Page 32 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter thirty-two

Gabe

M y phone vibrates every few minutes, buzzing like a pocket full of bumble bees. Someone wants me bad, but I’ll be damned if I try to dig it out of my pocket and possibly wake Tess up.

She’s been out cold, sprawled across my body for almost an hour now. My right hand is fisted in her hair at the base of her skull, my left resting above the swell of her ass. I can’t seem to stop my thumb from drawing lazy circles over the exposed soft skin below the hem of her t-shirt.

Holding her this close is killing me. All I have to do is tip my chin down for my tongue to reach the delicate swirl of her ear, or the spot under her jaw where the bruise is turning various shades of purple.

To keep my mind off kissing her and to cool my overheated body, I study her home.

Driving through the neighborhood had every protective instinct on code red.

I wanted to turn the car around and drive to the airport where I’d bundle her into a chartered plane and take her to a home where a doorman guards the entrance and biometrics get the few select people I trust into my place.

I hate like hell that she lives in this rundown building but I’m not such a snob that I don’t remember the years of financial struggle Cara and I lived through while I was building my business. I don’t judge anyone for trying to make ends meet. But Tess in this place?

Unacceptable.

Yet despite the state of the building, her apartment is homey.

Bright and happy, just like her. She must love gardening because it’s like a jungle in here with every conceivable houseplant on every available surface.

Vines drape over windowsills and tables and bookcases until I can’t figure out where one starts and the other ends.

The couch beneath us is old and worn, sagging in the middle.

There’s a spring digging into my back, but pastel throw pillows and a multi-colored handmade knitted blanket thrown over the back cheer it up.

A furry, white, area rug covers most of the floor.

The couch, coffee table, TV stand, and four bookcases are all mismatched but manage to look like they belong together.

Yes, four bookcases, all filled with books. From where I’m lying, I see the spines of some that she’d recommended to me in our late-night texts. She’s a reader, but I already knew that. It’s the rest of her I want to learn about.

The living area and dining area are one big room, but the dining area has no furniture, no table and chairs, and is filled with boxes neatly piled up like maybe she just moved in. Since it seems she’s still unpacking I’m hoping I can convince her to move right back out.

Doesn’t TaskGenius pay a living wage?

She whimpers in her sleep, and I tighten my arms around her. A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s time for her pain meds but I won’t wake her because then she’ll leave my arms and I’m not ready to let her go just yet.

However, the pain must be making itself known because she starts squirming, her warm body pressing into mine, causing all kinds of reactions that I grit my teeth against.

Her deep breaths come faster. Like a kitten, she rubs her cheek against my pec, and it takes everything in me not to lift my hips and press into her. She snuggles deeper into my embrace, tucking her good arm between us.

Slowly she raises her head, resting her chin on my chest to blink up at me with clouded, sleepy eyes.

Red lines crease her cheek. Her braid is coming undone, the long rope of it draped over my forearm.

I tip my chin down until our lips are close to touching but aren’t quite there. Her breath catches. Mine is completely absent. Slowly her lids lower to my mouth, the delicate sweep of her lashes hiding what she’s thinking.

“Tess.” I breathe her name.

Her lashes rise and my mind goes blank. I don’t consider that she’s half-asleep when she’s staring at me with a look that telegraphs her need to be kissed. I don’t believe that kissing her is wrong, because how can it be wrong when it feels so right?

I don’t think at all. I act.

I don’t take. I give.

Our lips brush against each other. I pull back, giving her the chance to tell me to go to hell.

She lifts her chin and cranes her neck forward, her mouth seeking mine.

Now she’s giving, but so am I. I’m not ready to define whatever the hell’s going on between us, but I’ll give this. I’ll show her that I want her, that I need to taste her, breathe in her breaths until they’re mine.

I’ve never in my life given a hesitant kiss until now.

She’s like a timid kitten exploring something new and I don’t want to startle her. I allow her exploration, keeping as still as I can when what I really want to do is roll her under me and devour her.

I have to remind myself that she’s injured, broken.

Your fucking employee.

No. Not anymore. But she is injured and she just experienced a traumatic event. Damn my conscious. My head falls back, breaking our contact. She pulls her hand from between us and shifts, causing me to wince at our whole-body contact.

