Page 35 of Wanted

"Nah. The two of you only have so much time. Get out of here." I walk them to the door.

"If she needs anything else, don't hesitate to call. The girls and I could have easily packed a second bag for her. It's no problem," Whitney says, giving me a brief hug before she steps onto the porch.

I brace a hand on either side of the doorframe and lean out. "Will do. Thanks for stopping by."

They both turn back to wave as they depart.

The second the door closes, I rest my back against the sturdy wood and close my eyes.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The tension bleeds from my fingertips enough that I can return to the kitchen. I drop my empty mug into the top rack of the dishwasher and flick on the stove. This morning, I'm making pancakes.

Fifteen minutes later, with a pile stacked high next to some fresh fruit and sausage links, I find myself standing in the empty hall in front of Frankie's room. For not the first time in my life, I wish I could be fucking normal and cross over the threshold without this entire ritual.

"Are you going to stand outside of my door all day?" she calls sweetly from inside.

Her words work like a key, unlocking my limbs and forcing me through the door on stiff legs.

"Brought breakfast." I deposit the plate on her bedside table without looking at her.

Which is why she surprises the shit out of me by appearing at my side.

"Fuck!" I bark.

She laughs, the sound warm and rich in a way I haven't heard before. My gaze sweeps her face, from her twinkling brown eyes over her pink cheeks and soft lips before trailing lower to my dark tee shirt draping her body. My cock twitches, as if the bastard has a say in this unconventional situation.

"When do we get started, boss?"

"You don't." I take a hasty step back and cross my arms over my chest. I take note of my fucking dog curled up on Frankie’s bed as if she co-owns this room. Ashe hasn’t slept in my room since Frankie arrived.

Confused eyebrows snap together over those brown eyes. "I thought..."

Ah, hell. You made her nervous, you bastard. "You're still on strict orders to rest since you haven't been doing enough of it. Start date is Monday, bright and early."

Her features soften, though a bit of her fire remains. She gives a mock salute. "Yes, sir. And what is bright and early to you?"

"Seven o’clock will do."

"I'll be there." She selects a sausage link and sinks her teeth into it.

"When are you due back to the doctor for your arm?"

She immediately becomes flustered, a flurry of sounds falling from her mouth before she settles with a deep breath. "I wasn't planning on being here, so I didn't schedule a follow-up."

I swear I can feel my blood pressure rise. "And what, exactly, were you planning on doing with your broken arm?"

She lifts the braced limb between us. "This seems to be working just fine."

"I'll take you."

"I don't think that's necessary."

"Frankie, you can't be around a pack of dogs with a broken arm that isn't at the very least casted. Do you not have any self-preservation, or are you just content to fuck with me?"

The way her spine straightens as she wipes her fingers on a flimsy napkin has my blood pumping. "Well, excuse me that I'm not used to letting someone else take care of me! I've looked out for myself my entire life, and I don't need you coming in here and sweeping me off my feet like some damsel!"

"I don't think you're a damsel."

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