Page 12

T his woman makes me forget who I am. It only takes a simple look from her, and I turn into a lustful, undisciplined teenager. More eager to get my cock inside her than to teach her a lesson she so rightly deserves.

I pocket her panties that are in tatters on the ground, then help her to roll off the log. Dead leaves and dirt cling to my slacks at the knees. Only this woman could make me ruin a perfectly good pair of pants to fuck in the mud.

“I got it.” She lightly pushes my hands away when I try to help her get to her feet.

I get out of her way while I zip up. My belt still hangs around her neck. The dark, worn leather nestled against the creamy, soft skin of her throat looks almost natural. Like her wearing my mark in any way is exactly as things should be.

As though hearing my thoughts, she reaches for it.

“No.” I grab her wrist and put it at her side. “It stays.”

Anger flashes in her eyes.

“This wasn’t enough of a punishment?” She throws her hand around, gesturing to the log.

“No,” I say simply, not explaining that an orgasm isn’t a punishment—no matter if I tried to make it sound like it was. My ego needed appeasing, and justifying fucking the woman instead of tying her up in the pit was necessary.

For me.

If I can’t explain it to her, at least I can be honest with myself.

Even when the truth darkens my mood further.

“Let’s go.” I grab her elbow and start walking. It only takes a few steps to realize she’s hurt.

As I turn to see what the problem is, she merely bats her eyes at me. Her stubbornness is going to make me lose my mind.

I grab my phone from my back pocket and hit the flashlight feature. As soon as the beam sweeps across her right foot, my blood instantly boils.

It’s swollen up to the size of a softball. At least there’s no bruising, but she’s barely putting any weight on it.

“It’s fine.” Again, she tries to swat my hands away when I reach for her, but it doesn’t work this time.

“Hold on to me.” I sweep her up into my arms and wait for her to put her arms around my neck.

“I can walk,” she argues.

“No, you can’t.” Leaves crunch beneath my steps as I take her out of the woods and back to the house.

“We’re still in the backyard?” She lifts her head when the back patio that she landed on comes into view.

“The back of my property backs up to the woods. You weren’t even on my property anymore when I found you.” If she’d kept going in the direction she was headed, it would have taken her another hour, maybe longer with her ankle, to get to a main road.

“Oh. I thought I made my way to the front of the house,” she huffs. “My sense of direction must be off.”

“I’m beginning to think you have no sense at all,” I mutter.

Gregor opens the back patio door for me, letting us into the house.

“Get the doctor here,” I order and take her to the stairs. “I’ll be in my room.”

She stiffens in my arms.

“No, my room. Put me in my room. And I don’t need a doctor.”

I tighten my hold on her.

“Don’t argue, Megan. Not now. Not when you’ve made me angry again.”

“How’d I do that?” she questions as I start up the stairs. “I did what you said. I… you know.”

I let myself take a glance at her.

The blush on her cheeks makes me want to take her all over again.

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.” I kick the door to my room open and head to the adjoining bathroom.

“Would you have not done what you did?”

I gently put her on the bathroom counter. Now in the well-lit room, I see the damage this woman did to herself.

Aside from the scratch on her cheek and the ankle she may have broken, her legs are scratched to hell. And she’s filthy.

I ignore her question, not sure I have the answer she wants to hear. Would it have stopped me from turning her over that log and taking what I’ve wanted to take since I saw her standing in the office at Obsidian?

I don’t know.

“Stay here.” I point my finger at her and wait for a small nod from her before I step away and gather a few washcloths and supplies to clean her cuts.

“I can do this.” She reaches for the washcloth as I turn on the water in the sink.

“No.” Once the water is warm enough, I soak the washcloth and grab the antibacterial soap.

“It’s just a few scrapes,” she says, bending over to look at her legs, stretching them out so she can get a better look.

“Hmm.” Standing in front of her, I take hold of her left foot and press it against my hip. Her knees took most of the damage. Carefully, I brush away all the little bits of twigs and dead leaves that cling to her skin.

Most of the scratches are superficial, but there’s one gash with debris lodged in it. Reaching over to the counter where I put my supplies, I grab the pair of tweezers.

She stiffens.

“Maybe you should let the doctor do this?” She goes to move her leg away, but I merely place my hand over her knee.

“He’s not touching you other than to look at your ankle.” This wound is just above her knee, dangerously close to her thigh. Unless this thing needs stitches, he’s not touching her here.

“Why?” She bumps into my head as she bends over again to watch me pluck out the tiny pieces of branch.

I look up at her. “Because.” Gently, I nudge her head away. “You’re blocking my light.”

“Oh.” She leans back.

The silence stretches while I finish cleaning out the debris.

“Did you find out what happened to that guy?” she asks after I drop the tweezers back onto the countertop and reach for the peroxide.

“Dexter? He’s dead.” The peroxide bubbles over the cut. She hisses, grabbing on to my shoulder and squeezing.

“Shit! That hurts!” She tries to pull her leg away, but I hold firm. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“My grandmother used to clean my cuts like this when I was a little boy. It stings, but it works.” Grabbing one of the bandages, I carefully place it over the cut.

“I can’t imagine you being a little boy,” she says.

She’s staring at me with narrowed eyes. Like she’s trying to conjure up the image of me as a young kid running down the street, playing with a bunch of schoolkids.

