Part 8 (1/2)
Leave them alone. Leave her alone.
He snarled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror then stalked back into the workshop, promptly stubbing his toe on the futon's corner. Swearing, he fumbled for his flashlight and switched it on to illuminate a crimson splatter-trail on her rug. Perfect. His big toenail had partially lifted from its bed, and blood trickled out. Nate tugged on jeans and a s.h.i.+rt and headed out of the workshop.
Java rose above him at the top of the deck stairs-a devil-black shape amongst charcoal shadows.
Nate climbed the steps. ”Don't even think about it, mutt. I'm mad enough to bite you first.”
The dog sneezed, shook himself until his collar rattled then sauntered to his bed by the back door.
Nate limped after him and tapped against the wood. ”Lauren?”
Footsteps shuffled on the other side and the door swung open.
Oh. Dear G.o.d. He'd made a huge tactical error.
Dressed in plaid boxers that left her smooth thighs bare, and an ancient white tee, thin enough to outline the jut of her nipples, Lauren stared at him with smoky eyes and rumpled hair.
Desire, scalding and liquid, flushed through him.
Nate stepped backward, his jeans suddenly a size too small. ”Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I'll just-”
”Is that blood?” She pointed at his foot.
”More than likely, but it'll-”
”Come in and sit down. I'll get the first aid kit.”
He retreated farther from the light. Maybe she wouldn't notice the ridge in his jeans growing bigger as her b.r.e.a.s.t.s brushed against the soft fabric. ”Really, I'm fi-”
She sent him a saccharine-sweet look with her eyebrow arched prettily. ”I'm happy to drive you to the hospital, if you'd prefer?”
”Touche.” He hobbled inside, trying not to get blood on her carpet as he slumped onto the nearest couch.
Lauren returned from the kitchen and tossed him a roll of paper towels. ”Tear off a section while I grab the kit.”
She disappeared through the archway and he couldn't resist tracking the sensual swing of her hips under those miniscule shorts. Swallowing a groan, he threw his head back against the couch. How could his toe still be bleeding when every gallon of blood had headed straight for his groin?
Lauren came back a few minutes later, the first aid box tucked under one arm and a thick toweling robe wrapped tight around her. Just as well...Another glimpse of her lush curves would fry his remaining brain cells.
”Did you cut yourself?” She hesitated beside the couch, looking as if she was about to treat the injury herself.
Please no, or he'd embarra.s.s himself by doing something dumb...like hauling her into his lap.
”Stubbed my toe and now the nail has lifted.”
”Ouch.” She opened the container and tossed him a box of heavy-duty adhesive bandages. ”Here you go.” Then she escaped behind the kitchen counter, out of his sight.
He tore the protective cover off a bandage. ”I saw your light on when I was in the bathroom.”
Behind him came the sound of a running tap. ”I was having a cup of tea.”
”Couldn't sleep? Or are you up extra early to bake more m.u.f.fins?”
She released a small hum of amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Is that a hint?”
He chuckled, though becoming addicted to Lauren's cooking wasn't wise. Now that she'd halfway finished clearing the road to his house, he wouldn't get to sample many more batches of her home baking.
”I couldn't sleep,” she said.
Nate stood and limped to the kitchen. He rested a hip against the counter. ”Insomnia?”
”Yeah, but it's not fatal.” She tried to play it down with a roll of her eyes.
”Just soul destroying after a while.”
She finished rinsing her mug and dried it with brisk, efficient movements. ”I'm used to it.”
He stepped closer, the sweet, female smell of shampoo and flowers addling his brain. ”How long has it been a problem?”
”A number of years, on and off.” She set the mug on the counter, where it rattled a short tattoo until she pried her fingers from the handle. ”It gets worse when I'm stressed.”
”Do I cause you stress?”
Her teeth nipped the curve of her lip. ”Yes.”
Before he could counter the urge, his knuckles skimmed along her scar, a five centimeter, raised crescent that must've hurt like h.e.l.l when the injury occurred. She stared at him wide-eyed and jerked back, causing his fingers to trail a lingering caress down the line of her jaw before they fell away.
”Stop touching me. Please.”
”I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”
Lauren tilted her chin even as the walls slammed down in her eyes. Her nostrils flared as her breathing accelerated.
”Did your ex do that?”
She flinched but refused to drop her gaze. ”No one did that. I was in a car accident.”
”That's what you tell everyone, huh?”
”It's what happened.” She half turned away, wiping her fingers on a dishtowel.
Her blush said otherwise. Car accident, his a.s.s. Her ex-husband was responsible, guaranteed. He fought to keep his voice gentle, to dampen down the simmering emotions beneath. ”I spent my teenage years in some pretty rough places. That doesn't look like a car accident scar to me.”
She wiped the counter top, keeping her eyes on the sweep of the sponge. A shudder rippled across her shoulders, but she continued to clean, scrubbing at the already spotless sink.
”I get it.” The silence stretched as the wall clock ticked off seconds. ”Another time in your life you don't want to talk about.”
”Yes.” She turned back to him then. ”My past is not open for discussion. I've moved on.”