Page 16 of Never Bound

At first, I relaxed just a bit when he said, “No.”

“Worse,” he continued. “I think he wants to adopt me.”

He was smiling somewhat, but my shock must still have been clear.

“Look, this is for me to worry about,” he said firmly. “Not you.”

Fuck.Hewasworried.That’swhy he’d held me so tight. “Why am I never around when these things happen?” I demanded.

“Next time I’ll call you up in the middle of class,” he teased. “‘Help, I cut up my hands, come home and cuddle me.’”

“I didn’t mean the cuts. I meant Langer.”

“Doesn’t matter. The solution’s the same.”

I shook my head. “Of course it is because your definition of cuddling rarely ever meansjustcuddling.”

He stared down at the results of my treatment, such as it was. “Well, if it helps, this gauze is wrapped so tight, my repertoire will be limited,” he said. “Slightly.”

I gasped indignantly. “Well, I tried my—”

“Hey, relax. It was very sweet,” he said and gave me a forehead kiss for good measure, though he was already prying at the gauze, trying to loosen it. “I can’t remember the last time anyone went to that much effort to treat my injuries.” He looked up to see my exaggerated pout. “Cheer up. Maybe you can be one of those doctors who just look at X-rays and never have to actually interact with patients. Plus, you can still cuddle me,” he said, leaning back on the chaise, the hat making him passable as a frat boy on a spring break vacation. “You can cuddle my brains out if you want.”

I looked around frantically, turning back in horror. “Here?”

He smiled slyly, one arm casually behind his head. He wasn’t joking, of course. I should have known him well enough by now to know that he wasneverjoking about such serious matters as wanton semi-public sex.

“What the hell happened to being more careful?” I demanded.

“You’re the one who told me nobody ever comes out here.”

And just like that, all my hard work on the gauze was for naught as he peeled it off and immediately dove for the bare skin between the hem of my crop top and tiny shorts, pulling me forward to encourage me to straddle him and push my pelvis deep into the thighs covered by that soft denim, melting bodily into the friction, feeling a soft moan bubble up from the same vicinity. And so my endless curls swung down like a curtain as I kissed the lips I had never stopped longing for even in the most desperate, fragile moments of my day, and I quivered while he kissed my eyes and cheeks and tongued along my jawline, trembled at the ghost of his thumb on the nipple that stiffened under my tight top. His fingers—surprisingly nimble despite their injuries, at least when they found an activity they enjoyed—slid teasingly up the soft skin of my thighs and started working on the buttons of my shorts.

At a sudden vibration, we both jumped, both more on edge than either of us wanted to admit.

“Oh shit,” he said as the phone slipped out of his pocket and onto the sandy ground next to the chaise. For a second before he swiped it up, we both looked down at it in shock, then up at each other.

He never carried his phone around. I’d never seen him with it since the day I gave it to him and had no idea where he kept it—I was happy enough to receive the occasional playful message, and out of courtesy, I didn’t ask questions. That didn’t mean I wasn’t wondering what was happening or where Maeve was. But every time I remembered the night I’d given it to him—and the argument that had almost destroyed what we now had before it even started—I chose not to. If he needed more help, surely he’d come to me. After all, he trusted me now. Right?

If I’d had even a moment to think, maybe I would have asked him. But a second later he was gone, andIwas left sitting on the chaise, mystified and alone, in the shadow of the swaying paloverde, with my pussy naughtily soaking the fabric of my half-unbuttoned shorts and the pristine plush cushion beneath, not understanding just what the hell had just happened but aware that something was very wrong. Wronger than Corey; wronger even than whatever he suspected Langer of being up to.

Because I knew the number I’d seen flashing on the screen. And I knew there was only one place he could have gotten it.

HIM

Okay,twolast calls. The house was emptier at the moment, but it was still a bitch to find someplace with decent reception and where I wouldn’t be seen, overheard, or suspected of being somewhere I shouldn’t be. The garden shed was pretty much the only place on the property that met those requirements, even before the gardener’s unceremonious shitcanning. So that’s where I went to take the call, knowing that any explanation I could possibly offer the wet, purring, half-undressed vision on the chaise would only make things worse, not better. Hell, I might needanothershower—an icy cold one—before I was in any state to be traipsing through the garden, either.

The biggest tragedy of all was that I probably had mere minutes before the housekeeper tracked me down, started asking questions about the fence, and bombarded me with all the tasks she wanted me to do before she’d actually let me go to sleep. And then I’d havenochance to get back to Louisa that night.

That was until small, faint footsteps approached. Female footsteps.

I hastily apologized and ended the call. “Lou?”

I knew she’d recognized the number, and now she’d probably heard me talking. Talking with a woman I’d never met and only knew about because of her, whose handwritten number I’d swiped off her desk when she was out of the room, without ever telling her about any of it.

When I put it that way, it sounded sobad.

But still. I could handle this. I would have to come clean, but we could work through it.

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