Page 27

Savannah got out and shut the door behind her. She swam in his white T-shirt and gray jogging pants. His throat went dry as she folded her arms under her breasts. The material showcased her nipples.
Moving to the man door, Toth jerked his head for her to follow him. He slipped into the night, Savannah beside him, climbed the front steps, and punched in the code on the door handle. The lock revved to life and clicked open. A softbeep,beep,beepcame from inside. He swung open the door and went in first.
“Lemme clear the place quickly—just in case.”
After setting down their bags, he waited for Savannah to enter and close the door. Then he took two steps to the keypad on the wall and disabled the security system. Keeping his gun in front of him, he flicked on the lights and swept the main floor then made his way upstairs to the loft bedroom and second bathroom.
Coming down the stairs, he tucked away his 9mm. “All clear.”
Savannah slid off her running shoes and looked at her bag as if the effort to pick it up was too great. Concern washed over him. “Let’s have a look at that cut.”
She made a face. “No, it’s okay.”
He caught her wrist. “It’s almost eleven o’clock. We both need rest. Either you let me take care of it now or I’ll need to wake you up in a few hours. Can’t let infection set in.”
She heaved a sigh and tethered her fiery gaze to his face. “Make it quick.”
He ignored the snippy comment. It was clear what she thought: he was workin’ for her.
Like hell.
He wouldn’t fight her on it now, but she’d realize really fucking quickly that he wasn’t going to put up with her bullshit. Leading her to the Aztec-patterned sofa in the living room that nearly matched the rug, he gestured at her to take a seat. “I’ll get my kit.”
Her gaze flicked to the mounted deer heads and antlers decorating the space. Her dirty feet looked small against the brown patterned area rug.
Toth went to the kitchen, where he kept another first aid kit, this one more equipped than his portable one. He stopped at the liquor cabinet and snagged a bottle of rum and two short glasses then returned to the living room.
“You hunt?” she asked.
He lifted a shoulder. “Don’t have time.”
“Did you kill those?”
After setting everything on the table, he unscrewed the bottle and looked up at the glassy-eyed creatures staring down at him and then poured liquor in each glass. “Nope. Came with the place.”
Her fingertips rubbed her knee—the only sign of her nervousness.
“Drop ’em,” he said, tugging the excess material at her thigh.
She squinted at him with disdain. “How charming.” She stood and shimmied the pants down her legs.
Gone was the vulnerability he’d witnessed at the stream. The hard exterior was back up in true Savannah Carrington fashion.
“Not tryin’ to charm you.” His gaze skimmed her sleek thighs. He locked down his expression. Because if Savannah knew how to read a man, and he’d bet his left nut she did, he’d eat those fucking words. One green light from her and it would be game on.
She sat back on the sofa.
“Lie on your side so I can reach better.” He clicked on the nearby lamp.
This time she kept her comments to herself. She shifted back on the cushion then reclined, stretching her gorgeous legs toward him.
“There’s a drink,” he said, gesturing to the glass of rum. “Might take the edge off the pain.”
“I don’t drink.” The statement was firm.
“Okay. This’ll hurt, but suit yourself.”
“I’ve endured worse,” she mumbled dryly. Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes darted to his and widened.