Page 7

7

T wo hours later, Maggie limped tiredly down the stairs. Her foot was throbbing along with her wrist.

Crap. She was falling apart.

But at least Uncle Willy was sleeping now. And he’d likely wake up with no recollection of what had happened. That was a blessing. She knew he’d be devastated if he ever found out that he’d hurt her.

She’d found a box in a storage room down the end of the corridor and had carefully picked up the pieces of the broken vase and put them in the box. And she’d managed not to cut herself again.

So, yay her!

She walked toward the back door, intending to take the glass to the rubbish bin outside. She froze as she saw a familiar figure enter the house.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He stared at her for a long moment. “Why aren’t you asleep?

“Uh-uh. I asked first.”

A frown crossed his face.

“You know, you’re going to give yourself crow’s feet if you keep frowning like that. Actually, never mind. Too late.”

“Why are you sneaking around in the dead of night?”

“I am not sneaking.”

He gave her a look of disbelief.

“I was moving quietly so as not to disturb anyone. I was being considerate. Of course, I don’t expect you to recognize that, seeing as you’ve never been considerate of anyone in your life.”

“Little Misfit, you are close to pushing me too far.”

Hmm. That sounded like an invitation to push a bit more . . . and why was he calling her little? She wasn’t that small.

But as she opened her mouth, a wave of exhaustion washed through her. What was she doing? She didn’t usually go around antagonizing people for fun.

She needed to have more control than this.

“Why were you sneaking around?” he demanded.

“Again, I wasn’t sneaking. Sneaking implies that I was doing something nefarious. If I were, I wouldn’t get caught. I walk lightly. Not all of us are built like elephants. I was taking this out to the bin.” She rattled the box she held.

He glanced down at it.

“I broke a vase. See? No grand conspiracy. I’m not trying to discover any state secrets. I doubt they’re hiding in the bin. Although maybe I’m wrong. And if I did find them, what would I even do with them?”

“You’re rambling.”

Because she was bone-dead tired. And if one more person insulted her, yelled at her, or asked her to do something, she just might cry.

Toughen up, princess.

What right do you have to cry? You’ve got to tap into the pain. Use it. Fight.

“Whoa. Are you all right?”

Opening her eyes, she found Ian standing about a foot away from her. That was disturbing. She peered up into his eyes. Yeah, definitely crow’s feet. Of course, on him, they looked all sexy and stuff.

It was official. She was losing her mind.

“Never better,” she replied. “Fine and dandy. Sweet like candy.”

Dear Lord.

Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse. They did. Now she was speaking in tongues. Some weird sort of rhyming language that was frankly disturbing.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked as he gaped down at her.

He really needed to stop staring at her like that or people would start thinking that he liked her.

She was people.

“You were swaying.”

Oh. Right.

Well, that was because she was exhausted. Not just physically but emotionally as well.

Stop being a cry baby. Put on your big girl knickers, throw out the vase, then get your ass upstairs, make sure there are no monsters in the wardrobe or under the bed, and get into bed with your toy zebra.

She was rocking this adulting stuff.

“There’s blood on the floor of the foyer.”

Maggie turned at Jack’s voice.

“Why is there blood on the floor?” Ian demanded. “What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did anything?” she asked, insulted. “Really, you need to work on these issues of yours.”

“What issues?” he asked.

“There’re so many that I don’t have time to name them. That’s what a therapist is for.”

Ian put his hands on his hips. “Why is there blood on the floor?”

“It’s coming from her,” Jack said grimly. “I think she’s hurt herself.”

Really? Where had the funny, easygoing guy from earlier gone? Why didn’t he make some cheesy remark about how she was dying for him or something like that?

Suddenly, Ian picked her up and the box dropped from her hands to the floor. He held her up in the air with his hands around her waist, her feet dangling in the air.

She gaped down at him. What the heck? Okay, she was a good foot shorter than him, but most people wouldn’t be able to pick her up like this.

Then again, Ian wasn’t like most people. The guy was built like a bear. And had the temperament of one too. Hmm, maybe he just needed something to soften him up.

“How do you feel about honey?” she asked.

“Honey?” He stared up at her.

“No? Salmon? Are you hungry? When I’m hungry, I get grouchy too.”

