Unfiltered & Unsaved (8 page)

“No,” she said. “But I can’t have you trailing blood through the lobby, can I? We’re making a quick stop.”

The stop was at a convenience store, where she bought a cheap black jacket with the ASU Rio Verde logo on it, bandages, antibiotic cream, disinfectant, latex gloves and a sewing kit, all of which came in a sturdy paper bag. Elijah accepted the jacket, and once it was on and zipped, the blood wasn’t visible at all.

Then it was just a brisk, somewhat tense walk into the hotel to the elevators, a silent ride, and a quick key-card maneuver to get them both into the room. Hope dumped her backpack in the nearest chair, put the bag of supplies on the bedside table, and said, “You’d better go sit down.”

He did, and it was a kind of controlled collapse. His face looked pale, and his hands seemed clumsy on the zipper of the windbreaker. She helped him with it, and then unbuttoned his shirt beneath.

He laughed, which surprised her, and she looked up into his face. His eyes were steady on hers. “This is not how I expected to get undressed with you,” he said. “Thanks, Hope.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not a very good seamstress.” She also wasn’t very good with blood, and the thought of sewing up an open wound made her throat clench hard, but she focused on the mechanical things—setting out the bandages, the antiseptic, breaking out the needle and thread and getting that ready. She washed her hands and used the disinfectant on them, slipped on the gloves, and then went back to join him.

E.J. had opened the minibar and found a couple of pint-sized tequilas. He cracked the seal on the first and took a big gulp, then held it out to her. She shook her head. He shrugged and drained it, which was good, because he missed her wince when she moved his shirt out of the way and saw the cut on his side. The glass had sliced through layers of skin and fat, though not into muscle. “Um … this is going to hurt,” she said, which was probably unnecessary. Elijah just nodded. The hand gripping the empty mini-bottle had white knuckles. “I have to put some disinfectant on it now.”

She did, and he made muffled sounds that raised the hair on the back of her neck; her hands started to shake, and when she picked up the needle it seemed flimsy and very small for the task she was asking it to do. She closed her eyes for a second and sent a prayer up for the strength and steadiness to do what needed to be done.

Whether it was God answering, or her own determination, the world seemed calmer when she opened her eyes again. As before, everything had come into sharp, perfect focus, and she pinched the edges of the wound together and punched the needle through in a quick, accurate move. She felt him tense against the need to pull away, and take another drink, but she was working now, fast, pulling the thread through and tightening, making another stitch, and another, and another. She’d learned how to do proper stitches from a medical textbook, when she’d decided to go pre-med; she’d practiced it over and over again until she could make them even and tight. Funny that it was paying off now.

“So,” she said. “About the girl, Avita … that’s not your …”

“Baby? Hell no. It’s not like that. I like her, that’s all. And I feel sorry for her.”

“Okay.” She stopped to mop blood, but then Elijah silently took the gauze and blotted for her so she could keep going. Six stitches. Ten. Twelve … and fourteen.

Done.

She carefully tied off the threads and looked at her handiwork. It looked amazingly even and neat, and the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. She took the gauze and cleaned it up, then applied the cream antibiotics on top before she put on the clean gauze pads. “Hold this,” she told him, as she unrolled the bandages and began to wrap them around his body. That meant she got close … pressed against his chest as she passed the bandage behind his back. He felt chilled, and she tried not to notice the clean, strong shape of his body, the fluttering tension of his abdominals when her fingers brushed over them.

She failed at that, of course.

When she finally fastened the bandaging and sat back, Elijah took another hit of tequila from the second mini, then let out a long breath of what seemed like relief. He looked well relaxed now, at least. Maybe just a little drunk. “You’re really good at this,” he said.

“It’s my first time.” A blush hit her cheeks hard, and she stumbled to correct what she’d just blurted out. “I mean, stitching up a cut like that.” He just gave her a slow, warm smile, which made her feel even more flustered. “You should … lie down. You’re shivering. It’s probably a little bit of shock.”

