Page 50 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I scratched at the door, and a moment later the lock disengaged. The door swung open, revealing the beautiful young woman.

Our gazes locked, then everything went black.

Two

LILY

Suddenly, the man lurched toward me. A scream caught in my throat as I staggered backward and tried to escape. His weight hit me full force, dragging me downward and sending us both sprawling on the floor.

“Get off me!” I screamed, battering his back and shoulders with my fists. I shrieked maniacally as I fought his hold, arms swinging as my heart raced out of control.

It took my muddled mind a moment to realize he wasn’t fighting back. Nor had he said a single word. I froze and took stock of the situation.

The man lay draped over me, limp and deathly still. My frantic movements had partially dislodged him, and his forehead rested on the floor next to my left shoulder.

“Sir?” The single word came out as a whisper, and I cleared my throat. Screaming hadn’t woken him up; he was likely passed out. I patted his back. “You need to wake up.”

Something sticky clung to my fingers, and I lifted my hand to the light. My heart stilled at the sight of the dark blood that coated my fingertips. He was hurt. He was also…

Oh, my God. He was naked!

What the hell was this guy doing running around naked in the woods in the middle of the night? Ice water streamed through my veins. Nothing good, that was for certain.

The man was almost unbearably heavy, and my lungs ached as he compressed my torso, pinning me between his broad chest and the hard floor. With a grunt of effort, I wiggled my body and slowly began to shuffle out from underneath him.

“Damn.” I let out an exhausted huff. “You’re heavy.”

Resting on my knees, I drew in several deep breaths and tried to control my sprinting pulse. My gaze dropped to the man in front of me, his body riddled with cuts and bruises. He was completely nude and badly malnourished, almost to the point of emaciation.

A combination of pity and anger welled up in my chest. Where had he come from? And what in the world had happened to him?

A cool breeze whispered over my skin, drawing my attention to the open door. Keeping low, I cautiously maneuvered around the man and peered outside. Everything was dark and quiet, just as it should be.

The man was sprawled in the doorway, his feet stretched over the threshold. Moving to his torso, I hooked my hands under his arms and pulled. For a moment nothing happened. I gritted my teeth and put all my weight into it.

One inch at first, then another, I pulled the man into the kitchen by increments. By the time I was done, I was nearly out of breath. Damn, I was out of shape. Shaking out my limbs, I made my way to the door and checked once more for anything out of place before locking up.

Spinning around, I rested against the cool metal and regarded the unconscious man sprawled on my floor. God, he looked even worse than I initially thought. His body was big and broad-shouldered, making his haggard state even more pronounced. Cuts and scratches covered nearly all of his body, and deep slashes marred his back, buttocks, and upper thighs, almost as if he had been… beaten.

Bile rose up my throat, and nausea twisted my belly into a tight knot. My gaze skimmed over his body, cataloging the various wounds from the soles of his feet to the tops of his shoulders. His face, strangely, seemed to be unharmed, and I took a moment to study him.

His hair was almost coal-black, and the unruly, too-long locks held a hint of a curl. His eyelashes rested on his cheeks, thick and sooty. The lower half of his face was obscured by a scraggly beard.

I tiptoed closer, every instinct on high alert as I crouched next to his head. I pressed my fingers to the base of his neck, and something like relief washed through me when I felt the faint thud of his pulse.

Thank God. He was still alive. But unless he got some medical attention, he might not be for long.

I reached for my phone, ready to call a doctor. But as my fingers hovered over the screen, I hesitated. Something told me that this man had endured too much already and that he wouldn’t appreciate anyone else knowing he was here.

It occurred to me that I was basically inviting a stranger into my home. As unsettling as that was, it wasn’t nearly as repulsive as the thought of turning him out. Besides, where would he go?

In addition to the several weeks’ growth of beard, the thin coat of grime covering his skin told me he didn’t have access to regular hygiene. Was he homeless? Pine Ridge was a fairly close-knit community, and I couldn’t recall any homeless residents. He didn’t look familiar, either.

Maybe he’d come from somewhere else. But the closest town was nearly an hour away. Would he have trekked that far on foot—and naked at that? The situation sent alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind.

My discomfort at having a strange man in the house warred with the innate need to take care of him. I pushed to my feet, debating what to do. Call for help, or do it myself?

I wasn’t sure whether this man was good or bad, but I wouldn’t know until he woke up. He was obviously weak; he wasn’t likely to hurt me in this condition. It was a gamble I’d have to take.

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