Page 31 of The Accidental Wife

Cole

“Ow, shit!”

I jump out of bed and rush over to Shayla’s bedroom when I hear a crash and her shout.

“Shayla? You okay?” I call out, knocking on the door. I listen out for her, and when I don’t hear an answer, I open the door and walk inside. I find her sitting on the floor in the dark, holding her foot surrounded by glass. She looks up at me and blinks, surprised when I turn the light on. “What have you done? Are you hurt?”

She takes her Airpod out of her ear. “Huh?”

“I asked if you were okay?” She bites her lip and nods, glancing at the broken lamp on the floor.

“Oh, uh, I’m okay. I broke your lamp, though. I’m still trying to get used to my surroundings. I’m so sorry.” She hisses and looks down at her foot. “I’ll replace it.” I roll my eyes and walk into her bedroom, careful not to step on any broken glass.

“Jesus, Shayla. Fuck the lamp. Is your foot okay?” I ask her, and she shrugs and moves her hand, and her fingers are covered in blood. “You’re bleeding.”

“No. No, Cole, there’s glass everywhere. You’ll cut yourself too.” I ignore her protests and step over the broken glass till I can reach her.

“Can you stand up?” She nods and takes my hand when I hold it out to her. I sweep her into my arms bridal style, and she gasps when she’s unexpectedly lifted off the ground, and her arms instinctively wrap around my neck.

I carry her to the ensuite bathroom in my bedroom. I keep a first aid kit in there, so I could clean up her foot. “Cole, I can walk. You don’t have to carry me.” She sighs, looking at me, and I smile as I carry her to the bathroom and sit her on the counter by the sink.

“You’re bleeding, Shayla. You could get your foot infected if you step on the floor. Now, spread your legs.” I say, tapping her bare thighs, and she looks at me wide-eyed.

“Pardon?” She snaps, scowling at me. I chuckle and rub the back of my neck.

“The first aid box is in the draw between your legs. You need to move them, so I can get it out.” I explain, and her frown softens a little. She spreads her legs, and I open the drawer to get the box out. I close the drawer with my hip and open the box to retrieve the antibacterial wipes and bandages.

“Cole, I can clean it up myself. Give me the box.” She says, reaching for it, but I pull it away from her reach and shake my head.

“How are you supposed to see if there’s any glass in your foot from your angle?” I ask as I kneel in front of her and she looks down at me.

“It’s my foot. I’m sure I can feel it if there were.” She replies, holding the edge of the counter when I brush my fingers down the back of her calf, lifting her leg so I can look at her foot.

“Stop being stubborn and let me clean you up,” I tell her with a stern look, and she sighs, relenting, and leans back against the mirror. I hadn’t noticed when I walked into the room what little she had on. A pair of black fitted shorts and a pale pink crop top with no bra. I simply cannot explain the turmoil inside my head right now. I fix my gaze to her foot and keep it there, not daring to look up. “This might sting,” I warn her as I rip open a packet of sterile wipes to clean up her cut. It wasn’t big or deep, luckily. I hear her hiss when I press the wipe to her cut, and she instinctively tries to pull her foot away, but I hold her ankle to keep her still.

I raise her foot and blow on the cut to ease the stinging and lift my gaze to her. She had her eyes closed. Head tilted back against the mirror, with her bottom lip between her teeth. Fuck my life, how will I live with this girl for six months and control myself?

I clean her up and put a band-aid on her foot as quickly as I could before I did something stupid. I can already feel myself getting hard. I stand up and clear my throat. “All done,” I say, cleaning the wrappers off the floor and dropping them in the trash under the sink. I look everywhere but at her and rub my jaw. “Uh, you can stay in my room tonight. We can clean up the glass tomorrow morning when we can see it better.”

Shayla shakes her head and slides off the counter, and hops on one foot to avoid standing on her wound. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just jump over it or something. I’ll be fine.”

I stare at her. “Jump? With an injured foot? No. Absolutely not. You’re staying in here, and I’ll sleep on the sofa for the night.”

“Cole, no. You sleep in your room, and I’ll sleep on the sofa—ahh, hey!” She yelps when I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder. She wriggles in my hold and slaps my back as I carry her to the bed. “Cole, you put me down right this second!” She grumbles hotly. I walk over to the bed, place one knee on it, and throw her down on her back. She tries to sit up, but I crawl up over her, and she lays back down and stares up at me, her green eyes broad as I stare down at her.

“You’re staying in here.”

“I am not.”

I smile. “Yes, you are, and if you keep arguing with me, I’ll be forced to lock us both in here.”

She frowns, “You wouldn’t.”

I lick my lips and narrow my eyes at her. “Wouldn’t I?” She looks at me sceptically but shakes her head. I chuckle, “You underestimate the lengths I will go to just to get my way, Shayla Hart.”

“Because I know you’re bluffing, Tristan Cole Hoult.” She retorts, arching up a brow impudently.

She wants to play. I’ll bite. I lean down close, my eyes fixed on hers. “Activate locks,” I say aloud, and on my command, all locks in the house enable. Shayla looks around the bedroom when she hears the windows and doors clicking as they lock.

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