Page 41 of Fighting for Scarlett

Scooping her up, he carried her inside and set her down on the couch in the living room. He laid her on her stomach so he could examine her wound, then left her there while he went to grab his first aid kit. It was well stocked, and he had the supplies to stitch the wound, he just hoped the bullet wasn’t still inside her.

Once his supplies were laid out, he knelt beside the couch and ripped at her sweater where the tear from the bullet was, exposing a ragged, bloody wound. From the angle, it looked like the bullet had scraped along her shoulder blade, deflecting off the bone rather than actually passing through her body.

That was something, and although she’d bled a fair amount, she hadn't lost even close to a dangerous amount of blood. A few stitches, a shot of antibiotics, more bandages, some painkillers, and she’d be fine.

An easy fix.

Yet the wound would leave a scar that would join the marks from the whip that scattered across her back, and those that circled her wrists and ankles. Then there were the psychological scars that would last a lifetime and take much longer to heal.

“You don’t take a bullet for me again, Scarlett, you hear me? It’s my job to protect you,” Tate said as he began to clean the wound. Although he hadn't thought about the words before he said them, he realized he’d never spoken truer words.

Somewhere along the way he had taken on the job of Scarlett’s protector.

There was no answer, and when he leaned over so he could see her face he saw that she had already passed out. Exhaustion had sunk its claws into her, and she no longer had the strength left to keep her eyes open.

In sleep she looked so innocent, so young, so vulnerable, and so very beautiful.

“What am I going to do with you, little fighter?” he whispered as he smoothed a lock of hair off her pale face.

The problem was, he truly didn't know the answer to that question, but he feared even if the insidious voice whispering inside his head was right and she was guilty he was going to have a hard time walking away.

CHAPTER TEN

January 15th

7:38 P.M.

“Mmm,” Scarlett moaned as she woke slowly.

That had been a great sleep.

The only good sleep she’d gotten since she woke up to the sounds of an intruder in her house.

It wasn’t even necessary to open her eyes to know why she’d slept so well.

Tate was here, and somehow that meant she was safe.

Just because he didn't like her and hadn't felt the same things she did when they spent the night together, didn't make him a bad man. A jerk, yes. He’d been unnecessarily cruel to her afterward when a simple, hey it was a fun night but I don’t want more would have sufficed, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would physically hurt her, and he would throw himself between her and a threat the same way she had when Raul’s men had been going to shoot him.

Now she could feel his presence beside her and knew he had watched over her while she slept.

The thought brought a smile to her face. Despite what her mind knew about him, her body still thought he was sexy, and desperately wanted a repeat of their night together. Never had sex been better than that night. Afterward she’d thought it was because there was some connection between them, but now she just assumed it was because he was really good in bed.

The connection might not be real, but the chemistry was.

It was undeniable.

Tate felt it, too, even though he didn't want to. She knew because she could feel it in the gentle way he touched her, the fiery passion deep in his eyes. He might not want her, but his body did, same as hers wanted his.

Wanted him right now.

Needed even.

For a few minutes, Scarlett just wanted to forget everything that had happened, the kidnapping, the torture, the drug she’d been given, the accusations, the second break-in, and the gunshots, all of it.

She wanted it gone, even if only for a short time.

When she blinked open her eyes, she saw Tate right where she knew he had been, sitting in the armchair right beside the couch he’d laid her down on after carrying her inside. Exhaustion must have hit the moment she was lying down, and her subconscious knew she was safe because she didn't remember anything after that, not even Tate cleaning and tending to her wound.

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