Page 30 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

Distracted by my efforts, I gasp in surprise as two strong arms swoop in and scoop me up. Lachlan pulls me to his chest, and my arms naturally loop around his neck.

“Let me take you home,” he says into my hair. He then shouts over his shoulder, “Thank you again, Noah. We really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem! I’m here all night,” he says with a wink. I shake my head and bury my face into Lachlan’s shoulder. Noah continues, “I’m going to finish the paperwork I was working on before I ran out of here like my ass was on fire. Fill me in on what you found tomorrow?”

I nod. “Sure thing. Thanks again.”

Before I can say more, I hear a sharp whistle. Moments later, two sets of paws pound down the concrete walkway. I look over Lachlan’s shoulder and see Finn and Chloe bounding toward us. Noah waves from the office door, then turns and closes it behind him.

“Let’s go,” Lachlan whispers in my ear.

Without waiting for my response, he walks out into the brisk night air, holding me in his arms while our dogs trail behind him.

Chapter 28

Lachlan

She was hurt while on my watch. My chest aches at the thought. I can’t let this happen again. Damn, I feel sick after seeing her limping with bloody hands. I thought watching her drop was agonizing. I thought waiting for Noah to come with the rope was torture. But seeing her limping and bleeding made knots form in my stomach.

As soon as we get inside, I need to get her boot off and find an ice pack. Then I need to get her some real food. She feels weightless in my arms as we walk toward my house. I climb the back stairs and fumble with my keys until they connect with the deadbolt.

She whispers, “You can set me down, Lachlan. I’m going to be just fine.”

All I can do is grunt and shake my head, pulling her closer.

I turn the knob on the back door and cross the threshold to my house. Once we’re inside, I kick the door closed with my boot and stride straight to my couch.

I gently set her down, and she sinks into the oversized seat. Slowly, I squat down in front of her and reach for her badleg. Aislinn is still as she gazes at me with a whisper of a smile across her lips.

“I can’t remember the last person who nursed my wounds,” she murmurs.

“I like taking care of you, though if I’d been paying better attention, none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t be hurt in the first place. But I hope you enjoy being cared for, as I don’t plan to stop taking care of you anytime soon,” I say.

She bites her lower lip and takes a slow, deep breath before nodding. My gaze drops from her eyes to her mouth, and before I think better of it, I lean in and press my lips to her. She groans into the kiss, and her fingers seek the back of my neck. As they dance in the hair at the back of my head, she slowly applies pressure with her fingertips and brings my head closer to her. As she leans back into the couch, she brings me with her. I quickly reach down and place my right hand against the back of the couch, bracing my body as my left hand goes to her hip.

With my thumb, I draw lazy circles on a sliver of exposed skin. I remember her injured foot and slowly end our kiss. As I pull away, she lets out a whine of dismay, but I have to think of her injury first.

Before pushing off the back of the couch, I press a soft kiss right between her brows. Drawing in a deep breath, I close my eyes and drop into a crouch.

Her lips are pursed as she watches me. I glide the boot off from the heel, and her disappointed expression turns into a grimace.

“Ah,” she gasps. “I want to keep kissing you, but goodness that feels better. The pressure on my ankle was making it throb.”

I smile affectionately at her as I place the boot to the side and remove her second one. Standing, I walk to the kitchen and open the freezer. I find two gel ice packs and bring them back tothe couch. With my knee, I nudge the footstool until it’s right in front of her.

She grabs under her thigh and lifts her leg up onto the footstool. I place ice packs on each side of her injured ankle, then sit down next to her. Draping my arm over the back of the couch, I twist my upper body so that I’m facing her.

“Distract me for a minute,” she says, wincing from the cold or pain.

I tap my upper lip, then smile. “Okay, lightning round. Favorite color?”

She smiles. “Purple. You?”

“It’s now blue. The shade of your eyes,” I smirk. “Favorite food?”

“Pizza,” she says, taking a strained breath. “You?”

“Ribs,” I reply. “Favorite sport?”

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