Page 24 of Resist

She quickly shook her head. “No. I was calling them Mario and Luigi in my head.”

That finally got her a hint of a smile. He ran his fingers through her hair. Even with her sitting on the tall stool, he was able to look down. His touch was more massage than investigation, and it felt like heaven. Ainsley had to work not to moan. It feltthatgood.

“Where else?” he asked.

Ainsley lifted her shoulders because the rest of her injuries were no doubt bruises, just like the ones he could see. The only difference was, these bruises were under her clothes.

“Ainsley,” he persisted.

“They kicked me in the stomach,” she said, gesturing vaguely to her midsection.

Coulton’s scowl was dark as he reached for the hem of her shirt. She’d been holding the giant rip at the top together as best she could, but she let it fall open as she gripped his wrists to stop him. The man was seriously strong. He didn’t shake her off, but he also didn’t relent. “You could have bruised or even broken ribs.”

“I don’t.”

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“Because I’ve had them before. They would hurt worse than they do.”

“Broken ribs?” he asked.

“Eli and I have had some knockdown drag-outs in our day. He shoved me down the stairs in our apartment building once when I was a junior in high school. Bruised ribs and a concussion.”

“Your brother did that to you?”

She shrugged, not mentioning that fight with Eli didn’t even crack the top ten as far as ways he’d tried to hurt her. Of course, the list had been adjusted tonight, as almost getting her raped by two assholes rocketed to the number one position. “It’s no big deal. Got me out of going to school for a whole week. So silver linings and all that shit,” she joked lamely.

Coulton held the hem of her shirt, but he’d stopped trying to take it off her. “I want to check that you’re okay, but I understand if it makes you uncomfortable. I think we should revisit the hospital idea.”

“Nope. And you can admit it. You’re just trying to sneak a peek of my tits.” Shyness had never really been an issue with her, so she stopped trying to fight him, shrugging off the shirt. It wasn’t like it was serving much purpose anyway. Coulton had already gotten an eyeful of her bra and chest in the bar.

She lifted her arms in a “here I am” gesture. Coulton didn’t smile, his eyes sliding over her, his brows furrowed. His scowl was back. “That’s a hell of a bruise on your arm.”

“Yeah. I sort of fell over the bar and landed on it.”

“And on your side.” His fingers feathered over her midsection.

“That was where Mario kicked me. Felt like the fucker was wearing steel-toe boots.”

He gently poked and prodded her arm, his gaze locked on her face, making it necessary for her to shield her reactions. She had a pretty good idea Coulton would drag her ass to the hospital at the slightest wince.

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

He continued probing, but after a few more minutes, he seemed satisfied that she wasn’t lying to him. Then he shocked her by taking off his own shirt—hello, Mr. Eight Pack—and pulling it over her head.

“Anything else hurt?”

She shook her head, tempted to mutter “my pride,” but she held that tidbit in.

Coulton offered his hand, helping her from the stool and leading her down the hallway. Opening a door, he gestured inside. “The guest room.”

Ainsley stepped inside, feeling like she’d walked into a parallel universe, because no place in her real life was anywhere near as nice as Coulton’s condo. The guest room was painted a soft gray, and a king-size bed dominated one wall, covered with a fluffy duvet and pillows that looked brand-new, pristine, soft. “This is the guest room?”

What the hell musthisroom look like?

“Bathroom is through that door,” he said, pointing without following her into the room. She knew that was on purpose, Coulton holding steady to his determination to make her feel safe.

“Why don’t you take a nice long soak in the tub while I make us something to eat. There’s a new toothbrush in the vanity and a bunch of other toiletries. You should find everything you need.”

---