She waited for me, and I eagerly held her hand to help her from the car. Her pale fingers trembled in mine, increasing my excitement. With Winifred’s bag on my shoulder and Olivia beside me, I successfully navigated us through the doors and got us checked in.
She remained quiet as we walked down the hall to our room where I used the key card and held the door for her.
As she stepped past me and entered the room, I breathed deeply. The scent of her fresh blood slashed through my fantasies. What the hell was wrong with me? She’s bleeding like crazy, and I was imagining all the ways I could prove how much I loved her.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Not really.” I followed her into the room. The door clicked shut behind me.
She stopped near the bathroom door, her back to me. I stepped close and helped her ease the jacket off her shoulders.
“Does this hotel have room service?” she asked. “I think I’d like to eat a big meal after I clean up. Could you order for me?”
I tossed the jacket aside.
“Yes. I’ll get us something to eat.” I gingerly lifted her shirt. “First, let me see what happened.”
The sight of her back had me growling at myself.
Several of Winifred’s butterfly bandages had come loose. Where the rest held together, the wound looked scabbed over already. Taking the sweater off the normal way would pull at the areas still holding.
“How much do you like this sweater?” I asked.
“The sweater doesn’t matter to me.”
“Good.” I shifted just enough for claws to form and split the sweater down her back. When she lifted her arms to start reaching for it, the wounds gaped.
“Stop. Let it fall,” I said. “You’re making things worse back here.”
She let the sweater fall to the floor, and I went to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. I hesitated then filled a glass of water and retrieved some pain relievers from Winifred’s bag.
Standing behind Olivia, I held out two pills over her shoulder. She surprised me by eating them from my hand. A bolt of heat shot from my palm, where her lips had brushed my skin, to my groin. Ignoring my response to her, I lifted the cup over her other shoulder. She turned her head and drank from the glass, not lifting her arms at all, an indicator of her pain. Her scent remained clear of it, though. Guilt ate at me.
For the next few minutes, I worked in silence, cleaning away the blood, disinfecting, stopping the bleeding and then finally reapplying the bandages like Winifred had.
“That should hold you,” I said, stepping back.
She started to turn, and I set my hands on her shoulders to stop her. The soft texture of her skin under my fingertips sent my mind down a tempting, dangerous path. I cleared my throat and removed my hands.
“Let me dig in the bag to see if I can come up with some fresh clothes for you. Stay right where you’re at.”
I turned my back to her and looked through the bag. Jeans and shirts. Probably my mom’s stuff. I grabbed out a clean shirt and underwear and put everything in the bathroom.
“You change, and I’ll order your feast,” I said, keeping my back to her. “And if it hurts to do something, don’t do it. Ask for help.”
Olivia disappeared into the bathroom, and I exhaled heavily before searching for the room service menu. It didn’t list much, but I ordered two of everything they had.
When I hung up, I watched the bathroom door with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Blake would make a move tonight. Although I dreamed of touching Olivia, I didn’t want to do it when she was so hurt or as a game to stop Blake.
Twenty
OLIVIA…
Changing sounded like a good idea until I tried lifting my arms while leaning forward. The fire that lit my back helped me decide the pain wasn’t worth the effort of putting on a shirt. I considered changing my pants because the waist stuck to my skin. However, clean clothes wouldn’t fix that problem entirely. I needed to wash.
How many days had it been since I left Blake’s home? Since my last shower? I gingerly lifted my hand, felt my greasy hair, and wrinkled my nose. Bloody, half-starved, and stinky, I wanted a shower. I wanted to show Jim I could be more than the waif he likely saw. I wanted the freedom to choose my own destiny. I wanted a lot that I wouldn’t get. Showering was as out of the question as putting on a shirt. Both would hurt me more than I cared to endure.
I ran my fingers over the pile of clean clothes then turned from them, grabbed a towel, and held it against my front. There, I hesitated and watched Jim.
