Roberts, Sarah - Action Hero Junkie [Movieland] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (2 page)

She was startled by her first good look at him. Sure, he had black camo streaked over his face, and his dull-colored clothes were dirty. But nothing could disguise those blazing baby blues and that chiseled jaw or those big broad shoulders and nice lean hips. She realized she was salivating.
Oh boy, oh boy.
He did have a big gun, and she wasn’t looking at the one he carried. The other one—the bulge in the front of his pants—that was the one she was staring at.

Mia didn’t have much time to really check him out. He kind of dove into the backseat of her car and drew up his legs so that she could close the door. He tilted his head just above the window, his eyes peering out, and held his gun at the ready. This time it was the big black impressive semi-automatic one that riveted her attention.
Yup, big gun.

Mia got into the car and started driving. Her mouth engaged, sans brain. “So, where you from? I hope you’re not bleeding too bad all over my seat. Blood is a bitch to get out. You got a name? Maybe I should take you to the hospital. Or the police station. It’s a really pretty day. Not too warm yet.” Just making basic conversation, she told herself, not babbling.

“No hospital, no police. I just need a safe house until dark. Take me to your place.”

“Whoa!” Mia’s eyes whipped up to the rearview mirror. She was so surprised that she even tapped the brakes. She heard him grunt when he hit the back of her seat. “Sorry about that. No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, I think the police can help you better than—”

There was that double-damned gun barrel again, pointed right at the back of her head. She drew a breath while her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Okay, then. My place.”

Luckily, there was no one around when Mia got back to her apartment. Her neighbors all worked during the day while she was sleeping. Mia had never more bitterly regretted her lack of social life. She unlocked her apartment door. The guy muscled her out of the way and went in fast, his gun pointing first one way and then the other. “Okay, you first.” Mia sighed and shut the door behind her. “Do you want to check under the bed? Maybe in the closet?”

He just looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes very cold. Then he marched into her bedroom. Mia tagged along behind him. He had a nice butt. He really did check out the closet and under the bed. She wasn’t surprised. He also took a quick look in the bathroom and then spun around to pin her with his baby blues.

“We’re clear. We’ll probably be safe enough for now.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Mia turned around and headed for the kitchen. “I’m hungry. You want something?”

She could hear him following her. Not that he was loud or anything. She could just hear a bare rustle of clothing and his breathing. That short, rasping sound that she’d heard before. Mia stopped dead and turned back around. He almost ran into her. She poked a finger into his broad chest. It felt hard and warm. “You, back to the bathroom. I want to check you out. If you’re still bleeding—”

“I’ll do, ma’am.”

“Don’t give me that macho crap. Turn your beautiful buns around and march, soldier boy.” Mia scowled up at him just the same as if he was a miffy patient. He gave a ghost of a laugh. He didn’t argue but went back to the bathroom. She made him sit on the closed toilet seat. Then she started looking. It wasn’t too hard to find where the blood had come from. His upper sleeve was saturated. A strip of ragged cloth was clumsily knotted around his huge bicep. Mia got a mental vision of him pulling the knot tight with his teeth.

Mia got out her emergency kit. It had in it a little more than the usual Band-Aids and antibiotic wipes. She took out what she needed. Mia noticed that he was watching her and that he looked kind of pale.
Must be the lighting.
“Okay, lose the gun. I’m going to cut that rag off. Then you shuck the shirt, so I can see the damage.”

He moved kind of slow. He sure didn’t want to let go of the gun, but he did. He propped it up against the tub. Mia cut through the ragged bandage with a pair of sharp scissors. It came away stiff in her hand, and she dropped it into the trash can. “The shirt.”

He pulled the tails out of his pants, unbuttoned the shirt, and shrugged out of it. He had on a T-shirt underneath. It was sweat-grimed and bloody down one side, but it stretched nicely across that broad chest and molded to a flat stomach.

