She disappears into the garage and returns a few minutes later with my duffle, holding it with both hands.
“Jesus, what do you have in here?”
Depositing the bag with a huff next to my feet, I unzip it and retrieve the bag the nurse gave me at the hospital and empty the contents. Gauze, tape, antibiotics, and pain medication tumble out onto the table. Selena makes quick work of organizing it all, reading the labels for distribution.
“You should have taken one of each last night before you went to bed.”
“I’ll take the antibiotic, but I don’t need the pain meds. They make me loopy.”
Besides, she’s the only drug I need right now anyway. I’ve never done drugs a day in my life, but right now, I’m craving this woman’s touch like it’ll be my last hit.
She drops a pill into my hand and walks over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. After I knock back the medication, I pull my T-shirt over my head with a groan.
Selena licks her lips, eyes widening. My cock twitches in response, wondering if I’ll be able to control myself once she puts her hands on me. Then she takes a step forward; her warm fingers touch my skin as she removes the old dressing, hair tickling my arms as she inspects the wound.
The way she smells tightens my chest and my jeans to the point of pain. I want to bury my face in her neck. Kiss every inch of her dusky skin.
Paint that skin with my seed.
“Looks good. Nice and clean,” she says. “I want to keep it that way. This needs to be changed at least twice a day.”
There’s that stern voice again, stroking at the desire that simmers in my blood.
“You’ve seen a lot of bullet wounds, I take it.”
Her dark eyes dart to mine and she doesn’t even have to answer. I can see it there, the implications of the horrors she must have witnessed at the hands of her father.
“More than I care to remember.”
She finishes dressing the wound and I put my shirt back on.
“You didn’t have to do this.” I stand, motioning toward the spread on the island. She’s gone all out. Everything from fresh fruit to pancakes, bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Bullshit,” Pop says as he enters the kitchen. “Thank God you’re here, Selena. Been a while since we’ve had a woman’s touch around here, and honestly, my grandson can’t cook for shit.”
“Well, if I am to stay, I want to earn my keep. I d0 not want anything for free,” she says, looking up at me pointedly.
Obviously, this is something she needs to do so I have to respect that, but she’s not the damn help.
“How about you take care of the cooking and cleaning around here in exchange for room and board. Sound fair enough?” Pop offers, and I open my mouth to protest.
She doesn’t have to do a damn thing.
But then she smiles and damn it all to hell, the sight makes my knees weak. It’s then I realize that I will do whatever the hell it takes to keep that light in her eyes. To do everything I can in order to make sure it only shines brighter.
“Thank you so much, Frank.”
He waves his hand back and forth, moving toward the spread on the counter and grabbing himself a plate. “I should be thankin’ you. His cookin’ sucks.”
Selena giggles, quickly covering her mouth to stop it.
“Thanks a lot, Pop,” I say, still holding her gaze.
“I just speak the truth, boy.”
“It’s not that bad,” I tell her.
Pop grunts, shoving a piece of bacon in his mouth. “Should I tell her about the time you tried to make an omelet?”
