Unforgiven (27 page)

“Well, there’re no breaks. Sprained all to hell, but you’ll be fine.” He turned to her as he flipped the monitor off, and then his face scrunched up in concern. She was still a bloody mess, and as she watched him, he reached out and stroked his thumb across her chin. “You shouldn’t have done this. You pushed yourself too far, and the only reason you did it was because you were mad at me.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have pissed me off.” She wasn’t upset at this point, though she certainly still felt hurt by his comments that morning.

He sighed, and he studied her face for a moment. He grabbed the ACE bandage he’d placed on the counter earlier, and as he lifted her ankle to his lap, he started to speak. “Listen . . . I wasn’t trying to boot you out my door this morning. I wasn’t telling you to get lost. I wasn’t saying I hate you. I wasn’t saying anything.” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what this means or what it doesn’t mean. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, and I don’t have a fucking clue how to figure it out. But I’m here, and I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just don’t know how to do this anymore.”

“This?”

“Us.” She wasn’t sure why it hurt to hear him say it. Probably because it was an acknowledgment that things were different between them. She knew that, of course, but she’d also found it very easy to let herself feel close to him after the night before.

He sat silently for a minute longer before he stood. “Stay here. I’m going to run to the pharmacy, and then we can go home and get you cleaned up.” She nodded, and when the door closed behind him, she stared at the floor, feeling confused and antsy.

He wasn’t gone long, and he came back bearing Vicodin—only a few doses worth to get her through the next couple days. Soon they were on the road, silently sitting next to one another. “Are you taking me to my house?”

He glanced to her, looking perplexed. “Of course not.”

“I can take care of myself, Darren. You can just take me home.”

“Why don’t you want to come to my place?”

“A bit of foreplay is no reason to assume I’m welcome in your home, now is it?” She was being a cheeky brat, and he glared at her for a moment. “I don’t need to come over. I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.”

“Odd you chose to come back to Savoy, then.” He was starting to match her irritation with his own, but then he exhaled deeply. “You’re coming over. I want you there. You’re going to be there. End of story.”

She relented, staring out the window for the remainder of the drive. He helped her into the house and up to his master bathroom, settling her on the side of the large bathtub. He started the shower, and he returned to undress her and unwrap her ankle. She watched as he stripped out of his clothes, and when the shower was warm, he led her into the large enclosure to sit on the built-in bench. He kneeled at her feet, pulling her foot onto his lap so he could gently start cleaning the grime and dirt from her knee. She hissed as the soapy washrag he was using grazed over the sensitive raw and open skin, and his eyes flashed to hers.

He was serious again, in that incredible concentration as he worked. It didn’t mean his body wasn’t fully aroused, but he ignored the erection jutting up on his abdomen, and he focused on her knee. When he was finished, he pushed her knees apart and kneeled up, bringing himself closer to her face. He used the rag to clean the abrasion on her forehead, and she tried to ignore the way his rigid cock tickled her tummy. He was still ignoring it, but she’d be damned if she could.

He pulled her up to her feet, and he held her steady under the shower as she washed her hair. He washed her body, pausing over her sex to toy with her while her breath lurched. He ran the washrag over the mound of her sex, but then slipped his middle finger between the lips. He tickled her clit until she was gripping his waist harshly. He abandoned it, turning the water off and looking down at her. He was expressionless, but there was a slight tugging at the corner of his lips.

He dried her off and then himself and helped her onto his bed. He made no move to get her clothes, and when he pulled her mangled leg onto his lap, he slowly started massaging her calf. He was gentle when he neared her ankle, but he manipulated it, stretching the painful and tight joint. They were silently watching one another as he caressed and gripped her muscles, and after he rewrapped her ankle, he stood.

