Page 91 of Bossy Wicked Prince
“It’s not your fault, Nate,” she whispers, picking up on the subtle shift in my demeanor. “If you didn’t get him fired, he would have tried to force himself on me eventually. I’m just lucky you were there.”
Just thinking about Harry cornering Cat makes my hand curl into a fist. I wince at the pain—I forgot that I split my knuckles punching Harry. Cat catches the movement and she gasps.
“You’re still bleeding! Oh god, Nate, that doesn’t look good. Do you have a first aid kit?”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That needs to be cleaned and bandaged,” she says, putting down her half-drunk orange juice and marching down the hallway to the guest room. “Wash that in the kitchen, soap and water!”
I wish she would stay sitting down a little longer, but I’m so relieved to see her usual determination back that I do what she says without arguing.
Cat sits back down on the couch, opening up a white box. I guess there was a first aid kit in the apartment. I can’t believe Cat already knows this place better than I do. She only stayed here for a few days, after all.
Sitting down next to Cat, I let her put antibiotic ointment on the wounds. She’s very particular about it, checking each one for dirt. I would tell her that she doesn’t have to be so careful, but I don’t want to. I can’t remember the last time someone cared for me like this. Tending to me like I’m something precious.
Even when I was a kid, it was never my parents who patched up my scrapes. It was whatever au pair they hired for the year.
Cat hums and puts down the ointment. She pulls off a length of gauze and wraps it carefully around my hand.
“How does that feel?” she asks.
I flex my hand. There’s still some pain, but there must be some numbing agent in the cream Cat used, because it feels better. “Good.”
She smiles, and my chest feels warm. Ducking her head, she brushes a light kiss on my fingers. I cup her face in my hand, making her look up at me.
“My turn to take care of you, Kitten.”
Tearing off a little piece of leftover gauze, I gently wipe the smudged mascara underneath her eyes until all evidence of her tears is gone. Unable to resist, I kiss her on one cheek, then the other.
Her eyes flutter shut, a small sigh escaping her mouth. She lets her head hang back, exposing the long line of her neck. Her defenses are completely down for me, even after the attack.
It’s a trust I don’t take for granted.
I slide her open cardigan down her arms, examining her skin where Harry grabbed her. There are deep red imprints from his fingers, the beginnings of bruises. Even though I feel anger rising in me, I force myself to swallow it. That’s not what Cat needs right now.
Lowering my head, I brush my lips against a bruise on her left arm. Goosebumps rise under my lips as I kiss every spot where he touched her. I wish it could erase the memory of him, or better yet, undo tonight altogether.
“You’re safe with me,” I whisper against her skin.
“I know.” She opens her eyes, her tears gone. “I’ll call the police in the morning.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle everything.”
“Thank you. And I hate to ask, but can I stay with you? Just for tonight, I promise. I…I just don’t want to go home. In case…”
She doesn’t have to finish. I can fill in the blanks myself.
In case Harry tries to find her again.
“You never have to ask,” I say.
Taking her hand, I lead her to the guest bedroom. I’d obviously prefer having her in my bed, where I can be sure she’s safe. But I’ve worked with enough victims to know what Cat needs most now is rest. Her system will be completely exhausted. And she might not want a man in her space right now.
I pull back the covers on the bed. “Do you want me to get you some pajamas?”
Cat shakes her head. “I just want to sleep.”
She kicks off her shoes and crawls onto the mattress and I pull the covers up to her shoulders.
