Page 69 of In Case You Didn't Know
“I’ve watched you beg for me,” I say, my voice low. “Heard you moan my name. And now you’re freaking out because I saw you wet and on the floor?” I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand the way a woman thinks.
Francie scowls, clutching the towel tighter. “It’s not the same, Asher. You watched me on camera. This is different.”
“Different how?”
She lets out a huff. “I had some dignity for one.”
“You still have dignity,” I say softly. I take a step toward her, letting myself look at her again. Her cheeks are flushed, there are damp strands of hair clinging to her neck. I go to reach for her, to comfort her, but then I see it.
A thin trail of blood slides down from her hairline, weaving its way toward her shoulder.
“Francie.” I step forward, my tone changing. “You’re bleeding.”
She blinks. “What?”
She reaches up to touch it, and I catch the tremble in her fingers.
And for a moment, she’s not the confident, teasing woman I’ve been watching all week.
She’s vulnerable.
There’s something in her eyes, raw and unguarded – like she’s waiting for me to decide whether she matters.
And fuck, it undoes me faster than the spider ever could.
I reach out, brushing her wet hair gently aside, and see a small gash right behind her ear.
“Does it hurt?” I ask urgently. I’ve been first aid trained. We all have in the company. Security doesn’t only mean fighting the bad guys, it means taking care of the good ones.
But all the training doesn’t help the panic I feel at seeing blood running down her neck. “Jesus, we need to get you to the hospital.”
“It’s nothing,” she tells me. “I’m not going to the hospital. They’ll laugh me out of the ER.”
“Sit,” I tell her, nodding at the closed toilet lid. “I’ll get the first aid kit.” I know it’s in the kitchen. Every time Autumn moves, I make sure it’s stocked and up to date. With a determined step, I head toward the hallway, but right before I leave, I glance back.
Francie’s sitting now. Her towel is hugged around her. Her eyes meet mine and I feel it. That need, that ache. That constant want that’s taken me over.
My hands start to shake as I turn toward the hallway. Not because she’s half naked. Or bleeding. Or looking at me like I’m the only thing that’s keeping her together.
It’s not because I care. Not because I feel like I’d burn the whole world down if anything happened to her.
No. It’s just adrenaline. At least that’s what I tell myself.
twenty
FRANCIE
This is not how I expected our first time to play out.
I’m flat on my back in bed, a bandage stuck to my scalp, a cup of lukewarm peppermint tea dying a slow death on my nightstand, with Asher Fitzgerald role playing nursemaid like he’s Florence Nightingale with a six-pack and a god complex.
After he cleaned up my cut, his jaw clenched like he was prepping for surgery instead of popping a Band-Aid on a glorified paper cut, he handed me a fresh pair of pajamas and ordered me to rest. And by ordered, I mean full-on alpha command.
He's been checking on me every hour like he’s running a concussion protocol. Sticking his head around the door to ask things like “What day is it?” and “How many fingers am I holding up?” and “Do you feel dizzy?”
Yes, Doctor Doom, I feel dizzy. From your abrupt change from hot sex god to qualified head trauma surgeon.
Because what I haven’t done is kiss him. Or touch him. Or scream his name while he’s actually in my damn room instead of at the other end of a camera feed like the world’s hottest voyeur.