He nodded and slipped his shirt the rest of the way off, then stood up to unfasten his pants. She started to protest, but the truth was that she couldn’t resist the chance to take a look. She’d seen a man in underwear before, of course, but a lifetime of moral standards and light make-outs in high school hadn’t exactly prepared her for this sudden, revealing intimacy. She watched his fingers sliding the button out of the way, then taking hold of the stiff metal of the zipper pull. She seemed to feel every single notch as it slid down, revealing dark fabric beneath, all the way down to the seam at the bottom. And then Elijah’s hands pushed the waistband, and the pants slid down in a rush to pool around his feet.

Hope leaned back against the wall, well aware she was staring, and unable to stop herself. He had
great
legs … strong, beautiful legs. Muscular thighs. The boxer briefs provided cover but not discretion, and she found herself short of breath looking at him. Looking at the unmistakable outline of what was unquestionably his erection. She didn’t have much to judge by, but it seemed impressive.

Elijah didn’t seem to care that she saw. He sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and slipped under the sheets without a word. Then he sat up, winced, and took the last drink from the small bottle.

He looked at her.

“Are you planning to get some sleep?” he asked her. She nodded, unable to form words for what was in her mind, and because he was still watching her, she instinctively turned her back to start unbuttoning her shirt.

Then she took a deep breath and swung around again to face him as she slipped the buttons. The air bit at her skin, and she shivered, although she wasn’t feeling at all chilled, really—not deep within. She avoided his eyes as she slipped the shirt off. Her bones were trembling under her skin, and she was terrified and thrilled at the same time.

Hope very clearly heard her mother’s voice whisper, in that sad tone she so dreaded,
oh, honey, you’re not making a very good choice.

Then her shirt floated down to the carpet, and her conscience fell away along with it. Hope’s fingers felt numb as she undid the skirt and let it fall as well. She was down to a lace white bra and panties, and she’d never been so glad that she’d worn something today that she actually thought flattered her figure.

Elijah’s face was unreadable. He didn’t say a word. He only folded back the covers next to him.

“I’m not—I’m not like this,” Hope said, as she sat down on the bed next to him. “You understand?”

He understood that she didn’t need an answer, at least. She slipped under the covers and immediately felt the hot, damp heat of his body. Instant summer, vaporizing the lingering chill inside her. She instinctively moved closer to it, rejecting the cold air outside the sheets, and took in a deep breath. She hadn’t noticed the smell of him before, not this closely or intensely, and it teased things inside that she hadn’t known could respond—and there was no reason she should like that smell, she thought. It was pure adrenaline and sweat: a sharp, dark scent that under normal circumstances she shouldn’t have even found attractive.

The electric tingle of anticipation before he touched her seemed to last forever.

It wasn’t a kiss, though somehow she’d naively expected that; instead, he put a white-hot palm on the curve of her bare shoulder, and glided it down the line of her arm, made a turn at the elbow, and it felt as if his touch coated her skin in glimmering sunlight. She didn’t move. She didn’t refuse. She didn’t accept, either. Something in her was too scared, too indecisive, to make that leap.

Elijah must have seen that. He let out a slow sigh, and turned on his back to put his hands under his head. She had a horrified feeling that he was angry with her, and in silent apology, she snuggled up closer and put her head on his shoulder.

He was completely still for a few seconds, and then he moved his right arm to lay it warm across her back. His fingers touched, then caressed the hollow of her waist. “So,” he said, still not looking at her. “This is nice.”

“Mmmm,” she agreed. It was. It was intensely, intimately nice in a way she’d never imagined. She felt … safe. And at the same time, dangerously out of control.

“You’re going to sleep in that bra?”

She felt a flush creep over her, burning in her cheeks. She didn’t move. “Maybe.”

“I’m only asking because it seems uncomfortable.”

It was. She’d never kept one on through an entire night before, and it was already feeling more like a cage than a modesty cover. “I just don’t want to make
you
uncomfortable,” she said. “I mean …”

“Trust me, you’re not going to make me any more uncomfortable than I already am.”

“I’m just thinking of you. You have … injuries.”

“It was a cut,” he said. “And you stitched it up.”

“I just don’t want you to do anything that would … break the stitches.”

