Page 21 of Noble Scoundrel

“I’m sorry, Kit, I should’ve—”

“No,” she interrupted quietly. Refusing to look past her brother to the giant man behind him, she leaned forward to whisper, “You have nothing to be sorry about. If not for your knowledge of the city, we’d still be lost. Go on. Visit with Claire,” she insisted gently. “I’ll soon be myself again and then we’ll go home.”

He glanced down as though wanting to avoid her gaze. But then he stood. With another nod toward Hale, he once again left the two of them alone in the bedroom.

She sat in silence, watching from the corner of her eye as Hale opened the bottle of liquor by pulling the cork with his teeth, before stepping forward to offer it to her.

“You’ll need it.”

Wanting to argue but knowing he was right, she set the glass of water on the bedside table and took the bottle in her good hand.

Hale watched as she took a healthy swig of the whiskey. She had to breath deep to hold back the urge to cough at the fiery fumes. When he lifted his chin in a gesture indicating he wanted her to take another, she frowned but did as he asked.

Smirking at her reluctant acquiescence, he lifted his hands to release the queue at his nape. Holding the strip of leather in his teeth, he combed his hands back through his honey-colored hair then retied it.

He’d done the same thing that evening at his office. And now, just as then, something about the action—perhaps the way it caused his arms to flex, showing off every rope of muscle, or maybe it was the way he tucked his chin and looked at her from beneath his brows as he did it—reached down deep into Katherine’s core to tug at a delicate thread buried within her.

The twitch in his lips as he started toward her suggested he knew the effect he had on her. He probably affected all women in such a way with his raw masculinity, flickering smirk, and towering strength.

“Ready?” His voice was low and textured.

Katherine took another swig from the bottle, barely resisting the urge to shudder as the whiskey seared a path to her belly.

“You’ll need to lie flat.”

With a heavy breath, she shifted lower on the bed as he removed the pillows and tossed them aside. Pain arced through her when she started to lie back again, and she squeezed her eyes against the tears pricking behind her eyelids. Then she felt the solid press of Hale’s large hand beneath her mid back, adding support.

Her eyes flew open to find his gaze mere inches from hers. Her breath escaped through her lips in a soft puff.

“Easy,” he murmured thickly.

Once she was fully stretched out on the bed, he pulled his hand back. “I’ll need to check for any broken or splintered bone.”

Katherine nodded. Though she was tempted to close her eyes again, she focused on his face instead, studying the details of his rugged bone structure—how the crest of his cheeks sloped to the hard angle of his jaw, the dark golden color of the stubble that grew there and the darker fan of his lashes beneath a heavily furrowed brow.

He really was handsome. In a coarse, entirely unpolished sort of way. A way that suggested he’d lived a brutal life filled with the kind of violence and uncertainty she’d never encountered.

Starting at her elbow, his large hands encircled her arm as he kneaded and probed with broad fingers. All the way up to her shoulder where he followed the structure of bones and ligaments surrounding the dislocated joint.

The intense pain of his necessary exploration had her sucking in a harsh breath as more tears burned in her eyes. His gaze flew to hers, solemn and intent as he held her stare.

Her breath came swift through her clenched teeth as she felt drawn in by the intensity in his eyes. Drawn in and...claimed.

Glancing away, he cleared his throat as he lifted his hands from her. “No fractures. That’s good. It’ll hurt like hell when I realign your shoulder, but then you should feel some relief.”

“I understand.”

“Relax. Breathe slow and even.” A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes. “I know it’ll be hard, but you’ll have to completely submit to my direction.”

Katherine’s reply was swift and curt. “This isn’t going to work.”

He chuckled, a wonderful rich sound. “Close your eyes.”

As soon as she did, he took her wrist in his hand. Slowly, smoothly, gently—he straightened her arm and began to pull it out to her side. Once he reached a point where her arm was at a ninety-degree angle from her body, he pressed his other hand against the side of her torso, curving around her rib case for leverage. Then he began to slowly but firmly pull on her wrist.

She clenched her teeth as the damaged tissue tightened in protest.

But then with a strange sort of clunk, her shoulder found its proper position. The sound was horrid, but the relief was instantaneous.

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