Page 5

~ SAM ~

It was a relief to get back to the room. Even though it was unlikely anyone was actively looking for me, when I was outside the room I couldn’t shake a creeping sense of being watched. It raised the hair on the back of my neck.

We showered together, then I caught Bridget before she could wander back out to the bed.

“What?” she asked, grinning playfully as I picked her up. She gave a little yelp when I plonked her straight onto the cold countertop between the two sinks. “Careful, that’s not a pleasant spot to get frostbite.”

I gave her a look and kissed her quickly—but to my surprise she wrapped her arms around me and rubbed her heel up and down the back of my leg.

When I pulled away, she sighed happily. “Another round already? My husband is so virile.”

I shook my head and bent down to grab the first aid kit I’d brought and stored under the sink. It was the size of a laptop bag with several padded panels inside to keep things organized. I dropped it onto the counter next to her ass and she stopped smiling immediately.

“What’s that for? ”

“I told you, we need to clean you up,” I said, unzipping my kit. Each of those interior panels was covered in different slots and pockets holding everything from burn creams to bandages to Narcan and an EpiPen.

Bridget looked at it as I flipped through and her brows popped up. “Are you planning to do surgery?” she asked, reaching towards the little pan of suture needles. I slapped her fingers and she yanked her hand back.

“No,” I muttered. “I’m planning on keeping you from getting an infection.”

She had scrapes, not cuts. There would be no need for stitches today.

Bridget eyed the small bottle of Betadine I pulled out and handed to her. She read the label on it while I dug back into the kit for tweezers and supplies.

She smiled.

I felt a little tense, though it wasn’t her fault.

I’d been rough on her, grinding her hands into that bark to make sure she didn’t get away. Rougher than I should have been—her sweater had slipped up while we were… engaged. So she’d gotten a few scrapes on her lower back, too, though not nearly as deep.

Even though she wasn’t mad, I found myself experiencing a pinch of guilt.

She wasn’t some client in need of a cathartic experience, or an unhinged housewife to be snapped out of a self-destructive spiral. She was my wife. I’d been making love to her.

Hot, rough love.

The thought made my cock thicken, but one look at the back of her hands deflated it.

I had hurt her.

But she liked it, my mind insisted.

She hadn’t asked for that.

But she knew what she was getting into with me and she liked it—

I pushed the thoughts away and focused on choosing which gauze and tape I wanted to use,

Meanwhile, Bridget eyed my kit. I could feel her thinking.

“I suppose I should be grateful,” she said quietly as I pulled a clean towel from the shelf on the wall and laid my things out .

I frowned. “For what?”

She shrugged. “Most guys who feel the need to overcompensate buy big trucks or guns. You just have a medical kit big enough to provide international aid,” she giggled.

I snorted, but my heart wasn’t in it. “Put your hands down flat on your thighs. I need to check them for debris,” I muttered.

Bridget arched one brow, but did as I asked, watching my face when I slid my palm under hers and lifted her hand to examine it for any splinters, or dirt.

There was some, but close to the surface. She only winced when I pulled a tiny chip of bark off the tender skin. I’d made sure she washed her hands well in the shower, but the water and soap had made the skin weepy again.

I dabbed at it with some gauze, then went back to looking for dirt.

“Sam?” Bridget said softly. I paused and looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

I frowned. “Nothing. I’m just making sure you’re clean and healing.”

I went back to the wounds, but she drew her hand away and looked me in the eye when I glared.

“I need to—”

“No, you don’t, Sam. I’m fine. It’s scraped skin. I had worse as a kid falling off my bike. What’s wrong?”

I rolled my jaw. “I did that to you. I need to make sure it’s clean and healthy, and—”

“I’ll tell you if it starts to hurt more or swells or anything. This isn’t necessary.”

“Yes, it is,” I growled, and my stomach plunged when her eyes lit up.

She beamed at me, lifting her hands to lace her fingers at the back of my neck and pulling me in closer. “God, I love it when you do that,” she whispered, then kissed me.

I didn’t pull out of the kiss, but I didn’t let go of the tweezers, or deepen it, either. When we broke apart, she was frowning.

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

“What aren’t you telling me? ”

I tipped my head. “You’re right, Bridge. I am hiding something.”

Her expression grew more serious. “What? What is it?”

I sighed. “I’m hiding how irritated I am that you won’t let me do this so we can get on with our day.”

She rolled her eyes and groaned, but didn’t fight me when I took her hand and started examining it again.

She stayed quiet as I repeated the process with the other hand, then painted both in Betadine and covered them with sterile gauze, taping it to the back of her hands and wrists.

“Don’t leave those on when you shower. Let them get clean, then I’ll redress them,” I said, then pulled her off the counter and turned her around, bending her over the counter.

She pushed off it immediately, but I kept a hand between her shoulder blades so she couldn’t straighten.