He was still as naked as she was, and he was still as aroused too—though he couldn’t hide it nearly so easily as she could. He gave her a small smile when he caught her staring, and then he turned toward his bathroom. “Would you mind lending me a clean T-shirt to put on?” He stopped and turned back to her slowly, pausing in the door of the bathroom.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Then why are you so worried about clothes?” He smiled again and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing moments later with his discarded pants in his hand. He pulled something from the pocket before discarding his pants in the dirty laundry hamper, and he walked back to her, fully erect, stunning, and impossible to ignore.

When he reached the bed, he sat at her hip, and she glimpsed the syringe in his hand. He wasn’t hiding it, and she was suddenly confused. He’d said nothing of needing medication other than the Vicodin, and yet he was holding a slender syringe. She wasn’t the world’s biggest fan of needles, and this one was no different.

“Would you go on birth control?”

She could feel her eyes bulging at his question. “Why on earth would I do that?” Her eyes flashed back to the syringe. “What’s that?” Now she was suspicious, but he only gave her a mischievous smirk. “Jesus, you’re going to sterilize me.” That earned her a chuckle.

“No. Well . . . only for a few months.” He feigned innocence with an expression that could melt a nun’s heart.

“Because you intend to sleep with me?” Saying the words alone left her groin pulsing with warm heat.

“Sleep is what you do when you’re done fucking.” He was turning on the seductive voice she remembered from long ago, and he was so very good at it. He studied her for a moment, taking in her reaction to him. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t know.” He shook his head in frustration for a moment. “But I’d at least like the option of fucking you and not worrying about getting you pregnant.”

“You want to stick me with that ‘just in case’ you decide you want to sleep . . . have sex with me?”

He shrugged mildly. He was back to full-on seductive.

“Do horses push carts in your world too, Darren?” He laughed, showing his white teeth that were ridiculously straight and perfect.

When he leaned to her, bringing his face up close to watch but far enough back to let her take in his expression, she gasped. “Horses fuck in my world.” His eyebrows shot up. “Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes hard, sometimes gentle, sometimes from the front, sometimes from the back, sometimes sitting up, sometimes lying down.” He licked his lips, and she did too as wetness built between her legs. “And sometimes in secret little tight naughty places they’re not supposed to want to fuck. And of course, sometimes when their nag is laid up with a nasty sprained ankle.”

“And apparently never with condoms.” She was going for sarcastic, but her voice was breathy.

“Always with condoms . . . just not with you. I’ve never once had unprotected sex, not once. And if I know you well enough, I’m guessing you haven’t either—the few times you actually got laid.” She rolled her eyes. He’d nailed her on that one. “Never mind the fact you’ve been out of the game . . . or let’s say, off the horse track . . . for six years now.”

She couldn’t seem to stop biting her lip or licking them for that matter. He eventually set the syringe down on the night stand. “Not very sexy, I know—propositioning you with a needle. But the idea of feeling your wet pussy around me . . . You liked touching my cum. Don’t you want to feel it inside you? Now that’s sexy as hell.” He stood then, and he took a deep breath. “It’s up to you. I’m running out for food. Try not to hurt yourself while I’m away.”

She was stunned after he was gone, and she stared at the syringe on the nightstand. What the hell were they doing? It didn’t take the question long to exhaust her to the point of slowly but surely drifting away to sleep. Her body ached terribly, and she was ready for escape—even from him. Her brain was fuzzy and confused—pretty much exactly as it had been for weeks. But sleep would help. Sleep always helped.

She was asleep when he came back. She was on her side, nearly on her stomach, still as naked as he’d left her. Her bandaged knee was pulled up, and he stripped out of his clothes just to make his cock more comfortable. She certainly did something to him, and it was a very physical and instantaneous reaction. He wasn’t kidding himself; there was a hell of lot more to it than that, always had been, but fuck, the sight of her prone bottom and the small pale lips of her sex between her thighs, and he was ready to drive straight to her core and pound until he could find relief.

He was carrying a bag of takeout Chinese, which he promptly abandoned on the floor to free his hands for her, and once he pulled his body up behind her, he slid his hand down her bottom and between her legs, parting her lips and pushing a finger into her before she even had the chance to wake. It didn’t take her long to rouse, and he thrust gently in and out of her until she was moaning and writhing against his hand. God, he just couldn’t get enough of this.

