Page 14 of Caught in His Sights

“Stop touching it.” Caleb returns with a stack of towels and a first aid kit perched on top.

His hand splays over my chest, and he pushes me backward to lie down while he takes over.

My heart pounds as Caleb tends to my wounds. It’s a surreal change from the cold, calculating man who intended to kill me, or the cruelly erotic man who filmed me with plans to use it for blackmail.

This tender side of him unnerves me. How many people have seen this version of Caleb?

After several minutes, he sets the tweezers aside and turns on the tap. The breath hisses from between my lips when he gently washes and then dries my feet.

Unable to stay still, I prop myself up on my elbows. “Why did you bring me here?”

He doesn’t look up from applying antiseptic cream and a gauze pad over the cut. “Someone just tried to kill you.”

“Didn’t you break into my apartment with the same intent?” I shoot back.

He doesn’t respond, instead focusing on bandaging my wounds.

As he works, I take in his bare, muscular arms and the way his undershirt clings to his well-defined chest and cinches in at his narrow waist. I linger on his pants, the memory of his zipper lowering echoing in my ears, and I shiver despite the warmth in the room.

Caleb leans over, catching my chin none-too-gently between his fingers. “Who wants you dead?”

I meet his dark-brown eyes. “Besides you?”

An hour ago, Caleb had been ready to end me without hesitation. But here he is, treating my injuries. The world around me is falling apart again. Dare I rely on someone who was sent to assassinate me?

“Yes.” His thumb sweeps over my bottom lip. “Besides me.”

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, I drop mine. “I don’t know.”

He jerks my chin higher, and a hiss escapes me, not entirely from pain. “Never lie to me.”

“I don’t know.” My pulse races, my breaths coming quicker. “But I’ve received some anonymous death threats.”

His lips twitch with amusement. “Because of your gossip column?”

My chin lifts. “You came to kill me because of my gossip column.”

“Yes, but I know my reason for taking you out.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “But why would anyone else? Your stories are harmless.”

Annoyance prickles through me. “And yet, here we are.”

His amusement vanishes. “The death threat, Oliver.”

“They’re sent to my personal blog, not DynastyDish.” When he stares at me without recognition, I huff. “You could track down my real name and address, but you can’t even dig up that I write for multiple news sites?”

His eyes flick to me. “You’re cute when you’re indignant. Now, spit it out.”

My lips thin into a mutinous line before I give in. “I post actual news articles on the site I run, like the one about the apartment complex your family tore down.”

His head tilts to the side. “That was posted on DynastyDish.”

“I pitch all my stories to my editor first. But she always rejects my serious pieces.” I turn my head, and he releases my chin. “They only ran that one because it had the Rockford name in it. And instead of their news page, they published it to DynastyDish with a sensational headline. Did you even read the article that put me in your sights?”

“No.” He shrugs. “It annoyed me how often you mixed up me and my brother, even when we weren’t pretending to be each other.”

“Not me,” I assure him. “I always know when it’s you.”

“So, you have another place where you publish articles?” When he pauses for confirmation, I nod. “And it would be called…?”

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