Shouldn’t be too difficult. She had a master’s degree in pissing people off.
“Up and at it, baby. We need to get moving.” His voice came from across the room, and despite her late-night pain-induced outburst culminating in a heartfelt,“Fuck you, Chase,” he didn’t sound pissed off.
Something for her to work on later. Right now, she needed to focus her efforts. He wouldn’t be willing to wait much longer, and she sure as hell didn’t want his help. Nope. She had to keep his hands off her.
She liked the feel of them far too much already.
About to suffer from a substantial increase in pain, she threw the blanket aside and stood before she could talk herself out of covering her head and staying in bed. In response to being vertical, her body swayed, and she inhaled deep.
The cold air hit her lungs like a sledgehammer.
Seconds passed. More seconds passed. Jesus, she had to be turning blue. Not her best shade. Tired of waiting for her body to get with the program, she expelled the used oxygen with a groan.
When the world stopped spinning, she located Chase over by the room’s only chair. Bare-chested with one arm in the sleeve of a T-shirt, he’d halted the process of putting it on while he watched her like a hawk.
Fuck, he looked good in the morning.
She probably looked worse than she felt. And she felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a semitruck and lost every one. With her bags on the opposite side of the room, the temptation to give in and ask for assistance was real.
Bad idea.
Really bad idea.
Capable hands and all that other shit.
To prove to herself she could hold her own, she took a few halting steps. Okay, three. She managed three wobbly steps before she had to stop to press a palm against the ache in her side. Damn. This had to be the worst she’d felt since she’d been shot.
Because crossing the room had turned into a colossal undertaking, she developed an escape plan in her spare time. It was simple, provided she didn’t freeze to death first.
Step one—navigate the distance between herself and her duffel. Step two—raid the bottle of Tylenol she carried everywhere. Step three—put some clothes on. Step four—proceed with pissing off the man who tracked her slow, painful progress.
Unable to multitask, Chase hadn’t resumed the act of lifting his T-shirt over his head, but to his credit, he didn’t offer to help. Thank God. She needed a hefty dose of painkillers before engaging in a battle of wills with Captain Testosterone.
Step one completed, she reached for her bag on the floor, and thanks to a short-circuiting frontal lobe, her bulletproof plan fell apart. About to execute a perfect face-plant, she pitched forward and then yelped when rough arms grabbed her from behind.
Chase pulled her upright and pushed her face-first into the corner beside the stone fireplace. One arm circled around her waist, he held her tight against his rigid body. His other hand covered her mouth. In a panic, she tried to pry his fingers away, her short nails digging into his flesh like a cat clinging to the curtains.
“Shh!” Mouth against her ear, he cut off her struggles with an urgent whisper.
In a second, she heard it too, the distinct sound of boot meeting wood and the creak of a board under pressure. A barely perceptible ping of metal against metal preceded his muffled, “Shit.”
He turned her to face him, his hand curling around the back of her neck, fingers entangling in her long hair. Face to face, his lips still pressed to her ear, his five o’clock shadow scraped against her cheek. “You stay behind me no matter what, understand?”
Sufficiently scared, she nodded, and he kissed her hard and fast.
Her mind spun as he palmed his gun off the mantel and pressed his back against her front. Focus locked on the door, he aimed, his arm steady, his finger on the trigger. Tall enough to see over his shoulder, Gray watched the knob take a slow spin.
Fuck. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want Chase to die either.
Not before he explained that kiss.
Or kissed her again.
Jesus Christ. She had to be losing her mind.
The door hinges squeaked, and deciding she didn’t want to witness the bloodbath, she wrapped her arms around Chase’s waist, buried her face in his broad back, and squeezed her eyes shut.
The bark of a dog had her looking up again as a shaft of sunlight crept across the floor.As the beam approached their location, she held her breath and braced for the hail of bullets.