Mia swallowed. She shook her head free of bad, bad thoughts and looked at the wound. It was better than she thought it might be. “The bullet sliced cleanly through the muscle. Looks like it might have nicked the arterial vein. That’s why all the blood. You were lucky.”

Mia cleaned the gaping edges of the torn flesh. Then she threaded a needle. He was looking pale again. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

He gritted his teeth. “No! I just don’t like needles.”

“Rambo would have stitched himself up already.”

He lowered his brows and cast a glance of dislike at her. He muttered, “John Rambo is a legend.”

“Yeah? Then take a page from the legend’s handbook and hold still.” Mia began stitching. It took a few minutes. She had to pull together some underlying muscle tissue before she could close the wound and set several neat closing stitches. She tied it off and snipped the thread. Then she covered the wound with a waterproof bandage and taped it. “There you go. A very neat job, even if I do say so myself.”

He didn’t lift the back of his head from the wall. He just opened his eyes. They glittered at her. Mia didn’t think he appreciated her cheerfulness. His mouth was held in a grim, straight line. He looked kind of limp leaning back against the toilet box.

Mia cleaned up everything and put away the emergency kit. She picked up the clean water glass that she always had on the counter, turned on the faucet, and filled it. “Here. You’re probably dehydrated. If you feel up to it, get cleaned up in the shower. I can put your clothes in the wash. I’m going to go make something to eat. Come out when you’re ready.”

Mia left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

* * * *

He drank the water slowly. The cool liquid soothed the tissues of his parched throat, the welcome coolness spreading down inside his body. The nausea receded, and his stomach stopped flipping. He set the empty glass down and dropped his skull back against the wall again, breathing heavily. His head was still swimming.
My arm aches like a son of gun.

The last several minutes had taken a lot out of him. The woman had been efficient and quick, but the stabbing of the needle and the dragging together of torn tissue had hurt. It was more than that, though. It was just the
feel
of the thread tugging through his flesh.

He had been lucky. He knew that. Anyone could have found him. The woman had obviously come looking for him in order to help him. It must have taken incredible courage for her to do that, and then to bring him back to her home and care for him. He was grateful and humbled.

She had had the medical supplies and the knowledge to do what she had to do.
She has to be a trained medic.
She had been matter-of-fact and even a little abrasive, with those cracks about Rambo that were obviously meant to stiffen his manly pride. He huffed a grating laugh. It had worked, too. But damn, it had been hard not to squeal and make a few snuffling noises and maybe shed a tear or two!

He worked off his bloodied T-shirt and bent to undo the laces on his dirty combat boots.
Time to get cleaned up.
He’d be glad of a shower after the night he’d had, even if the water turned out to be ice-cold. The water inside the town’s environs wasn’t always adequate and was often rusty. Shedding his pants and briefs, he stepped naked into the bathtub, glancing down at the drain. No orange discoloration from rust. Either the woman was a maniacal cleaner or she was one of the fortunate ones. He closed the shower curtain and fingered it for a moment, frowning at it.
Pretty pattern, pretty color.

The building where she lived had looked much better than other places he had seen. It was better kept, not tumbledown or as worn. Apparently, someone who had her skill set was compensated with better living conditions even by the present regime.

He twisted the shower knobs and braced himself for icy spray. A cascade of hot water hit his shoulders, and he groaned in sheer pleasure.
Hot damn and hold the sundae!
He had tumbled into heaven.

He found shampoo to wash his hair and then soaped himself down. The water sluicing off of his body was pinkish until the dried blood was washed away. He handled his heavy shaft and balls, cleaning himself briskly, until he suddenly thought of the woman. The incredibly sexy, incredibly brave woman who had saved his life had dangerous curves. His hand slowed, and his equipment grew heavier.
She has the most perfect ass.
He envisioned grabbing that ass and sliding into her slick heat.

He uttered a soft curse. Bracing himself against the tiles with one flattened hand, his shoulders bowed under the splashing water spray, and he stroked and jerked himself to completion.