“You’re killing me, girl.”

“I’m sorry. You asked me if I was planning to get some sleep. I said I was. I haven’t lied to you.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying that having you mostly naked in my bed isn’t the easiest way to go to sleep. And having the bra on or off isn’t going to change much about that.”

Hope raised her head to look at him. Straight on, without flinching. “Elijah, I met you
today,
and two days ago I did things … let’s just say, I did things that I’m not proud of. So I need some time to process things. I told you, I’m not like this. I’m not someone who picks up strangers and has car chases and checks into hotels with men I barely know.”

“Did those things you’re not proud of have anything to do with that backpack of cash?”

She collapsed back against him. The warmth of his skin against hers silenced something inside her that she hadn’t known was screaming. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she felt truly, deeply
okay.

“I just wanted to be somewhere quiet,” she said. “It was a bad night, and I just wanted
peace.
So I went—somewhere I like to go. It should have been safe, but there was this man acting weird there, and then he got crazy and violent, and then he was … dead.”

She felt Elijah’s muscles tighten under his skin. “You mean you killed him?”

“No! No, of course I didn’t. But … I helped cover up for the person who did. The man was violent, I told you; it was self defense. And there was all this money … drug money. We all just—took the money and agreed to never look back.”

“All? How many of you were there?”

She just shook her head at that. She wanted to tell him everything, God help her, she wanted to blurt out every single detail, but she’d made promises.

“What happened to the dead guy?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, feeling her hair drag on his skin. “It was chaos, honestly. Someone else said they’d take care of it, and all I had to do was take the money and go and never look back … but I’ve been so scared. I didn’t know what to do. So I just tried to keep moving the same direction I was in, but it feels so … wrong. Like I’m a different person now.”

“Want my advice?” he asked.

She looked up into his eyes, and felt a sensation of being pulled up, out of her body. She’d always heard girls talk about falling for someone, and that was exactly how it felt … like falling. Falling
up.
“Yes,” she said faintly. “I do.”

“Tomorrow, change your life. You go and buy a new car, for cash, something off of Craigslist if you can get it. Haul ass out of Rio Verde, out of Arizona, and keep on going. Lose yourself. Start over. Be someone else.”

“But—”

“Hope. You
can’t
keep going the way you are. When I saw you, the first thing I keyed in on was the wounded dove vibe you give off. You’re radiating like a victim, and you’re carrying goddamn murder money. You need to change things, and change them fast, or something bad is going to happen to you. People like me have an instinct for that.”

“People like you?”

His lips curled just a bit at the edges. “Do I need to draw you a picture? Bad guys. Guys who make a living scamming girls like you out of your daddy’s allowance money, or more if we can get it.”

“What kind of
more
?”

“I steal for a living. Sometimes it’s a little, sometimes it’s a lot. Hell, in some ways the magazine gig’s almost legit compared to some of what I’ve done. Yes, I’m a bad guy. I do bad things.”

Why in God’s name did that make her tingle, deep inside, and want to run her hands greedily over his strong chest?
I do bad things
shouldn’t be erotic for her. At all.

But it was. She couldn’t deny it.

“Tell me something,” she said. “If I … if I don’t want to do anything more than this, tonight, will you be okay with that? Or will it make you angry?”

“Disappointed, maybe. But if you’re asking me if I’m prone to date rape, no. I love closing the deal with willing partners, but I promise you, nothing’s going to happen here you don’t want.” There was a shadow in his eyes for a second that he blinked away quickly.

“What do
you
want?” she asked him. He laughed.

“Jesus Christ, Hope. I’m a guy. I’m pretty sure you’ve got a good idea of what I want.”

Did she? She wasn’t sure. This all seemed both exhilarating and incredibly terrifying to her, because it was something more than she’d ever anticipated … there was trust involved. A kind of blind, risk-taking trust that she wasn’t used to feeling.

She closed her eyes for a second, then moved her hand. It landed on the silky microfiber of his boxer briefs, and she felt a little flinch go through him—reaction, not rejection. He was waiting, she thought, to see if that was an accident, or a deliberate act.