Page 11 of Blade’s Edge (L.A.S.T. Defense #1)

Jasper

Emi drifts off less than five minutes after giving me her address. Dammit if I don’t want to drive around all night so I can keep stealing glances at her. But she has a bruise on her forehead the size of a golf ball, and her eyes are puffy.

She needs her own bed, a couple of ice packs, and someone watching over her until morning.

Her apartment building is one of Austin’s nicest. As I pull into the parking lot, the speed bumps jolt her awake, and she whimpers softly.

“Easy now, sweetheart. Nothin’s wrong. We’re here.”

“Oh.” Her fingers flutter along the edge of the bruise on her forehead. “Shit. That isn’t going to be pretty in the morning.”

“I reckon you ain’t gonna be on camera for a few days. At least, I hope not.” If I could, I’d get her out of town, but I’m not even sure she’ll let me stay with her tonight. I can’t push her for more.

Get over yourself, Jas. You’re in no shape to protect her. Not anymore.

“I have to finish the story,” she whispers. “But…not tomorrow. Need to sleep...” Her words are starting to slur, and she rests her head against the seat back.

“Fuckin’ hell, Emi. You should have stayed at the hospital. What if that concussion turns into a brain bleed? I’m sleepin’ on your couch tonight.”

“No, you’re not.” She jerks up, her eyes unfocused, those big brown saucers rimmed with red. “You can help me out of this damn truck. Hell, I’ll even let you walk me to my door. But that’s it .”

“We’ll see about that,” I mutter as I round the hood and pull open her door. She’s already got one foot on the running board. With a concussion. In those heels. I need to touch her more than I need to breathe, and I mold my hands to her waist to ease her the rest of the way down.

Emi sways for a moment, giving me the perfect excuse to hold on. “Careful there. You ain’t steady. Lean against the truck while I get your kale .”

Her anger chills the air between us. Or maybe that’s the late October night. She starts for the building’s front door on her own, but before she can make it more than three steps, I’m at her side with her canvas grocery bag slung over my shoulder.

The building isn’t too shabby. She punches in a six-digit code to enter the lobby, and there’s a security guard sitting at the desk in front of the elevators. “Good evening, Ms. Marsh. You having a good night?” the man asks.

“I’m fine, Benny. Thanks for asking.” Emi jabs the button for the elevator while the guard goes back to watching something on the monitor in front of him.

I scan the lobby. There’s an electronic keypad on the stairwell door, and before we get onto the elevator, I catch sight of a pistol strapped to Benny’s hip. The doors don’t close until Emi enters another six-digit code on the security panel.

“Benny any good at his job?” I ask when we start to rise.

Emi braces a hand against the mirrored wall, fighting to keep her swollen lids at half mast. “If I hadn’t said ‘thanks for asking,’ he would have called the police.”

“You ain’t serious…?”

She gives me the side eye. Fuck. She is.

“That’s brilliant. He do that with all the residents?” I’m impressed, and that doesn’t happen often.

“Yeah.” She’s slurring her words again, and I wrap my arm around her waist to keep her upright. “Jasper…I can manage?—”

“You probably can. But if my mama found out I let you, she’d slap the taste outta my mouth. I’m well north of forty, but that wouldn’t stop her from tryin’.”

The elevator doors open on the sixth floor, revealing plush blue carpet lining the halls, and fancy etched glass lights every ten feet. I’m half expecting classical music to start pouring from hidden speakers any second.

Emi stops in front of Unit 608 and digs around in her purse until she comes up with her keys. But she misses the lock twice.

“Let me, sweetheart,” I say as I ease the chain from her hand.

“I’m not an invalid.” After a second, she sighs. “Shit. I’m sorry. This…isn’t me.”

I pull her against me again and press a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re exhausted. Probably in a fair bit of pain too, I reckon. Come on. Let’s get you into bed.”

“I can find my own damn bed,” she slurs.

“Sure. Just consider me a backup plan.” The apartment is every bit as swanky as the lobby and the hall.

Ain’t much personal about it, though. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the glittering lights of downtown.

Flipping a switch on the wall, I get my first good look at the living room.

Three chairs, a coffee table, TV, and a deep purple area rug over the hardwood floor.

No couch. Guess I’m sleepin’ on the floor tonight, because I sure as shit ain’t leaving her alone. We lurch down the hall together, my hip on fire, and her eyes mostly closed.

Her bedroom is pristine. Not a single sock on the floor or wrinkle in her duvet.

