Page 89 of Ruthless Intent

She flattens her palms against the ground and pushes, only to fall back with a small cry.

“I think you’ve wrenched your shoulder.”

The angry glare she sends my way makes it clear she doesn’t appreciate my input.

“If it was dislocated, it’d hurt a lot more.” I hold out a hand.

She scowls at me.

“You clearly can’t stand up alone.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to just leave me here?”

“I was the last person seen with you. Do you really think I’m going to risk being investigated for your disappearance?”

“You’re risking being arrested for blackmail and kidnapping, so why not?”

“You’re going to find that hard to prove when you’ve been seen getting into my car, and kissing me in public.” I walk around until I’m on the opposite side to her injured shoulder, then bend and carefully lift her up into my arms.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put me down!” She aims a punch at my shoulder, then lets her arm fall with another pained cry.

I set off back toward the house, concentrating on looking where I’m walking, and not on the fact she’s pressed against me, or how warm her body feels.

“If you don’t stop struggling, I’m going to drop you on your ass.”

“I can walk.”

“I don’t care.”

I don’t. I don’t care how light she is. I don’t care how the little whimpers she makes if I bounce her makes me want to be more careful.

I. Don’t. Care.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

ASHLEY

I’m acutely aware of his hands on my body. One arm is beneath my legs, hand resting just beside my knee, the other arm is around my back, hand on my waist. There’s no clothing to protect me from his touch. He doesn’t seem to notice or care. He doesn’t even look at me as he strides along the path.

I don’t speak to him for the rest of the walk back to the house. Every step he takes sends jolts of pain through my shoulder, but I grit my teeth and ignore it. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing he’s hurting me.

When we reach the house, he walks through the kitchen and doesn’t stop until he’s upstairs. My entire body tenses up.

Is he taking me back to Jason’s room?

Any residual satisfaction I felt about making him chase me down is destroyed by the clammy fear of being forced into that room again.

“Please don’t take me in there.” I can’t stop myself from speaking.

His head dips, and he frowns at me. But he doesn’t stop outside the bedroom door, and keeps walking along the hallway, I almost sag in relief. The door he does open reveals a bathroom, and he crosses the tiled floor and sets me down on one of the countertops with an unexpected gentleness. When I move to hop down, he steps closer and shakes his head.

“Stay put.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stay. Put.”

He moves to the side and turns on the faucet, then picks up a folded washcloth. Once he’s soaked and wrung it out, he comes back to stand in front of me. He doesn’t do or say anything at first, just stares at me.

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