Page 29 of K-9 Guardians

Maneuvering inside the room, he surveyed the space with its floor-to-ceiling windows making up two walls, the bed jutting out from the wall to their right and the simple layout with the bathroom and closet tucked out of sight. “This is...a lot of pink.”

He was right. The upholstered headboard had been custom-made. The faux fur rug had been on sale in one of those huge home decor stores that were popping up all over. Pinks, whites and navy colors created a palette that made her happy every time she walked into this room. It was hers. Every inch. Hers. “Don’t you have a favorite color?”

“Black shows the least amount of blood. Does it count if it’s just good logic?” King was still taking it all in. The roses on the nightstand with a stack of books she’d read a thousand times. The built-in wardrobe where her gun safe was installed. He studied it all as though he was trying to understand the pieces of this room that made her...her.

And she liked it. Him being here. Trying to figure her out. Not in the way so many others had—how she could be of use, how she could benefit an operation—but pure curiosity.

“Sure.” Suddenly blood seemed to drain from her upper body, pooling in her legs.

“Hey. I’ve got you.” And then he was there, his hands anchoring around her waist. She wasn’t sure how he’d moved so fast with that leg barely out of surgery, but it didn’t really matter. “You’ve still got blood on you. I’ll grab you a change of clothes.”

Every cell in her body wanted to collapse as he led her to the edge of the bed and set her down.

Bending at the waist, he leveled his gaze with hers. “Don’t move.”

She wasn’t sure she could even if she’d wanted to. Her body had hit a wall, and there was nothing that was going to get her to the other side until she gave in. Her pulse pinged a steady rhythm underneath the butterfly bandage across her nose as her partner pried the built-in doors wide.

King returned to face her with a set of her favorite pajamas in hand. Silk shorts and an oversize T-shirt. Ridiculous, really. That someone like her—someone who thrived in knowing and exploiting the enemy’s weakness and who’d become comfortable with the violence that ensued—needed her pajamas to be soft. That she relied on that small bit of comfort every night.

He tossed the crutch on the bed, his weight on his good leg as he took a seat beside her. Hints of soap tickled the back of her throat. He’d showered—most likely at the hospital—and she couldn’t help but wonder if she smelled anything close to clean. “Lie back and give me your foot.”

She didn’t have it in her to argue as the mattress came to meet her, and she dragged one foot away from the floor.

He grasped it between both hands, and a flurry of nervous energy spiked through her. There was a lot he could do with that one foot given the chance. But King wouldn’t hurt her. That was how it worked when you went to war together. When you saw past the mask a person wore for the world, you got to witness the truth of them. And she knew King Elsher.

He tugged at the laces of her boot and slipped the heavy gear free, and Scarlett couldn’t help but let her anxiety win. This was...slow. Uncomfortable. Out of her range of experience. No one had taken this kind of care with her since before her discharge from the army, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Now the other one,” he said.

She followed his orders as relief spread through her socked foot and nearly sighed as he dropped her other boot to the floor. He reached for the elastic of her socks and started pulling them free, one by one, but Scarlett bolted upright to stop him from going farther.

King waited. Held perfectly still until she made the decision. “I’ve got you. No matter what happens.”

The words slid through her defenses as easily as the blade had gone through his leg, and she lay back down. Cool air added relief between her toes...just before King started massaging away the tension in her heel and the ball of her foot.

And she drifted to sleep.

KINGCOULDSPENDthe rest of his life in this bed. He could even ignore the pink pillows underneath him, as long as he didn’t have to give up this view.

Of Scarlett. Of her hair trailing around her shoulders and into her face. The clock on her nightstand warned him he was wasting time, but he couldn’t seem to stop memorizing the way she’d lost that defensive edge while asleep.

She was beautiful. Definitely stronger than him, and more than he’d initially judged when they collided in the morgue—hell, when was that? Two days ago? The bruising fanning out from around her nose had darkened to shades of blue and purple but didn’t take away from the spread of freckles peppered across her cheeks. He’d counted them. Over and over while she slept. One hundred and thirty-eight of them, each distinctive in its own right. Each one perfect.

“If you’re going to keep staring at me like a serial killer stares at his prey, I’ll require breakfast.” Scarlett’s voice cracked, but she gave him a half smile. Bright green eyes locked on him, and everything outside of these four walls didn’t seem so important. “I like bacon.”

“If that means I have to find my way through this maze back to the kitchen, you’re out of luck.” King’s laugh rolled through him easier than it should have.

He’d been suspended from the DEA for running an off-the-books investigation into a cartel. The last woman he’d partnered with had been murdered in her own home. Adam had been tortured and slaughtered, and his son had been kidnapped. There shouldn’t have been room for the lightness flooding through him. But Scarlett somehow made that possible.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the stubble across his chin. Heat cut through him, blistering and driven by something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Desire. “I believe in you.”

The second laugh hurt more than it should have. His pain medication had worn off sometime during the night, but exhaustion had won out. Until now. He felt every blow as clearly as when they’d landed. In his ribs, his hands, his leg. They both knew getting lost in these halls wasn’t going to end well for him.

Scarlett lowered her palm to his chest, directly above his heart. “I don’t remember changing into my pajamas. Last night, did we...”

The question hung between them, and King didn’t really have an answer. On the surface, it was easy. They hadn’t slept together, but there was a part of him that was convinced they had. Mentally, emotionally. She’d trusted him to touch her, to take care of her, and while he didn’t know her past as well as his own, King got the feeling that didn’t happen often. If rarely. “No.”

Her mouth formed an O for a split second. Surprised? Disappointed? Grateful? He couldn’t tell. Scarlett pushed upright, angling long, lean legs over the edge of the bed. “Thank you. For getting me here.”

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