“Sit down, sweetheart.” She sinks onto the mattress, and as soon as I drop to one knee to remove her shoes, she tries to bat my hands away. “Emi, stop. I’m gonna take care of you tonight. In the mornin’, you can kick me out and you never have to see me again.”

“Want to see you again.”

The whispered words send my dick pressing against the zipper of my Wranglers.

“Then maybe you’ll let me take you on a proper date this weekend. If you feel up to it. But right now, you’re goin’ to sleep.”

I should help her out of her clothes, but if I do that, I won’t catch a wink tonight.

“I’ll be out in the living room if you need anything.” Pulling back the blankets, I lift her legs onto the bed. God, her skin is so soft. Long, lean muscles—she must be a runner—relax under my touch.

“Jasper,” she murmurs. Her eyes are already closed, her hair fanned out on the blue satin pillow case. “S’no couch. Where…will you…?”

“The floor is just fine for me, sweetheart. I’m gonna wake you up around 2:00 a.m. Gotta make sure your concussion hasn’t gotten any worse.” Leaning down, I press a kiss to her forehead. I can still smell the smoke from the blast on her skin, but underneath, she’s all jasmine and vanilla.

Despite being so tired my eyes feel like sandpaper, I take a few minutes to put away her groceries as best as I can. Gonna have to look up what to do with kale one of these days.

None of her chairs look big enough for a guy like me to catch some shuteye, so I grab a couple of throw pillows, kick off my boots, and stretch out on the floor next to the coffee table.

It’ll have to do. I set the alarm on my phone for 2:00 a.m., and say a quick prayer no one comes after Emi tonight.

Emi

Moving hurts. So does breathing. My head pounds an incessant beat any drummer would be proud of. Stretching, I feel the sheets whisper over my bare calves, but my underwire is digging into my side. Why am I in bed fully dressed?

It takes another few moments for my thoughts to start making even a lick of sense. My car caught fire. No. It exploded.

Fragments of memories hit me one after another. Riding in the ambulance. The way the hospital smelled—antiseptic and bleach and blood. Jasper showing up with my purse—and my groceries. The beginnings of a panic attack. Then him driving me home.

We were in the elevator together. Weren’t we? But after that…everything’s fuzzy.

The blinds are open, letting in the light from the full moon. It hurts my eyes. That can’t be good.

“What if that concussion turns into a brain bleed? I’m sleepin’ on your couch tonight.”

Jasper. Did he really stay? Carefully, I push up on one elbow. So far so good. I’m only a little dizzy. Sitting all the way up is dicier, but after a minute, the room stops spinning.

I get to my feet in stages. Legs over the side of the bed. Hand braced on the headboard. Standing—I’m almost straight.

The stench of burnt gasoline clings to me. I’m not steady enough to shower, but I can at least get out of these clothes. And this damn push-up bra.

Everything takes twice as long as it should. Unbuttoning my blouse. Dealing with the zipper on my skirt. The catch on the bra is near impossible with how my fingers are shaking, but I finally get it off. Hallelujah.

I feel a hell of a lot better once I’m in my softest pajama pants and a t-shirt. A quick search of my bedroom doesn’t turn up my purse—or my phone—so I make my way out into the living room.

Oh, my God. Jasper really did stay. He’s stretched out on the floor next to the window with his Stetson angled over his eyes. At least he grabbed one of the chair cushions for under his head.

Carefully, I sink down to my knees next to him. “Jas?” I gently nudge his shoulder. “Jasper? Wake up.”

He jerks to sitting, his hat tumbling to the carpet, and wraps his hands around my upper arms. “Emi? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” It’s such an absurd thing to say, I start to laugh until a sharp pain lances through my skull. I hiss out a breath, and Jasper arches his dark brows at me. “Okay. I’m as fine as someone can be after…what happened.”

“Then why are you up? Don’t even think about trying to kick me out. I’m staying put.” His confusion is honestly adorable.

I offer him a wobbly smile. “You can’t sleep on the floor all night.”

“If you had a couch, I wouldn’t be down here.”

“I live alone. What do I need a couch for? Besides, any couch big enough for you to sleep on wouldn’t fit in this apartment.” My thoughts are fracturing in real time, and if I don’t lie down again soon, I’m probably going to fall over. “Come on. My bed is big enough for both of us.”

“I’m fine out here,” he says, but the longing in his voice is hard to miss. “I won’t do anythin’ that makes you uncomfortable.”

“What makes me uncomfortable is thinking of you out here on the floor.” I try to get up, but my body decides now is a good time for me to lose all sense of equilibrium. I pitch forward, landing sprawled across a set of powerful legs with my ass in the air.

Well, this is a great look.