“I need a shower, sweetheart. We can fight about the one bed after.” He grasped his duffel and disappeared into the bathroom. Within seconds, water started running.
Baby,sweetheart, anddarlin’. The guy loved endearments. “You know my name, right?” she whispered with an eye roll. Even worse, she liked the endearments said in his deep voice just for her. She had to get a grip. The idea of his spectacular body all naked in the next room made her skin feel too tight.
Okay. Enough of that. This was a job. Maybe it would help if she considered him a job.
Man, she’d like to work him. She giggled to herself.
She ran a shaky hand through her hair. After the funeral, the fight, and then sleeping for hours, she just couldn’t grab a thought. But a shower sounded nice. She lifted her suitcase onto the table and rummaged through it for yoga pants and a top. While she didn’t want to look like a disaster in front of Mr. Dark, Deadly, and Sexy as Hell . . . she also didn’t want to extend an invitation. They needed to get on track with the case and find the killer. Any complications would lead to problems.
Plus, her taste in men truly sucked lately. Carl had been such a prick, and it seemed like he wasn’t giving up easily. She idly wondered how his interview with the FBI would go. What about the FBI? Heath had promised to meet with Reese. Would the FBI chase them?
Why was Heath running from the police? What kind of mess had she created by identifying him on television, and why was he working with her?
She knew. Not only her education but her instincts told her he wanted to find Loretta’s killer. He needed to find him. So what was she to make of that? She had to get a grip on her thoughts.
She tried to concentrate on the small room. Yes, she could handle one night with Heath. They needed sleep, and they’d figure out everything in the morning. Good plan. Definitely a good plan.
Yet Heath was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, and now she was shacked up in a motel with him as a storm beat against the windows. But the poor guy must be exhausted. He’d gotten into a pretty bad fight and then driven through the storm for hours. No wonder he’d jumped into the shower.
Her mind returned to the fight. Heath had been brutal. Shouldn’t that scare her, even a little? Yet it didn’t. She felt safer with him—from bad guys, anyway—than she’d felt in much too long. Now all she had to do was control her libido and things would work out fine. She gingerly sat on the bedspread and waited, her thoughts scattering.
The door opened, and he stepped out with a towel wrapped around his waist, his thick hair wet and curling to his nape. Holy ripped abs, Batman. Her gaze dropped to the ridges in his abdomen, and her mouth salivated. Actually salivated. Then she noticed the folded up toilet paper he was pressing against the back of his rib cage.
“Do you have a sewing kit?” he asked calmly.
She leaped from the bed and moved toward him. “A kit? God. Why?”
Blood had seeped through the flimsy paper. He carefully peeled the paper away to reveal a long gash on his back. “I think I got cut from either the Sheetrock or the mirror when I fought with that asshole earlier. I can’t get the right angle to sew it. Are you up for it?” He tried to twist and better see the wound.
Bile rose in her throat along with a healthy dose of panic. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been bleeding for hours? Why didn’t we go to a doctor?”
“I pressed a bandanna against it all day. It just needs a couple of stitches.” A frown drew down his dark eyebrows. “It’s all right. Really.”
Who thehellwas this guy? Her legs wobbled when she walked back to her suitcase. “I have a traveling sewing kit, but it’s for loose buttons.” Not for flesh, for pete’s sake.
Heat filtered along her back, and his breath stirred her hair as he looked over her shoulder. “That’ll do. I can’t get the right angle to sew it. Are you up for it?”
She shivered from his proximity. He was so damn big. “This just got weird. Really, really, really weird,” she muttered. “Should we heat the needle or something?” Hadn’t she seen that in a movie? She turned to face him and fought the urge to back up a little.
“Okay.” He didn’t seem to care. With deliberate movements, he shoved the toilet paper back into place. It stuck to the blood.
She coughed. Her stomach rolled over and shimmied inside her belly.
He grabbed the motel matches off the bedside table. “Now aren’t you glad we’re staying in a dive? A nicer motel wouldn’t have good old fashioned matches lying around to promote the place.” Lines fanned out from his eyes—from either pain or exhaustion.
“Though a nicer hotel would have a doctor.” She tried not to wince as he ignited a match and turned the needle black. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“So long as you don’t pass out or puke on me, we’re good.” He gently threaded the needle with bright yellow thread.
“Yellow?” she murmured.
He shrugged. “You have more yellow than the other colors.”
“That’s because I don’t usually wear yellow buttons,” she whispered. Could she do it? Actually draw the needle through his skin? Her stomach rioted.
“Hey.” He reached out and cupped her chin to lift her face. “It’s okay. If you can’t do it, I’ll just tape a shirt to it.” His greenish brown eyes softened. How odd for such a huge guy to be so gentle.
She steeled her back. If he was strong enough to get sewn up without anesthetic, she was strong enough to stitch. “I can do this.”
