Page 25 of July 27

"I've got you." Ruger wrapped his arm around her, giving her a sturdy base to lean against.

Her stomach rolled, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm going to press down on your finger."

She braced herself. The pressure came and eased the stinging. Opening her eyes, she gazed at Ruger's broad hand, squeezing a white paper napkin on her pointer finger.

"Breathe, Rach." Ruger's arm around her waist tightened.

"Sorry."

"Stop."

She inhaled a ragged breath. "I should've been more careful."

"It was an accident." He peeled back the napkin. "Look, it's already stopped bleeding."

She exhaled out her pursed lips. "I feel sick."

"It's the blood."

She shook her head. Blood had never made her feel like throwing up before. She had blood covering her from all the injuries she suffered at the hands of the men who'd kidnapped her. She'd seen Ruger bleed continually through the day as she leaned against him, praying he wouldn't die in the night.

"You've seen a lot. Been through a lot. That shit can come back and kick your ass when you least expect it," he mumbled, continuing to hold her finger. "Keep your finger straight, and come and sit down on the couch."

He led her into the other room. She held her hand on the couch, keeping her finger straight, when he left the room.

Ruger returned, holding a small tube of Super Glue. She shook her head. She'd seen her brother use that on his cuts before.

"No." She held her finger away from him. "It'll close on its own."

"We don't have Band-Aids yet." Ruger sat beside her and held his hand, beckoning her to turn toward him. "You need it sealed to keep it from getting an infection.

"It's going to sting."

"A little."

She trembled. Sometimes, the idea of hurting again overwhelmed her. She dreaded getting hurt, or hurting more, after all the abuse she'd suffered.

"Rachel."

She turned toward him and held out her hand. Swallowing hard, she braced for the pain.

Ruger opened the squeeze tube of glue. She couldn't look. Instead, she watched Ruger's eyes intensely, studying the tip of her finger. Used to the serious side of him, she marveled at how sexy he became when he concentrated.

So intent on gluing the cut together on her finger, he dropped the stern expression always planted on his face. As soon as he finished with the glue, he brought her finger up and blew a steady, cool stream of air on the cut.

Soothed and cared for, she sagged in her seat. His lips were no longer hardened into a thin line, practically hidden behind his mustache. They were full and tender. She sighed, imagining them on her mouth, her skin.

The second the glue dried, he quit blowing, and the hardness returned to his face. She cupped his jaw and stroked the lines at the corner of his eye.

He turned that seriousness on her. Her insides quivered. The pain in her finger was forgotten.

"Rach." His tone reprimanded her, but the burning desire in his eyes told her he liked when she touched him. "Don't."

She lowered her hand. He left her side and went into the bedroom. She couldn't stop how she felt toward him. While he had needs, he refused to see her for anything other than Shady's little sister.

The tip of her finger pounded.

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