Page 37 of Wicked Duty
A hiss snakes out of my mouth.Fuck, that stings.The alcohol sends a searing pain through my torn flesh.
“I’m sorry you got hurt.” An uncharacteristic softness laces her voice. “And I’m sorry it was because of me.”
Despite her earlier sass, it’s obvious that my injury upsets her.
Maybe she even feels guilty.
“It’s all part of the job.”
“Yeah, yeah. Your job.”
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. But on the bright side, at least she’s already in a foul mood. It’ll lessen the blow when I drop the hammer in a minute.
I can’t help but study her. We’re rarely this close. Her eyes, dark in the yellow kitchen light, appear warmer than they didbeneath the hotel’s spotlight. Her disheveled hair appears less camera-ready but more touchable.
I clench my hands against my thighs to keep myself from reaching out and sifting a strand between my fingers.
After disinfecting my wound, she plasters it with as many bandages as she can. Not sure how I’m supposed to shower around all those, but I’ll worry about that later.
“You’re all done.”
I nod. “And so are you.”
She pauses, glancing up from the half-closed first aid kit. “Excuse me?”
“You should withdraw from the competition, Lucy.” I can practically see her temper start to boil like a kettle on the stove seconds away from hissing. “I can’t protect you with all those people and variables at play.”
“Then it sounds like you’re not cut out for the job of being my bodyguard.” She snaps the case shut. “Feel free to hand in your resignation. I’m sure Nika and Darren can find someone else.”
She tries to leave the kitchen, but I grab her left bicep and tug hard, whipping her back around to face me.
With our height difference, Lucy’s gaze lands square on my bare chest. Emotions flicker across her pretty face.
Surprise. Desire. Anger.
Each one intrigues me. And also terrifies me.
I retreat a step, trying to defuse the sexual tension crackling in the air like static.
“I’m being serious.”
Her brow furrows. “So am I.”
“Those men tonight were prepared. Focused.” I fold my arms and try to ignore the pain in my side, as well as the way Lucy’s eyes skate across my forearms and triceps. “They were clearlyafter you. They didn’t grab just anybody from the party. They wanted you.”
Lucy tenses, refusing to meet my gaze. Something dark passes over her expression. “We don’t know that for sure.” She sounds worn out. “I need a shower. You can go after me.” She flees, slamming the bathroom door before I can press her further.
In a few minutes, the squeal of pipes and running water echo through the walls, and I finally release the breath I’ve been holding.
What a day.
I lumber over to her couch and plop down, resting my head against the cushions. What I should be thinking about is how to keep one snarky, back-talking model in line. Instead, all my energy channels into not picturing her nude beneath the shower spray.
Naked and wet. With a single door between us.
My mind ricochets between images of her slick body and that shit show of an after-party.
When I burst into that corridor and found Lucy’s attacker holding her at knifepoint, I saw fucking red. The memory stokes the smoldering flames of anger in my chest. Fury more powerful than any I remember experiencing surged through me in an instant. I was enraged. She was so stupid. Running away from me like that. Following some random guy into a dark hall alone. What is she, eleven?
