I stomp up the porch, open and shut the front door, and then without another thought, I go straight to London’s bedroom door.
I pound twice and then soften my knock on the third. Hell, there’s no reason to scare her to death.
I wait impatiently for her to answer, but she’s ignoring me.
I knock again, lighter this time, and then call out her name.
Still silent.
I call through the thick wood. “London, my hand’s busted up. Can you help me?”
It’s devious of me. I can surely clean myself up. Lord knows I’ve been doing it myself for a long time, but I know she won’t tell me no. If she thinks I’m hurt, she’s coming to help me.
I can hear her footsteps on the other side of the door, and then the door slowly squeaks open. Her cheeks are a rosy red, and eyes are round. “You must really be hurting if you want my help.”
I hate lying to her. Truth is, the cuts on my hand don’t hurt at all, but if I want her to talk to me, this is the only way to make it happen.
I turn so she doesn’t see the guilt on my face and walk down the hall to the bathroom. After pulling out the first aid kit from under the sink and standing up, I realize what a bad idea this is. I can barely contain myself when we’re surrounded by people. Being alone with London is going to test all my willpower.
She’s standing right in front of me, looking at me worriedly. She gently grabs my wrist and pulls me from the bathroom and then pushes me into the room that I’ve been using as my bedroom. I look around, and just remembering how I’ve jacked off in here thinking about London makes me tense. “Maybe we should go out to the living room.”
She puts a hand on her hip. “Just because I said what I said doesn’t mean I’m going to try and take advantage of you or anything. Sit down, Dillon, and let me look at your hand.”
I fall onto the edge of the bed after she gently shoves me. She lifts my hand and looks at my knuckles and hisses.
She rummages through the first aid kit. “This is all my fault.”
“Stop,” I tell her. “None of this is your fault. Regardless of anything that happened, he shouldn’t have touched you.”
She shrugs but nods. “Right.”
As she gets to work on my hand, I calmly do my own apologizing. “I’m the one that should be sorry, London. I’m sorry it took me so long to get there. My truck has a flat tire, and I had to track down the ranch truck.” I suck in a breath and let the guilt settle over me. If anything had happened to her, I would never have forgiven myself.
I wait for her to look at me. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I knew where you were?”
She lifts her hand to the necklace I bought her. “I’m assuming the tracker you have in this.”
I gasp, surprised. “You knew?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I knew. That’s the only reason I went off with him… I knew you’d come.”
I clear my throat. “London, uh, there’s things about me that you don’t know.”
She puts peroxide on my open cuts and blows on my knuckles. I suck in a breath as my dick twitches between my thighs. Yeah, I’m definitely jacking off tonight.
“What don’t I know?” she asks, looking into my eyes.
If I come clean, she’s probably going to freak out and fire me.
I clear my throat. “I approached Grayson Calhoun, head of Lone Star Securities, about this job.”
She shrugs. “You and half of Texas. The pay is good. The job is easy.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, usually it is.”
I nod as she finishes up cleaning the cuts on my hand and then picks up the Band-Aid wrappers. She walks over to the trash can in the corner and dumps them in it. I pat the bed next to me.
Her eyebrows skyrocket, but she comes to sit down next to me. I turn so I’m facing her. “No, I hired on at Lone Star because I knew that was the company your family used to hire a bodyguard.”
She tenses and for the first time, looks at me skeptically. “Okay…”
