Page 38 of Any Means Necessary

“Alright, go ahead.”

“You want me to do it here? Right now?” I look around the back seat, at a loss.

“Yes.” Not seeing another choice, I lift the medical kit from its place on the floor with a sigh.

“How did this happen?” I ask, riffling through the supplies for what I’ll need to sew him up.

“We raided a safehouse.” He’s back to typing on his phone. “The Russians didn’t go down without a fight.”

I’ve overheard him talking about his deal with Viktor Mikhailov. Callum arranged for one of Viktor’s men to be arrested and sentenced—which all went down without a hitch—in exchange for a location. I’m guessing that location was for the safehouse. Callum’s been a busy boy the last three days.

“I can’t get the right angle sitting like this.” I’m expecting him to realize the backseat of a car isn’t the ideal place for medical procedures. What I’m not expecting is for him to put his phone down before pulling me onto his lap. I gasp, quickly shifting to make sure the majority of my weight is supported by my knees.

“Is this angle better, Doc?” he asks as I stare at him wide-eyed. My eyes move over his face, and I give a small nod.

Hot damn.

Sucking in a breath, I focus on the task at hand. Or at least I try to.

“I need you to hold still,” I huff in frustration when a bump in the road has the needle I’m trying to aim at the deep cut on his left temple gets dangerously close to Callum’s eye. Straddling his lap in a moving car is getting harder by the second as the burning starts in my thighs from my attempt to remain hovering. “Can we pull over and stop the car?”

“We have somewhere to be,” Callum responds evenly.

“If you want me to sew you up, I need to be able to use this needle without giving you a nose piercing.” My frustration level is rising. If I could just remain steady and hover while we drive, that would be great.

With the gash on his forehead, I have a sneaking suspicion there are bruises and other injuries hidden under his suit. There’s no doubt in my mind that the man who did this to him is no longer breathing.

“Sit on my lap, Dewdrop. All the way.” Callum's gaze on me means business, his grip on my waist tightening.

“I’m heavy, I don’t want to hurt you.” My attempt to brush him off isn’t successful, and his hands take my hips firmly.

“I can take you. All of you.”

Still shaking my head, I fight to remain raised. “You’re injured, I’ll crush you.”

One of Callum's hands moves from my waist to guide my chin until my eyes meet his. The intent in his gaze leaves no room for argument when he speaks.

“So crush me.” The hand on my hip adds pressure to lower me as I finally relent. He wants my full two hundred and thirty-two pounds on his lap? Fine, I’ll give the man what he wants. Releasing my legs, I sit on his lap without any support. A noise of satisfaction sounds deep in Callum's throat as I situate my body on his lap.

“That’s my girl.” Strong hands grip my hips, locking me in place against him. His words, spoken so deeply, send a wave of heat through me. My eyes lock with his, the pools of hazel pulling me in and threatening to drown me.

The sight of crimson blood trailing down his left eyelid is a startling reminder of what I’m doing here. My heart skips a beat as I force a slow deep breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I have to get this man stitched up before he bleeds everywhere. Taking his chin in one hand, I tilt his head down for the best angle to address his wound.

“Now stay still,” I order, dabbing the gash with an iodine swab. I’m not about to let this get infected, especially an area so close to his eye.

“Whatever you say, Doc.” There’s something in his voice, something primal and self-satisfied, that has me glancing down. In this position, my breasts are barely a few short inches from his face and he has a very clear view of my chest down the v-neck of my top.

I can practically feel his eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin, and I struggle to ignore the sensations his hot breath against my chest elicit. With steady hands, I get to work.

“There,” I say, dabbing the blood from his face delicately. “You’re all fixed up.” The wound took four stitches and two butterfly bandages to properly close.

“Are you sure? Maybe you need to do a few more,” he says, making me bite back a smile as I roll my eyes.

“These will stay in for five days. Just make sure to keep them clean. A scar might add character to your pretty face, but guys who lose their eyes to infection have a harder time getting laid. Or so I’ve heard.”

“I plan on keeping my eyes exactly where they are.”

The double meaning in his statement is clear when I lean back on his lap and his eyes rake over me. Every inch of me burns under his intense gaze, stoking the spark deep in my core. I can feel him hardening against my thigh, and I know if I don’t move now things are going to change between us.

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