“What are you doing now?”

“You have scrapes on your back.”

“Barely!”

“I need to check those too—”

But then my smartass wife made an exasperated sound, dropped her lower spine so her back hollowed, and leaned back, bumping her ass into me so that my cock immediately twitched.

“Bridget—”

She leaned forward, clamping her hands on the edge of the counter and stretching like a cat while leaning back to bump me again. “But isn’t this all part of the game?” she asked sweetly.

Then she lifted her head and met my eyes in the mirror through strands of her hair. Her cheeks were pinked and her eyes sparkling. She was right there, and ready. I could tell by how her shoulders moved her breathing had gone shallow. I knew if I touched her, she’d already be slick, and that was incredible. And amazing.

And fucking terrifying.

She just wants Cain.

The thought came out of nowhere, but the moment it was there, I couldn’t put it aside. I froze, staring at her in that shining surface until her smile faltered and she straightened and turned to face me.

“Sam, I was playing. What’s wrong? ”

I blinked and realized how I must look, standing there with gauze and a bottle of Betadine, staring at her.

“Nothing,” I croaked.

She tipped her head, and her lips pulled tight. “I don’t believe you,” she said in a small voice.

I cleared my throat and shook my head. Made myself put the gear back in its place in the kit while I spoke. “No, it’s nothing. I just… I realized how little time we have,” I said gruffly. I picked up the used gauze and tossed it into the wastebasket. Then went back for the towel. “I want to make memories, like I said. But I also don’t want to draw attention to us, you know? I want to spend this time with you, not dodging law enforcement.”

She sighed. “Me too. So… maybe we don’t go out. Maybe… maybe this is naked vacation, ” she said with a wicked grin. “I mean, room service, amiright? Then there’s no cameras so even if someone is looking—”

“We don’t have to go that far. We just need to be careful not to draw attention to ourselves—things like bleeding wounds will get people taking a second look.” I raised one brow and met her eyes so she’d know I wasn’t mad—but I was serious.

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, sighing, but turning around and bending over again so I could check the scrapes.

She was right, they weren’t bad. Mostly reddened skin with a few, very fine scratches. I laid a hand on them and her eyes cut up to meet mine in the mirror again.

I smiled. She’d leaned her elbows on the counter so her breasts were pushed together. Her hair was messy and tangled like she’d just gotten out of bed. She looked rumpled and beautiful and hot as hellfire.

I couldn’t resist letting a hand fall to slap on her ass, then drawing it up her side, up her back, leaning over her on the counter to slide my palm to her throat and lift her chin, forcing her to hold eye contact.

Her lower lip went slack and her eyes grew bright.

“We aren’t sitting in this room for the next four days,” I muttered. “We’re just being picky about when and how we go out. We’re making memories. Not mugshots. ”

She nodded as best she could with my hand on her throat. “So… no more fucking in earshot of the kiddos?”

I snorted, but nodded. “And when I say I need to clean you up, it means let me clean you up.”

“Sure, whatever..”

“And we have to answer our phones.”

She went still, watching me warily in the mirror. “What? Why?!”

“Because we can’t give them any reason to come looking for us, Bridge. No one. We have to answer texts and field calls and… whatever we’d normally do if we were home.”

She sighed, but I was still holding her. I stroked the underside of her chin with my forefinger, teasing that sensitive skin.

“Fine,” she breathed a moment later. “I suppose you’re worth it.”

The words unexpectedly struck something deep in my chest. I went still, holding her by the throat—her life in my hands, her flesh pressed against mine, and I drank in the sight of her.

“Am I?” I rasped.

Bridget’s brows pinched to draw a V in her brow. “What? Sam, why would you even ask that?”

Because I wonder if you just wanted Cain, and I’m only the consolation prize.

“Nothing. I just… I’m so glad you’re here and I don’t want anything to steal this from us,” I said honestly.

She smiled and arched again, leaning back, this time much harder, rubbing herself against me.

I tightened my grip on her throat a hair, and gave her the half smile she loved so much.

“I’m game babe,” I said, stroking my other hand up her body to cup her breast. “But only if you promise me we’re going to do more than just sit in here and eat and have sex.”

She looked smug. “You sure? That sounds like an awesome honeymoon to me.”

I growled and used my grip on her throat to pull her back against me, hard.

“Yes, I’m sure. We’re making memories, remember? ”

Her smile became wicked. “Really, these are the only kind of memories I need.”

I snorted. “You’ll have plenty. But we need others, too.”

“But—”

I closed that grip on her throat, cutting off the word. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed. She followed my progress with her eyes as I leaned down over her, still holding her gaze in the mirror as I let my cheek rest against hers and smiled Cain’s smile and used the deep, gruff voice that masked my own. “Think about it, Bridget: If you don’t leave the room, how am I supposed to hunt you?”

As I suspected, she liked that.

She liked that a lot.