“I may not have had a typical childhood, but I assure you, I was a kid once.”

“It was a long time ago, though. I’m sure medicines have changed since then.” She waves her hand over the wound, like the cool, moving air is going to make it better.

“Is that a jab at my age?” I squeeze her calf.

“Well, you are almost forty.” She looks up at me with a sarcastic grin.

“Not quite there yet.” I run my thumbs over the edges of the bandage to be sure it’s firmly in place.

“How did he die?” she asks.

“What?”

“The guy. How did he die?” The topics change like the breeze with her.

“He collapsed. We’ll know more tomorrow.” I gently put her foot down and carefully pick up her other leg, careful not to touch her ankle. These cuts are all superficial, so it’s easier to clean them up without causing her any more pain.

“So, natural causes. I can go home, then.” She sounds so damn hopeful; it’s almost a shame I have to shatter it.

Almost.

“No.”

“Why not?” She looks ready to hop off the counter, so I put my hands on her hips and keep her firmly in place as I lean closer to her.

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.” I reach around her and start tugging on the dress, trying to pull it up over her hips, but she wiggles.

“What are you doing?”

“The dress is dirty, and I need to see if you have any cuts on your stomach. There’s a hole here.” I finger the tear in the fabric. “I assume this happened when you jumped into the bushes?”

The mental image of it makes my blood heat again, so I shove it away.

“I’ll check myself.” She tries to swat my hands away when I reach around her again.

Clenching my teeth, I sigh. Fighting with her is going to waste time, and the doctor will be here soon.

Decision made, I grab the neckline of the dress and tear straight down the middle, shredding the thin material in half.

“What the hell!” She grabs for what’s left, trying to pull it back together.

“I don’t have time to argue with you over everything. Just sit here for a minute.” I give her a look that seems to do the trick, then run my hands over her shoulders as I shove the dress off.

Fuck.

Me.

The woman is a glory.

There’s only one scratch on her stomach, a thin one where the branch tore the dress. But I take my time inspecting her stomach, gently running my fingertips over her ribs.

Her nipples pebble when my attention moves to her breasts. Cupping them, I rub my thumbs over her nipples. A small sigh escapes her pretty lips.

“Alexander!” Gregor’s voice cuts through the room like an axe splintering wood.

“Fuck.” I release her and go to the bathroom door, keeping it mostly closed to hide the naked beauty sitting on my bathroom counter.

“Oh. There you are. The doctor’s here.” He jerks a head behind him where the doctor is probably standing.

“Fine. Let him in. I’ll bring her out.”

When I get back to her, she’s trying to put the dress back on.

“You’re not wearing that thing; it’s dirty and torn up.” I grab it from her and toss it in the trash can.

“Well, who tore it?” she accuses.

“Who decided to be a bad girl and jump into a fucking rosebush?” I work the buttons of my shirt open and pull it from my pants.

“What are you doing?” She swallows as I take the shirt off, leaving me in my white undershirt.

“You need to cover up.” I drape the shirt over her shoulders and wait for her to work her arms into the sleeves before I start buttoning it up. She’s drowning in the shirt, but I like her wearing it. It’s mine and so is she.

She tries again to hop off the counter, so I grab her hips and shove her back down.

“If you keep trying to jump off this counter, the doctor is going to hear you getting your ass smacked. Then you’ll have trouble walking and sitting.” I level her with a dark glare that should send chills down her spine, but all she does is frown.

“Fine. But at least let me walk on my own.”

“No.” I don’t negotiate. At some point, she’ll learn that.

In the meantime, I scoop her off the counter and carry her into the bedroom where Doctor Kowalik waits for us.

The covers of the bed have been pulled down already, so I slip her into bed. With her bad leg out, I cover the rest of her with the blanket, earning a heavy sigh and an eye roll from her.

“Oh, wow. You really did a number here, didn’t you?” The doctor pushes his thin-framed glasses up his nose and starts his inspection of her ankle. As soon as he touches the swelling, she jumps.

“I can put some pressure on it, but not much,” she tells him.

I stand behind him as he continues to poke and prod at it, gritting my teeth every time she hisses from the pain. It’s necessary, I tell myself, but that doesn’t make me any less pissed off that he’s hurting her.

“Well, I don’t think it’s broken. I can meet you down at the office if you’d like to do an X-ray to be sure, though.” He looks over his shoulder at me.

“It’s not broken,” she interjects. “It’s not even that bad.”

“Does she need to stay off it?” I keep my focus on the doctor and not the horrible patient already trying to climb out of bed.

“For at least a day, maybe more depending on her comfort. If the swelling goes down and she can put weight on it, she’ll be fine. But if she can’t stand on it within a few days, bring her in so we can be certain she hasn’t torn any ligaments.” The doctor opens the black case he brought and pulls out a bottle, handing it to me. “For the pain. One every six hours if she needs it.”

I take it with a nod.

“She needs something now, something that will work faster. You got something like that?”

He looks in his case.

“I do.” He nods and leans closer to me, dropping his voice. “It will sedate her, though. It’s a heavy medication. When they called, I assumed it was one of you boys who got hurt. She’ll sleep clear through tomorrow morning.”

I eye her over his shoulder. Clearly annoyed we’re talking about her, she’s glaring at me.

My lip curls. “Do it.”