Page 21 of Axe-ing for Trouble
“Yes,” I said, sighing as I let my arm relax into its cradle.
The pain was returning quickly, making my legs weak and my head pound.
“Thank you,” I said as we exited the bathroom and my common sense started to return. “I owe you so much after all of this.”
He pulled up short and rounded on me, his eyes narrowing.
“You owe me nothing. You’re my guest and my friend. I’ll always help you.”
The sharpness of his tone was so uncharacteristic for the man I’d met a handful of times. It was enough to have me teasing, in hopes of lightening the mood.
“But you didn’t invite me,” I said. “I crashed your pizza party.”
“I have a feeling that’s what you do, Trouble.” He rested a hand at the small of my back and guided me toward the living room. “This isn’t the first time you’ve crashed into my life and shaken things up.”
Chapter5
Jude
Iclosed the door to my bedroom and rested my forehead against it.
This was bad.
She was hurting.
I’d gotten her settled on the couch, then hustled back in here, hoping like hell she hadn’t noticed my raging hard-on.
I was trying to be a good person. She could barely move, after all. But my cock hadn’t gotten the message. Throughout the entire shower, I’d harnessed all the self-control I had, worried that if I made one wrong move, she’d run away screaming and file a restraining order.
With every swipe of the washcloth, I’d wanted to scoop her up and carry her to the safety of my bed. Then make her come over and over, make her feel so good she’d no longer even notice her injuries.
It had been more than a year, but she’d made an impression. When I closed my eyes, I could feel her in my arms. I could remember the sounds she made when she came. How she gasped when I pushed inside her.
Since she returned, those memories had played on a loop in my head. Maybe I was an asshole. She was injured; she could have been killed. But the visions were a lovely distraction from the reality of guns and drugs and criminals crawling around our town.
There was no way I’d survive her stay if I didn’t get myself under control.
I tore the towel from my waist, shucked my drenched boxer briefs, and pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.
When I had reined myself in again, I strode out to the living room, where she was still sitting on the couch, petting Ripley and speaking to her softly.
Damn, the woman had even charmed my dog.
“I got something else for you.” I picked up the bag the surprise was stashed in and turned, keeping my back to her as I removed it.
When I spun around and presented it to her with a dramatic flourish, her eyes widened, and her face lit up with a bright smile.
“Scrabble?”
That expression made my stomach clench. “I took a guess. Thought you’d like it since you’re a journalist and all.”
She kicked her feet. “I’d clap if I could. I love Scrabble.”
I sat on the other end of the couch and pulled the coffee table closer, then set the game up.
“When I was a kid, we used to have big family games. My dad always won; he was so damn smart.” Though her tone was light as she began the admission, by the end, her face was shrouded in sadness. “Sorry.” She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “He passed away a few years ago, and sometimes I miss him so much.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” It was the best I could come up with. My father was an asshole at best, and a career criminal at worst.