Her stomach took that moment to growl. Loudly. Reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. There had been food at the palace, but she’d been too nervous to eat. No doubt it would have ended up all over her. Or she probably would have spilled it on a couch that likely cost a million pounds and she’d spend her days washing dishes in the palace kitchens from now until eternity.

“Why is your stomach growling?” Ian asked.

She sighed and patted his head. “How have you survived this long without a keeper?”

“It’s her foot that is bleeding. It has a cut on it,” Jack said, grabbing hold of her foot.

“Seems it’s not me that needs a keeper, Little girl.” Ian started walking and Jack let go of her foot.

“Hey! Let me down!” She attempted to wriggle out of Ian’s hold.

He shook her. “Stop moving. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“This is not cool. This is kidnapping.”

Ian set her down on the chilly countertop in the kitchen. He smiled coldly.

“I don’t think it’s kidnapping when we’re your guards,” Jack said.

“We need to check her foot,” Ian said. “And feed her.”

“My foot is fine and I can feed myself. Hey!” She slipped backward and her head would have hit the granite countertop if Jack didn’t have such quick reflexes. His hand slipped between her head and the island, cushioning the blow.

Ian was holding up her foot. “Fuck. Sorry.”

Uh-huh. Sure he was. “His life would be so much easier if I were unconscious.”

“Yes, it would,” Ian said.

Monkeyballs. She looked up at Jack. “I said that out loud, huh?”

He grinned. “Yep.”

“Great. Totally losing it. Ow! What are you doing to me? Are you trying to make it worse?”

Ian scowled down at her. He was inspecting the cut on her foot. “This is deep. We need Jameson.”

“Ah, no we don’t,” she replied.

She had no clue who Jameson was. But she did not need them. Because all she needed was a cup of tea, a chocolate biscuit, and about twenty hours of sleep.

Jack raised his eyebrows, his lips twitching. She sighed in relief. He was so easy to be around. So happy and friendly. He was like a breath of warm air compared to the rigid chill coming from Ian who was the Arctic.

Freezing and deadly.

“You know who Jameson is?” Jack asked.

“Nope. But I don’t have to know him to know that I don’t need him. Because what I need is to go to bed.”

Humor lit Jack’s face, and as he opened his mouth, she slammed her hand over it.

“Nope. No. That was not an opportunity for you to make some comment about how you want to take me to bed or know a way to help me sleep.”

“What?” Ian snapped. “He wasn’t going to say anything like that.” Grabbing her shoulders, Ian sat her up.

He was always manhandling her.

It was an embarrassment how he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

For him, obviously. Not for her.

Ian grabbed his phone and stepped back.

“I totally was,” Jack whispered in her ear as he stood closer to her.

“Keep her foot elevated,” Ian barked. “And find the First-Aid kit.”

She leaned against Jack, breathing in his woodsy scent. Damn, she’d never liked the smell of pine this much before. Just as well, it would be embarrassing to get turned on every time she went into a forest. Or put up a Christmas time.

Jack didn’t move as they heard Ian barking things down his phone.

“Is he always like this?” she asked.

“I’ve only seen him like this when someone he cares about is hurt.”

Right. So it was weird that he’d gone all bonkers when she was hurt since he clearly didn’t care about her.

“Interesting,” Jack muttered.

“What is?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

She decided not to push him for an answer. Sometimes, the things you muttered were better left unheard.

Darn. She should put that on a T-shirt. She could make a fortune.

Her stomach grumbled again.

“Better feed you before your stomach starts to eat you.” Jack grinned down at her.

“It would be just my luck to have a cannibal stomach.”

Jack snorted. “I think you’re safe as long as we feed you.”

She nodded. “Seeing as you look like you eat plenty, I bow to your wisdom.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” He caged her in, his hands on the counter on either side of her hips as he leaned into her. His mouth was a mere inch from hers and her thighs were parted wide around his body as he studied her. If he could have pushed them together, she would have.

His words had been teasing, his lips twitching as though he wanted to smile. But his eyes told a different story. They were filled with heat.

With fire.

Need rushed through her.

Could she kiss him?

Did she dare?

“No, not fat,” she whispered. “Muscular. Big. Strong.”

“Hmm. That’s better, baby.”

Baby? Had he seriously just called her that? What was happening right now?