He loved the sounds she made. She whimpered quietly, self-consciously, her breath caught in her throat as she came close to her threshold, and when he heard the wet smack of her cum as he fucked her with his finger, he groaned. It was by sheer willpower alone and the delicious smell of Chinese food that he was able to extricate his finger from where it wanted to be most, and as he leaned back casually to watch her, she rolled over, glancing sheepishly at him.

“Chinese. Mongolian Beef to be specific.”

“My favorite.”

“I know.” And he did. He knew that and so much more about her. “Picnic in bed.” He snatched the bag of food off the floor and set it between them. “How do you feel?”

“Sore as hell. Everywhere.”

“Get some food in your stomach, and then you can take some of the Vicodin.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Not until you get something—”

“No, the birth control.” He had no control over his lips as they pulled up. He stuffed a bite of food in his mouth to hide his smile. “I don’t like needles.”

He spoke around his mouthful of food. “And if I eat your pussy afterward? Would that make up for it?”

Her cheeks burned bright red at his completely blunt words, and he gave up trying to hide the smile. “I suppose.” Her voice was quiet.

She handled the injection fine, and he kept his promise. She passed out quickly after she took the Vicodin, and he took the leftovers downstairs and set Macy free for a while as he sat on the deck. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing or if it would ultimately end up kicking them both in the ass, and he was terrified. When he looked at her, he was instantly ravenous, and if he was being honest, he’d felt it from the moment he’d seen her in the emergency room months before. Feelings of some sort, some intense and arousing and some painful and debilitating, had taken him over at that very moment. He’d focused on the anger and the hatred that had been with him for years. But now, it was slipping away. Sadly, he couldn’t count on it to stay away. His feelings about her seemed to course through him in waves that peaked and crashed depending on the day, the hour, his mood, her mood—hell, what she was wearing, what she smelled like, just how much she reminded him of his past. When he imagined fucking her, he felt like his body was pulling apart at the seams, and whatever ugly feeling might be trying to invade his mind faded to the background. It was what he’d meant when he’d told her he felt more at peace with her at times than he had for years. She was the source of his anguish, but she was also the source of quieting it. No wonder he was confused all the time.

He woke her early in the morning when it was still dark out. She’d actually woken him whimpering and groaning in her sleep. She was a walking bruise at the moment, and he wasn’t surprised to see she was still in pain. He gave her another dose of Vicodin, and soon, she was purring contentedly beside him—humming her comfort as she snuggled into his body. He fell asleep too, determined to sleep in late with her.

It didn’t happen. The knock on his door woke him far sooner than he was ready. She was sleeping soundly, too drugged and relaxed to hear the knocking. He tossed a pair of jeans on and headed downstairs just to see his mom peering through the window that ran the length of the side of his front door. She didn’t look thrilled. Summer breaks gave her entirely too much time to meddle in his business, and this wouldn’t be the last time she showed up unannounced.

“Bailey’s bike is here? I thought you had the day off.”

“I do have the day off.”

“Then what’s she doing here?”

“Sleeping at the moment.” He watched her coolly. It was the only approach to take when she was being nosy.

“She comes over to sleep? What are you doing, Darren?”

“Taking care of her. She fell yesterday and got banged up pretty good.”

“And
you
decided to take care of her?” Now she was just being rude.

“What should I have done, Mother? Leave her nearly two miles out in the woods to see how long it took her to crawl back?”

Her face softened. “And she’s going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Well, perhaps I should check on her.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“And why not?”

“I doubt she wants you to see her naked.” He stared at her, and she glared. He was being a jerk, but he didn’t appreciate having his own mother treat him as though he was a damn criminal because he had a woman in his bed—one he’d not even had sex with.

“You’re sleeping with her?” Her voice was suddenly venomous.