Page 17 of WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)
Except it isn’t. The biker’s awake and staring at me underneath a hooded gaze.
I nearly drop the towel.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a feral smile. “My bottom half’s making promises my top half can’t handle. Yet.”
I could not be more at a loss for words. It takes me forever and a day to stutter out. “Not—not ever.”
He stares at me. And I try not to tremble as the heat of his dry ice gaze sears into my flesh.
Then he says, “Okay.”
But any relief I might have felt over his agreement gets erased when he adds, “You go on ahead and keep on believing that if it makes things easier for you while we’re waiting for me to heal up.”
He’s handcuffed to the bed. Nothing like what he’s insinuating is going to happen. Ever. I’m just helping him until it’s safe for him to travel.
So there’s no reason for all these butterflies going off in my stomach.
But they continue to flap their wings as he watches me from underneath his hooded gaze. A patient predator biding his time. “You still haven’t asked me what I said earlier. In Spanish.”
Curiosity tangles with fear, and fear wins out.
I put extra effort into making my voice sound stronger than I feel as I answer, “I don’t want to know.”
He smirks and works his mouth like he’s chewing on tobacco. “I suppose now’s the part where you chicken out and tell me to handle the rest of the sponge bath myself.”
I grind my teeth. He’s trying to goad me into touching him again. But I refuse to play his game.
“Yep, you’ve got this,” I agree, dropping the washcloth on his chest. “I’m going to run down to the store and pick up some more snacks to tide you over for lunches. Just let me know when you’re done, and I’ll take the water away.”
What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?
The question chases me out of my apartment and down the stairs to the closest Food Lion, where I take my sweet time buying enough groceries to last a week along with the snacks I promised the biker and two six-packs of boxers.
Just like I hoped, he’s asleep again by the time I get home. Good.
Even with an hour of away time, I’m still not prepared to go toe-to-toe with him. He’s the one chained to the bed, but somehow, I feel like the most vulnerable person in the room.
Was he serious earlier? Does he really think that when he’s recovered enough, he could…that I’d be willing to…?
Despite the utter wrongness of it, my body heats with thoughts I shouldn’t be having. Especially about a patient. Especially-especially about a criminal patient handcuffed to my bed.
What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?
Women who want nice homes in the suburbs don’t wonder about tigers, I remind myself as I take the water away. They should and need to stay far, far away from barely caged animals—or at least as far away as they can in an efficiency apartment.
CHAPTER 8
He gets better and better over the next couple of days. No more twelve-hour sleep fests. And he doesn’t wince so much when I give him fresh boxers from the pack I bought at Food Lion. But that leads to boredom.
“There a reason you don’t have a TV?” he asks the fourth night into his stay.
I’m bringing him a meal on a tray. He can sit up now and even use a knife and fork—not that I’ve let him have either of those. In fact, I locked all the knives away in my storage closet, and I count and recount my four forks first thing when I get in from a shift.
Ant and his guys didn’t give him back his weapons before kicking him out. Plus, he’s still handcuffed. And even if he got out, he’d probably only be able to shuffle around the apartment at a snail’s pace with that bullet lodged in his side.
I don’t know why I’m being so paranoid. I guess life in the foster system taught me you never know who will hurt you, so you might as well stay prepared, no matter what.
It’s always better to be safe than sorry. Always. And the biker looks like the kind of guy who could make me all sorts of sorry.
So, I’m serving him stew tonight. And this week’s menu only consists of things that can be eaten with a spoon.
But in this case, I feel compelled to apologize for the lack of amenities. “I’m sorry about the TV situation. I just got finished earning my nurse practitioner’s degree this year, and back when I was in the program, I figured it was easier to study without a TV than with one. Now that I’m out, I’m still paying off my student loans, and I’m trying to keep my expenses down.”