“What is happening right now?”

Those exact words she’d just been thinking jolted her as they were spoken out loud.

Ian glared at them both. “Jack, why haven’t you gotten the First-Aid kit? And you . . . ” He turned to her.

She pointed at herself.

“Yes, you. Why aren’t you elevating your foot? It’s bleeding.”

Her eyes widened. Sheesh, he was so bossy. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Elevate it. Now.”

Yikes.

“Who peed in his cornflakes?” she muttered.

Jack laughed.

“Excuse me? What did you just say?” Ian asked.

Yep. Muttered things were better left unheard. But perhaps rather than getting it on a T-shirt, she should have it tattooed on her.

“Me? Nothing, Sir.”

Shoot. Where did that come from? She’d intended to sound mocking. Unfortunately, it had come out kind of breathy.

There was silence in the room. Even Jack had grown stiff and was staring down at her in surprise.

“I’m, um . . . just gonna go to bed now.” She attempted to slide off the counter, but Jack wouldn’t budge. So she had to shuffle backward, trying to move her leg around him.

Awkward.

She thrust her right leg up into the air, narrowly missing his face, yet he still let out a low moan. She froze. Blast. She hadn’t hit him, had she?

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“He’s fine.” Ian pulled Jack away from the island. “You’re not going anywhere. Stay there. Jack, make her an omelet while I get the First-Aid kit.”

“I don’t need an omelet,” she countered. “Just a biscuit and a cup of tea will be fine.”

“Your stomach is grumbling. When was the last time you ate?” Ian asked as he grabbed a First-Aid kit out from under the sink.

“I dunno. Eight, I guess.”

“That was only three hours ago,” Jack said, checking his watch. “Maybe she doesn’t need to eat.”

Oh. Crap.

“It’s eleven? At night?” she asked.

They both stared at her. Ian had the First-Aid kit open by now and was holding a massive pad in his hand.

“Wait . . . are you saying you haven’t eaten since eight this morning?” Ian asked.

Um.

Uh-oh. How to answer that? Because it seemed that the answer was of vital importance to both of them.

“Urgh. Yes, I think so.”

Ian started swearing quietly, his face filled with thunder while Jack began cracking eggs into a bowl.

She really hoped that all those eggs weren’t for her. But she decided not to say anything.

Wow. She had excellent self-control.

“Here. This needs to go against the cut.” Ian pressed the big pad to her foot.

“It’s stopped bleeding. I’m sure it’s fine.” She attempted to move away, but he just glared at her.

She froze, staring at his deep blue eyes.

“Stay still.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Crap. Why did that keep happening? And she swore that the tension in his shoulders eased as she called him ‘Sir’.

That wasn’t normal.

“Sir Pimply-butt,” she told him.

Okay. She was losing it.

“What did you just call me?”

“Nothing,” she squeaked out as his gaze narrowed.

Sanity wasn’t her strong point, it seemed. After years of training to end up being the biggest disappointment in her family tree, she’d finally lost her mind at the young age of twenty-five.

Perfect.

The doorbell rang and she jumped. “I’ll just go get that.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Ian replied. “You’ll sit here with that pressed to your foot. It will be Jameson. He can patch you up while you eat.”

Wonderful. Someone else to witness her humiliation.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Ian left the room as Jack worked at the stove. When Ian returned, he was accompanied by a blond-haired, incredibly gorgeous man. He looked a bit tired, his hair was a tad too long, and he had a five o’clock shadow on his face.

But none of that detracted from his beauty.

He wore a pair of dark jeans and a nicely-pressed shirt. Seriously, who looked that put-together at close to midnight?

“Are you a figment of my imagination?” she asked, her pulse racing.

Mr. Perfect raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Your imagination?

Do you often think about strange men?”

“Less often than I’d like to,” she said with a sigh. “You really remind me of someone. Have I seen you before?”

It was tugging at her brain, but she was too worn down to capture the thought.

“I think I’d remember seeing you,” he replied with a grin and a wink.

Ohh. So charming.

Prince Charming? No, that wasn’t who he reminded her of. Oh well, what did it matter when she had the real thing right in front of her rather than someone made up?

“Jesus, that was terrible,” Ian told him.

She frowned at Ian. “Don’t speak to him like that.”