“Sorry.” She wiggles against me, forcing me to grab onto her hips to shift her to the side before we have a bigger problem than what we already do.

She slides her feet to the floor and stands, throwing her injured arm out when she stumbles. I jack-knife up to catch her, but she rights herself and takes a hurried back.

Cold now without her warmth draped over me, I swing my legs around so I’m sitting on the edge of the cushion and rub my hands down my face.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“I’m not.” I should apologize for kissing her, but I won’t because I don’t regret it, especially seeing her reddened lips and knowing I did that to her. To keep from pulling her onto my lap so I can kiss her again, I concentrate on practical things, like her pain. “You should take your meds.”

“No pain meds.” She moves away, her good hand fluttering in agitation.

“If you’re hurting it’s okay to take your meds.”

She starts pulling dead leaves from her plants. No longer relaxed, she’s all jerky movements and tense shoulders. “You don’t have to stay.”

I sigh. This argument is becoming old. I want to move beyond it, but she seems stuck in this mind fuck of wanting me gone when her eyes telegraph her very real fear. And that kiss sure as fuck didn’t say get the hell out. “I’m staying.”

She spins to face me, her hand full of yellowed leaves. “What if I promise not to leave my apartment?”

“You think you can’t fall down in your apartment?”

Her expression turns stubborn. My frustration rises because what I really want is her snuggled in next to me, but she’s determined to rehash this conversation. “If you really want me to go, I will. But you need someone with you.”

She crumples the dead leaves. “I’ll call Conor. He’ll stay with me.”

“Like hell you will.” I surge off the couch.

That punk kid wants Tess and I’m not giving him the opportunity. He had his chance and lost it.

She plunks the hand not holding the leaves on her hip. “What’s wrong with Conor?”

“He can’t protect you like I can.”

“And what are you protecting me from?”

My shins bump her coffee table when I step toward her, halting my forward motion.

Probably a good thing because I would’ve grabbed her shoulders and kissed the shit out of her and that’s the last thing we need right now.

“The man who attacked you is still out there. No way in hell am I leaving you unprotected, and Conor is no protection.”

Her eyes narrow. “Be nice.”

I snort. “I refuse to play nice when it comes to your safety. If you want me gone, I’ll go. I’ll hate it. Hell, I probably won’t go far, but I’ll go. What I won’t do is leave you unprotected.”

Her eyes go wide. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll hire someone to keep you safe.”

Now she scoffs. “You can’t do that.”

“Can’t I?”

Her mouth opens, then snaps closed. Her lips thin in anger. “Fine. Make yourself at home, I guess.”

She stomps toward the kitchen, and I bite back a smile. Arguing with her should anger me, frustrate me at the least. Instead, it’s one of the biggest turn ons ever. I’m quickly learning that verbally sparring with Tess makes me feel more alive than anything has in a long while.

“The fridge is probably empty,” she says from the kitchen. She returns minus the dead leaves and glares at me. Does she think the lack of food will drive me away?

“I’ll place a grocery order.” I arch my back, rubbing at the spot where the spring dug into me. I’m too old for sleeping on couches, but not too old to have a beautiful woman sleep on top of me. I’d happily endure more springs in my back for her.

“They won’t deliver here.”

I bite my tongue to keep from telling her that she needs to move somewhere safer. I just barely won one argument, I’m not about to press my luck by starting another.

“I need to take a shower. Wash the hospital off me.” She tilts her head to the short hallway that leads to three doors. “There’s a bed in my office that you can use.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Taking a shower?” I don’t want her alone where she could easily slip and fall. What if she gets dizzy and passes out?

“You’re sure as hell not following me into the bathroom while I shower.” She disappears down the hall. A door softly clicks shut and I curse because now I’m definitely picturing her in the shower naked.

“Shit.” I rub a hand over my head and stare at the ceiling, trying to dispel every erotic image I have of her.

My phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket, happy to have something else to think about. There are five missed calls from Jack and a text that says CALL ME in all caps.

I dial Jack as I head into the kitchen.

“There you are,” he says. “Of all times to ignore me.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I brought Tess home from the hospital and got her settled in.”