Page 6 of Savage Ruin
The imposingblack iron gate and matching fence stand tall, a menacing barrier blocking any view of the house and grounds from the street. I slide a questioning glance toward Thiago, but he’s busy typing the entry code into his phone. The gate parts and the two sides swing open, allowing us access to the house. Impressive. I’m betting the gate isn’t the only new security he’s added since my last visit. I can’t wait to take a peek.
Dark eyes meet mine, a fierce, protective glint in them, and for a second, I bask in the overwhelming feeling of safety he exudes. Wrapping it tightly around me, I hold on to it for a few precious seconds until all my fears are gone, then release it into the air. Too many times, the promise of safety has turned out to be nothing but an illusion. It’s not that I don’t want to believe, but I can’t afford to discard the lessons of the past.
Parking in front of the door, he eases his long body out of the car. “Stay put.”
Bemused, I unbuckle my seatbelt and watch his powerful legs eat up the short distance around the front of the hood. My door opens, and a large hand appears. Gripping it with my own, I use his strength to ease myself out of the low-slung vehicle.
“I should have brought the SUV,” he mutters when he sees me wince.
My chest and stomach hurt the most. Well, my face too, but I don’t need my face to move my body. “I’m not sure it would have been better.”
We realized earlier that carrying me hurt a lot, so with small steps, I make my way into the house. Once inside, I grimace at the sight of the stairs, but Thiago stops me.
He motions to the hallway on the right. “I’ve put you in the guest room next to me. It’s on the right past the office.”
Startled to hear he’s going to be in the next room, I pause to stare into his brown eyes, but the dark mirrors reveal little. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“It’s a little too late for that,” he responds wryly. When he sees the guilty expression on my face, he quickly explains. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep if you were anywhere else. I need to know you’re safe and have everything you need.”
“Where’s the nurse going to sleep?”
He frowns. “What nurse? The doctor said you would need assistance getting up and down, dressing, and a few other things this week.” Comprehension dawns and he clears his throat. “We didn’t want strangers in the house, but if you’re uncomfortable, I can ask Zane to recommend someone safe. A woman.” Dark eyes assess me closely.
The thought of Thiago helping me dress and undress makes me flush with uncertainty and a hint of embarrassment. I hate being this vulnerable and reliant on someone else.
Not sure how I feel about being this intimate with them, especially him, I answer honestly. “It’s one thing to stay in your house, and another to be dependent on you and have you helping me… change clothes.” I turn down the hall, heading to my new room. “Is this going to cause problems with a woman in your life? What about Mateo and Grayson?”
He ignores the first question. “All three of us are planning to help, but if you have a preference, let us know.” The hand on my back guides me into the room on the right. “This is your new room.”
Draped in crisp white and creamy beiges, the bedroom and small sitting area are luxurious and peaceful. Perfect, actually. A yawn catches me unaware. I’m exhausted. I’ve barely done anything today, but the small amount of effort I’ve expended has sapped all my available strength. “It’s beautiful.”
Thiago eases me down on the bed. Squatting in front of me for a second, he pulls off my shoes, then walks over to the dresser to grab some pajamas. “You’ll be more comfortable in your usual sleepwear.” He returns and holds out his hands to help me stand.
No time like the present to test out whether this is going to work. With a deep breath, I stand and wait for his instructions.
“Would you like me to close my eyes?” he softly offers.
I shake my head no, my gaze fixed on the center of his chest.
His fingers find the hem of my t-shirt, blunt tips sliding against my skin as he pulls one side of it up. I suck in a deep breath.
He clears his throat. “Let’s remove your shirt first. I’ll leave your bra on, swap the shirts, then remove it, okay?”
At my nod, he eases one arm out of the left hole, then does the same on the right before tugging the shirt over my head. My body protests loudly, but I grit my teeth until the pain eases.
Without pause, he slips the sleep shirt over my head, but when he tries to ease my arm up through the sleeve, we realize the pajama top is smaller than the previous t-shirt. A sharp pain pierces my side, and a whimper escapes.
Thiago frowns. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” He strides out the door, leaving me half dressed with the shirt hanging around my neck. Seconds later, he returns with a large white t-shirt. “This will be easier for you to wear. You won’t have to lift your arms very high to get into it, and it won’t constrict you when you sleep.”
Without waiting for my reply, he slips off my shirt and puts his on me. The shirt sleeves are practically at my waist. Relieved, I slide my arms into the holes with very little effort. The light fabric floats across my body, its texture so incredibly soft it’s like wearing a cloud. Rubbing a piece of the fabric between my finger and thumb, it’s hard to tell if it’s cotton or silk. Who knew t-shirts could be so luxurious?
“So much easier,” I inform him. Looking up with a smile, I find his intense eyes narrowed on the shirt I’m wearing. Electricity arcs between us and my smile fades while my heart picks up its already rapid beat.
He leans over, pulling me in closer, his hard body dwarfing my smaller one, and wraps his arms around me. His masculine scent saturates the air, burrowing deep into my lungs and skin. Caged in his circle, I can’t see, smell, or feel anything but him. I’m consumed by this moment. Fingers trail up my spine, causing me to involuntarily arch into his chest. My hands grip his biceps for balance, unintentionally pulling him even closer to me. The man isn’t even trying to turn me on, and yet I’m practically putty in his large, very capable hands. A soft groan escapes.
His fingers stop, pads pressing lightly into my back, holding me to him for a split second of time, then he shifts and unclasps my bra. I sigh when the soft band around my chest loosens, but I’m not thinking of the pain, only the need to remove the offending barrier between us.
He clears his throat and leans back to angrily question me. “Why did you put on a bra when it hurt so much?” Fingers deftly maneuver the bra out of the shirt.
