Page 10

10

JULY 5, 2016 (CONTINUED)

Haskell

Haskell was winded beyond belief. She had been prepared to jog back to her lodgings seven miles away, not sprint. Inside her head, she cursed her unwanted partner in crime.

Her brain focused on the man in question. She had to grudgingly admit, whoever this wanker was, he had a killer body. Wiry. Fit like a runner or a footballer. And he had those bluer-than-blue eyes, along with the mystery accent that made her insides boil.

“Oof!”

Distracted by her attraction to her running mate, she hit the ground with a thud, no time to prepare herself for the faceplant into the forest floor. It was probably better that way, all things considered. If she’d had time to prepare for the fall, she probably would have tensed up and seriously hurt herself. As it was, she’d given her ankle a severe wrench .

A pair of hands touched her shoulders and began to run themselves over her body from head to toe.

“You okay?”

“Get your hands off me, you git. I’m fine! Just tripped.”

“Aww. It’s okay if you’re fallin’ for me, tiny. I don’t mind.”

She heard the teasing smile in his voice, and she rolled her eyes. “Falling like a lead balloon,” she muttered. “Was so busy thinking how to ditch your arrogant ass, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was putting my feet.”

“I’ve heard I have that effect on women,” he admitted.

“Oh, whatever!”

He helped her to her feet, but with the first step she took, she sucked in a scream. If he hadn’t had his hands close, she would have gone down in a heap.

He knelt down to feel her ankle. Even his gentle probe caused her to wince and yelp. “Already swelling. Up you go, on my back.”

“No, thanks. Just give me a minute, and it’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be stubborn. Your ankle’s hurt, and we need to keep moving. Hop on. You’re such a tiny little thing; I doubt I’ll even notice you’re there. You’ll be my own human backpack.”

“I said I’m fine,” she ground out.

“Look, either hop on my back, or I’ll pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you. That would give you a great view of my ass as a thank you for the spectacular view I’ve had of yours while we were running, although I doubt you’re in a very appreciative mood right now.”

She screamed behind clenched teeth and stamped her foot, forgetting it was injured. Tears pooled in her eyes at the pain.

“Bloody, stubborn female,” he muttered under his breath. “What’s it going to be? Telling me where to go or staring at my ass? ”

“I’ll tell you where to go. For the love of… You are such a cunt!”

He winked at her in the moonlight. “Love a girl who talks dirty, but I’d prefer to get a little farther from our friends before we explore that filthy mouth of yours.”

“Oh my god, you are amazing.”

He sighed. “I know. It’s a cross I have to bear.” He turned his back to her. “C’mon, tiny. Let's get out of here.”

Sighing in suffering, Haskell knew she wasn’t getting out of this forest without him carrying her. Not unless she wanted to spend the night on the cold, hard ground, hiding under bushes and praying the Policia Local didn’t find her. And even then, she’d probably wake up stiff, sore, and unable to walk very fast.

“Fine,” she grumbled.

Hobbling up to his backside, she launched herself at his hips, knees grabbing on like she was about to bareback ride one of the farm’s horses. His hands curved comfortably around her thighs and hitched her tight. He gave them a quick squeeze before trotting in the general direction they’d been headed when she tripped.

“Where am I headed, tiny?”

She reached down and smacked his ass. “Stop calling me that. Argh! Are you always such a dick?”

“Make up your mind, sweetheart, am I a cunt or a dick? I think it’s anatomically impossible to be both.”

She buried her head in the back of his neck, huffing in frustration. “Neither is desirable,” she replied.

“I dunno. I’ve heard my dick’s pretty marvelous, and I wouldn’t mind getting up close to your c ? —”

She clamped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t. You. Dare.” She snatched her hand back when she could feel him kissing her palm through his balaclava. She wound her arms around his neck, squeezing him like a python to show her frustration. “Just jog, burglar boy. I’ve got a flat across from the marina in Valencia. You can drop me off there and be on your way.”

He sped up, holding her tight to his back, pinching her thigh in response to her squeezing. “If you’re gonna squeeze me, use those thighs. Do a good job, and you can even suffocate me with them later when I don’t have to run, and I’ll promise to enjoy it.”

“Are you mental?” she hissed. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll let me know later, but honestly? I haven’t had many complaints.”

Just over an hour later, they hit the forest edge of Valencia. Both of them finally felt safe to remove their balaclavas. The fresh night air felt good on her face, and the ocean breeze gave some relief to the sweat that had formed along her scalp under her curls.

He was breathing heavily but not winded. She couldn’t help but be slightly impressed. His pace had been steady, and he’d only had to hitch her up higher on his back once. Then again, she’d been clinging to him tightly. He’d held onto her thighs during the run, but his grip had been more about keeping her steady than it had been about holding her.

“Where to, tiny?”

“Blue building, white shutters.”

“Got it.”

He took off again, sticking to the shadows whenever possible. The building in question was at the southern end of a string of quaint apartment buildings painted in bold colors facing the marina. This early, the streets were silent. No cars, no pedestrians, and while there were streetlights along the ocean road, they were soft enough to not allow anyone to see much detail.

When they reached the side door that led to her apartment, she began to try and wriggle her way down off his back, but his grip tightened. “There’s no way you’re climbing those stairs, and we both need to lay low for a bit.”

She sighed. Of course, he wanted to come up. And, of course, he was right. The stairs were going to be near impossible with her ankle in this condition, but allowing him into her space was not a good idea.