“You . . . you’re defending Jameson?” Ian asked as though heard of something so preposterous before. “From me?”

“Just ignore him,” she told Jameson. “He has issues. Therapy would help him greatly, but I fear that he’s too stubborn to go.”

Jameson’s lips twitched. “As his physician, I could do an official assessment on him. But as his friend . . . I agree.”

“You’re friends with him?” She shook her head. “Now, I’m starting to worry about your mental health.”

A laugh escaped him. Both Jack and Ian gave him surprised looks, although she didn’t understand why.

Jameson looked like a man who laughed often. He was lightness. Happiness. Warmth.

“Do you want to do the job you were called here for?” Ian snapped. “Or are you just going to let her bleed out?”

“Yes, she looks like she’s definitely in danger of bleeding out,” Jameson said dryly.

“I’m not. It’s just a minor scratch. Ian’s overreacting. Another one of his issues.” She gave Ian a concerned look.

“I’ll make a note of it, sweetheart. Now, where are you injured?” Jameson asked.

“I cut my foot. It’s tiny. It just needs a Band-Aid.”

“How about I determine that since I’m the guy with the medical degree?”

Smart and sexy.

He was the total package.

“Hey, we’re still here, you know.” Jack waved his hand in front of her face.

For the first time since meeting him, the funny guy seemed irritated. Immediately, she felt terrible. What was she doing?

“Sorry,” she whispered.

Jameson shot Jack a look that she couldn’t decipher. Then Jack suddenly picked her up in his arms.

“Hey! What’s going on?”

“You need to sit at the table so you can eat,” Jack told her. “Jameson can come over here to look at your foot.”

Jameson followed without a word as Jack sat her down at the table. The pad she’d had on her foot fell to the floor. Jameson sat next to her and turned his chair to face her.

Grabbing her foot, he drew it up to inspect it. “We need to clean it first.”

Oh crap.

She had a dirty foot? How embarrassing.

“I’ll go have a shower.” She attempted to get up, but Jameson placed his hand on her thigh.

“Whoa, nope. You don’t need to move, sweetheart. Ian, can you get me some warm water in a bowl and a cloth?”

Ian nodded and strode away as Jack placed a plate of food in front of her. It had the hugest omelet she’d ever seen as well as four pieces of toast.

“Is all of that for her?” Jameson asked.

“Maggie. My name is Maggie.” What a dork. Why hadn’t she introduced herself already?

“Nice to meet you, Maggie.” Jameson held out his hand and she gave hers to him. He smiled and pulled it up to kiss it.

Smack! Ian whacked him on the back of the head with his elbow.

“Hey! What was that for?” Jameson asked.

“Accident. Sorry.” Ian placed the bowl on the table. He didn’t sound all that sorry, plus she wasn’t so sure that it had been an accident.

Jameson sighed and started washing her foot. Whoa. Who knew that having your foot touched could be so pleasurable?

“Eat,” Ian commanded.

Did he always have to bark at her? Couldn’t he see that she and Jameson were having a moment?

“I’m fine.”

“You need to eat. You haven’t eaten all day,” Ian told her.

“Is there something wrong with my food?” Jack asked from where he now sat on the island. “Promise it’s not poisoned.”

“Of course I don’t think it’s poisoned. I’m just not hungry anymore.”

“Your stomach is still growling,” Ian pointed out. “You are going to eat.”

“Who died and made you the boss?” she asked.

“No one needed to die to make me the boss. I’m your bodyguard, which makes me your guardian. Which means you do as I say. Now, eat.”

Her mouth opened. Closed.

There were no words. None. Which was frankly alarming since she’d always been quite good with words.

“Beck and Hux are my guards.”

Something filled Ian’s face and it took her a moment to recognize that look. He looked happy.

Weird.

“Beck and Hux have been pulled away to other duties,” Jack said.

“What? Why?”

“They’re needed elsewhere, so now we’re here,” Ian told her. “Which means I am the boss of you and you will eat.”

She frowned. “I don’t think so. Beck never forced me to eat.”

“Well, perhaps he should have paid more attention to you. And then you wouldn’t be sitting here, pale, exhausted, and bleeding.” Ian frowned.

“Such a drama queen,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

Yeah. Maggie wasn’t repeating that. She wasn’t dumb.