Page 42 of Fighting Gravity
“Oh…” I shrugged. “Because it was going to bite you in half?”
The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. Smug bastard.
“Don’t get any ideas. I wanted off that port and you were the only option.”
“You think I was a better choice than Ket-ram?”
My eyes darted about the room looking for a door to escape through. I ran my thumb over the scalpel in my hand and clutched the blanket tight over my breasts with the other, feeling far too vulnerable.
“Barely,” I said under my breath. “So, this is the ship I bought you, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Looks nice,” I said bitterly. “Can I shower on this one?”
“Shower?”
“Bathe?”
“What makes you think you can roam freely here?”
“I was just asking.”
He walked around the exam table toward me, pinning me with his eyes. Those damn things were hypnotic and devilish and left me cold inside.
“I will allow you to bathe,” he said, inching closer. “But first, you must let me check your wounds properly.”
I saw his arm muscles tighten before he moved. I would have reacted faster if I wasn’t groggy and sore, so when he snatched my wrist and pried the scalpel from my fingers, I didn’t fight it. I was in no condition to contest. I wasn’t sure why I grabbed the scalpel in the first place. Instinct, if I had to guess.
Norm placed the scalpel back on the counter behind me. Pursing my lips, I glared up at him, angry that I had yet to get the upper hand on the guy. All my years of training meant shit against him.
I opened my mouth to agree to his more thorough examination, but Norm was tired of waiting. He bent, one arm going around my shoulders and his other under my knees, sweeping my feet out from under me. He spun around, sitting me down on the table.
He wasn’t the gentlest creature in the world.
Without looking at me, Norm peeled the blanket off my thigh and ran his fingers over a rubbery, round patch that had been placed over one of the puncture wounds. I felt tender there and hissed when he pressed his thumb to the patch.
“Fuck,” I complained, wriggling away from him.
He held the back of my knee and shifted me back in place, peeling up the edge of the patch with his nail. Underneath, I saw a hole in my leg and bit my lip to keep from cringing. It didn’t look infected. That was good. In fact, it looked much less serious than I expected, but before I could examine it more, he replaced the patch and moved to one of the ones on my abdomen. There was one just over my hip and another just beneath my breast.
Perfect.
Norm checked the lower one first and then moved to the one dangerously close to my tit. I awkwardly draped an arm over my breasts to keep the little corner of the blanket that was still covering me from slipping down as he poked and prodded the injured area. There was some light bruising around each wound and definitely tenderness, but it was not as bad as I suspected after the pain I’d endured.
His nails dragged farther down my body, reaching my hip. My pulse started to pick up and another wave of gooseflesh textured my skin. I watched Norm tilt his head curiously at the phenomena and suddenly felt self-conscious about it.
“Stop staring,” I said.
His fingers continued down the length of my thigh to my slightly lifted knee and then crested over it to my shin. I shivered again, watching as his gaze followed his hand to the long gash on my leg that was now a red, slightly swollen but healing abrasion. When his nail grazed a spot that was a little more tender than the rest, I twitched involuntarily, feeling his touch on every nerve.
Reaching toward the counter where he’d placed my scalpel, he grabbed a little round container of something and swiped a bit of clear gel out of it with one finger. I didn’t ask questions. I was pretty sure if he just wanted to kill me, he’d have done it by then. Or perhaps he would have left me in the arena.
Gently (too gently) he smeared the cooling gel over the abrasion from knee to ankle in one, slow swipe. My heart sputtered a little, making me shiver. The scent of the gel hit my nose, the almost minty fragrance soothing my muscles a bit.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It is the reason this wound is no longer to the bone.”
