Page 68 of Don't Game Me
When she didn’t move on her own, he waved his arm to get her in motion, allowing her to slightly take the lead.
After a few yards, he noticed she limped. He grabbed her elbow, halting her. “What’s wrong? Why’re you limping? Did someone hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You can barely walk.” He glanced down the white dress to the heeled boots. Sexy boots, but impractical at this type of convention. “Did I hurt you when I bumped into you?”
“No. It’s the shoes. I’m not good in heels, even if they are boots. They’re part of this ridiculous costume. I’ve probably got a mega blister.”
“Take them off. Go without.”
“What? No.”
“You’re hurting,” he said, pointing at her shoes.
She shrugged.
He unhooked her backpack from her and slung it over his shoulder. He scooped her off her feet and stalked toward the info desk he spied a few yards away.
“What’re you doing? Put me down. This is so not staying under the radar. Captain America over there has his cell phone on us.” She hid her face in her hands. “Aquaman just got a picture too.”
He glanced down. The memory of her naked and of each sensation she’d unleashed from him during their last night together flashed through his brain. But it hadn’t been real. It’d been good…better than good. Mind-blowing. He’d felt things… Not going there. He shoved the unwanted emotions down deep. This woman used him and didn’t trust him. He was keeping her with him until he could get her to the FBI, for Noah’s sake.
At the info desk, he waited several minutes through someone demanding admission reimbursement but didn’t understand the info desk kid couldn’t help her. He ignored Becca’s fervent whispers he put her down. Finally, when the irate woman ahead of him marched off, he requested of the attendant, “We need a Band-Aid or two.”
The teenager behind the desk gawked. “Aren’t you the guy from NJ Legacy?”
He held back an agitated snort. “Yes, and I have a presentation beginning in a few minutes. We need a Band-Aid.” If the kid asked for an autograph, he’d unleash his irritation.
“I’m fine,” Becca protested. “Put me down. I can find my own foot first-aid. You need to get going, or you’ll be late. It’s time we go our separate ways.”
“We either do this now, or I’ll carry you into the talk and make you sit on the stage until I’m done.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
An unladylike snort escaped her. She crossed her arms. “Fine. Get me a goddamned Band-Aid.”
Her dramatic stubbornness pushed his need to fight.
The teenager said, “The medical station is on the other side of the building, but I think I saw something in this desk.” He searched through drawers, finally emerging with one generic bandage. Perfect.
“Thanks.” Jake glanced around. No free chairs to be found nearby. He set her on the smooth desk and took off her boot.
“I can’t be on the desk.” She squirmed to get down.
He threw an arm across her lap. “Stay still. Stop being difficult.”
“It’s not like I broke a bone or have a bleeding laceration. No need to call 911. It’s just a run-of-the-mill blister.”
He knelt, removed her boot and sock. “We’re going to need a bigger Band-Aid.” Her blister trekked along the side of her foot and down her little toe.
She pulled her foot out of his grasp. “Give me the bandage. I’ll put it on.”
“No. Give me your foot. I’ll do it.” He held out his hand.
“What kind of burr jumped up your ass? It’s just a blister.”
