wound, jaw ticking. “Didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” I muttered, focusing on my lap so I wouldn’t have to look at him this close to me. The last time we were touching in a bathroom, he gave me one of the best orgasms of my life.
I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or let down that the same wouldn’t be happening right now.
He began cleaning around the wound, the blood having slowed a bit thanks to his efforts. I winced at the sting.
“Have you never been injured like this before?” he asked, his voice a little softer now. Did he…feel bad?
“Not with a bullet, no. I’ve been punched, choked, almost knocked out, but I haven’t…bled like this because of someone else.”
His swallow was audible as he started pulling out the necessary supplies to stitch me up.
“If there wasn’t a needle and thread in there, what would you have done? Let me bleed out?” I asked, wantingto get off the heavier topic of my work and the repercussions that came with it.
