Page 25 of Piper's Pyro

“You should be.” Spectre stomped out of the room.

“He’s such a drama queen.” She shook her head and twisted her lips. “Are your ribs sore?”

“No. He was focused on my pretty face.”

“He did a good job. You’re not so pretty anymore.” She shot me a heart-stopping smile. “Will you let me clean you up?”

“Do I have a choice? You’re kind of scary when you’re angry.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to cross me. Now sit. There’s gotta be a first aid kit around here.”

“I promise to be a perfect patient.”

“I’m not holding my breath.”

But I was holding mine. I didn’t believe I could control myself around her.

Once an addict, always an addict. Wasn’t that whattheysaid? Sort of like once a cheater, always a cheater, and a leopard can’t change his spots.

Alcoholics stayed out of bars.

Gamblers stayed away from casinos.

I should stay away from Piper because she was rapidly becoming my newest addiction, though I didn’t want her to be. She deserved someone better than a junkie.

8

Piper

My heart rapped against my ribs. I did everything possible to keep my hands from shaking as I cleaned Russell’s cuts. Fucking Spectre had cut up his face with those goddamn rings all bikers wore. I’d like to give him a taste of his own medicine.

I wouldn’t be standing there with drenched panties and constant chills firing down my spine if it weren’t for Spectre’s hot temper.

“Are you breathing?” Russell asked in a low husky voice.

Dammit. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath. It would be less awkward tending to his wounds if he stopped staring at me. It wasn’t like his injuries were life-threatening or something I hadn’t seen a million times in the emergency room. My patients wouldn’t press their legs against mine or ooze desire out of their pores. Maybe I turned a few of them on, but they hadn’t done anything for me. Not like Mr. Cocksure.

“So you’re going to ignore me?”

I threw the cotton pad into the trash bin and sat on the coffee table in front of him. “Sorry, didn’t know you wanted to talk after your beatdown.”

“Your smart mouth turns me on.”

“You’re probably concussed.”

He rubbed his crotch. “Maybe. But my dick is fine.”

I rolled my eyes. “You think you’re so cute, don’t you?”

“Not really. I’ve been told my good looks melt panties and make them fall to chicks’ ankles.”

“You must be proud.” I raised two fingers. “How many do you see?”

“Two.”

“Are you a drug addict?”

“Yes.”

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