Page 66 of These White Lies
I push away from the table, suddenly exhausted. “Enough background,” I joke, trying to cover how exposed I feel. “Be sure to add it to my file.” I fake a yawn. “Time for bed. You said we’re leaving early, right?”
“I’d like to be on the road by seven to miss most of the traffic.”
“I’ll set an alarm.” I take a few steps away but then turn back. “Can I have a gun?”
I’ve obviously taken him by surprise, judging by the widening of his eyes, but all he says is, “You shoot?”
My lips twist. “As I’m sure you know, I’ve had my concealed carry permit since I was eighteen.” He studies me with those intense eyes. “I’ve always carried a gun, and the police took mine.”
Brady nods but says nothing. I decide to take it as agreement and escape to my room. The sensation of his eyes on my back follows me the entire way.
A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock, and the door cracks open. Brady leans in, holding out the orange pill bottle. “You didn’t take them.”
“Thanks.”
Next, he extends the tube of ointment, his brow lifting.
“Oh, right.” I take the tube, but he lingers, waiting. “I can do it myself,” I insist.
Brady studies me for a long moment. It’s obvious he wants to say something but settles for a nod and steps away.
I wait until he’s gone before lifting my top and fumbling with the tape holding the plastic wrap over my stitches. “Stupid tape,” I mutter, picking at the edges. It barely moves, and when I finally get frustrated and yank, I hiss out a breath at the sharp sting.
Brady fills the doorway. “Are you okay?”
“You have the ears of a bat,” I grumble.
He doesn’t answer. His horrified gaze is trained on my exposed side. “What the hell is that contraption?”
“Your sister brought me some supplies—DIY waterproof covering for stitches. One-handed is harder than it sounds. I can’t get it off.” I gesture helplessly at the stubborn plastic.
He steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Here, let me.”
His hands are warm and steady. One rests briefly on my hip to steady me, and the other pulls at the tape. It feels like the tape is adhered with superglue.
Brady frowns. “Hang on,” he says, disappearing into my bathroom. He returns carrying a washcloth. “Lucky for you, the hot water is back.”
I freeze when he kneels in front of me. The first touch of the cloth makes me shiver, and it has nothing to do with thetemperature. He presses it over the tape, the moisture loosening the stubborn edges.
“Hold still.” His warm breath wafts against my bare stomach, and goosebumps rise on my skin. Rough knuckles brush against my skin as he carefully works the tape free. My pulse hammers in my throat, the ache between my legs grows until the urge to clench my thighs is unbearable.
“There.” His voice husky, and his eyes flick up to meet mine before he reaches for the cream. Brady gently smooths the cool medication over the line of stitches. The faint discomfort is nothing compared to the insistent throbbing in my core.
There shouldn’t be anything sexy about this. But my body is on fire. His eyes lift to mine, eyes so dark and hot there’s no trace of green.
I hold my breath as Brady caps the ointment and rises to his feet.
His jaw is locked tight. “I’ll be next door if you need me.”
“Great. Thanks,” I manage to choke out.
The door clicks shut, and I flop onto my back, staring at the ceiling, my skin tingling everywhere. There is no way I’m getting any sleep tonight.
19
BRADY
When Elizabeth appears in the doorway in a pale purple sundress, all I can do is stare. The thin straps frame her shoulders, the fabric clinging just enough around her full breasts before the skirt falls in a soft sweep. It’s yet another version of Elizabeth, and I’m quickly coming to accept that I like them all.