“Just for a little while,” she groused. “And no funny business.”

He chuckled, opening the outer door as quietly as possible. “I only need a little while, tiny.” He climbed the stairs to her door.

“Well, isn’t that sad? Hard to understand why you’ve got time to run around free to steal shite.”

“It’d definitely be fun, though. Key?”

“On the top of the doorframe.”

“That’s secure,” he snarked.

“I didn’t exactly want to run the risk of dropping my key while crawling through the ventilation system or running around in the woods. Besides, no one bothers me, and no one comes to my door. I don’t have anything anyone would want.”

Once inside the single-bedroom apartment and the door was closed, Haskell attempted for a second time to slide off his back, but he still wasn’t having it. He reached backward and gave her a smack on her ass. “Settle down.” Glancing around, he strode over in front of the futon, dumped her backward onto it, then immediately strode toward the bathroom.

After a ladylike squeak of surprise, Haskell attempted to right herself. “What the hell?!”

“You don’t need to be hobbling around on that ankle and making it worse.”

She could hear him opening drawers and cupboards. “What are you looking for?” she called out.

“Ice pack? ”

“Don’t have one.”

She heard muttering in what didn’t sound like English.

“Don’t suppose you have a wrap bandage?”

“No. Never needed one. Never hurt myself before you barged in tonight.”

More muttering.

He stalked back out to the kitchenette and began opening drawers. Finally, he found some hand towels in one drawer and scissors in another. From a cupboard, he pulled out a bowl and from under the sink, a plastic bag, then threw everything he’d collected into the bowl. His last stop was the freezer, from which he grabbed the entire ice cube reservoir.

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing to doctor your ankle.” He brought all the items over and set them on the futon next to her, then dragged a kitchen chair in front of Haskell. He motioned with his hand toward her foot. “Give it over.”

She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest, and turned her face away from him.

He sighed. “Look, I can grab your ankle myself, but then I run the risk of hurting you, and I don’t want to make it feel worse. Help me out here, tiny.”

With an air of frustration, she turned her head back in his direction, her lips pursed, her eyes boring into his. “I told you not to call me that,” she grumbled, although secretly, she felt a pleasurable tingle run through her when he did.

He motioned with his hand again. Reluctantly, she lifted her leg with both hands so that she could keep the foot stabilized and gingerly set it on his thigh. Once it was steady, she watched him smooth his hands down her calf. When he reached the tender area, his touch became even lighter, checking more to see where the swelling started and ended rather than probing the injury.

Because he didn’t look at her while he was checking her ankle, she was free to check out his features in depth. His blond hair was in a high and tight cut, the top too long to be regulation, so he clearly wasn’t in the military. His skin was tan like he spent a lot of time outdoors, and she wondered if he had tan lines or not. The “or not” part made her want to pluck at the neckline of her shirt to fan air down her torso. She also noticed the laugh lines around his eyes. He was clearly in his mid-twenties, but based on his banter, he loved to laugh, and the lines made him even more handsome.

“Well, I have to call you something.” He began to weasel a finger in between her foot and the back of her climbing shoe.

She hissed at the pressure it placed on her swollen ankle.

“Sorry,” he apologized. He glanced at her face and winked. “Your fight response when cornered and all that hissing you do reminds me of an alley cat.” He nodded. “New name. Kitty cat. I like it.”

She groaned and flopped against the futon’s back. “I think I prefer tiny.”

His grin at her frustration lit up his entire face, and it made her want to smack him, kiss him, as well as make him smile some more, all at the same time. Lordy, he was gorgeous! His grin grew further like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Then he turned his attention to her tiny foot on his leg, and as gently as he could, he slipped the shoe off. Since she wasn’t wearing a sock, it was easy to see the discoloration that had already started. She felt the calluses on his hands as he ran them one last time over her foot, his concentration tight. “It doesn’t look too bad. Just a moderate tear, I think.”

He filled the plastic bag with ice, tied off the ends in a knot, and placed the bag draped over her foot so that it hung over both sides of her ankle. As she sat with her foot in his lap, he began to unfold the hand towels he’d pulled from the kitchen. Two of them he left folded and off to the side. He used scissors on the third to make several small snips in the ends about one inch apart each.

As he tore the towel into thin strips, he started talking again. “So, what’s your name, kitty cat?”

She huffed. “Why do you need to know? Not like we’re going to be besties or anything.”

“Kitty cat is good for dirty talk, but when I call out your name later, I’d like it to be an actual name.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

He laughed. “Close your mouth, tiny. You’re catching flies.” He went back to wrapping her ankle.

“It’s Haskell,” she murmured.

His eyes flicked up to hers without moving his head. “Unusual name. Suits you. Mine’s Sawyer.”

He continued to work on her ankle.

“I don’t recognize your accent. Where are you from?”

“Jo-Burg.”

“You’re from South Africa?” she shyly asked.

He nodded.

“I heard you speaking another language. Was that Afrikaans?”

“Ken jy Afrikaans?” he asked.

Her eyes looked at him blankly.

“Yes. It was.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard it spoken before.”

“It’s not common outside of the country.” He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. “You’re obviously from England but not London. Northern?”

She didn’t nod, but she didn’t shake him off, either. “What makes you say that?”

“Your accent is softer than the city. Definitely not the East End and not Welsh.” He smiled. “So, Haskell from Northern England, you gonna let me hang out here for a while after I finish playing doctor with you?”