Before I could react, his hand closed around my uninjured wrist, and I found myself yanked forward until I was in front of him, trapped between his knees. The whole-ass building probably heard my shriek of indignation.
“You’re hurt,” he said, voice low but firm. “Don’t be so difficult and let me see.”
Difficult? I’d show him difficult. I tried to pull back, but it was like fighting with a statue.
His fingers slid to my injured arm, turning it carefully. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone who just fought his way out of a mob of assholes. He studied the cuts with a frown on his face that made him look rather menacing.
“This needs to be bandaged.”
“No kidding, smart ass,” I shot back. “The first aid kit here is useless.”
“I have something in the car.”
Perhaps there was the stress of this entire freak of a day, but I cackled in his face, sounding like I was auditioning for the part of evil stepmother.
“Oh, right. And I guess I have to come with you, huh? Into your car?” I tightened my grip on the towel. “Yeah, no. I’m not doing that. Now let me go. I don’t even know who you are,” I snapped. “And you broke into my room. I’m not following you anywhere.”
“I already told you my name. It’s Graham. You’re the one who’s being a stranger.”
I ignored him. If he wanted my name, he was going to have to work for it.
He shrugged. “Have it your way, Trouble. You stay here with Omelet. I will retrieve my pack.”
Omelet? I narrowed my eyes at him disapprovingly.
“What? It’s not like it has a name yet. And we can’t just keep calling it ‘the egg’ the whole time.”
“Why not?”
Instead of replying, he deposited me unceremoniously on the bed next to the dragon egg.
“Wait!” I yelled, but he was already out the door.
Being alone again in that room, even for a moment, felt awfully surreal. Like somehow I’d just hallucinated everything that had happened, and the huge guy wasn’t really coming back.
I checked on the egg—no way I was calling it Omelet. It was intact and looked just as shimmery and beautiful as ever. I carefully wrapped it up and zipped it back inside the bag. For some reason it felt wrong to have it stuck inside the bag all the time, which was why I’d unzipped it so it could… I don’t know… breathe? Did the egg need to breathe?
With the egg hidden away again, I stuffed my dirty clothes into my other bag and dug out a new set of clothing. I’d been hoping I’d be able to get a few hours’ rest, but clearly the fates did not have that in the cards for me. I chose my most comfortable pair of jeans, the pair that had basically molded to my ass over the last year of constant wear, and a T-shirt, just in case I had to go back on the run with my treasure.
For now, I was willing to hear this guy out, mostly because I didn’t really have much of a choice, but also because I was exhausted. As long as I cooperated, I didn’t need to run. It was a gamble, but probably the best choice I had until I could get away. He could squash me like a bug if he wanted to, and right now it was about survival, both for me and the egg.
I was wrestling one-handed with my jeans when the door swung open. I froze, a startled sound catching in my throat. I twisted my body, catching a glimpse of my sexy stalker standing in the doorway.
My jeans were stuck halfway up my thighs, giving him a perfect view of my ass. All I could think about was that I’d just pulled on a cute pair of thongs, the red lacy ones. His eyes widened for a split second, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips.
I scrambled to pull my pants on, hopping on one leg. I stumbled. I watched in slow motion as the dirty motel carpet came rushing at my face. I never hit the floor. Big, burly arms caught me and pulled me against an equally huge body.
Before I could protest, he sat back on the bed with me in his lap, holding me still. The world was still spinning, and I reached out with my good hand to steady myself.
“Careful, Sweetcheeks,” he murmured, already reaching for my injured arm.
I glared at him.
He shrugged. “I still don’t know your name. And I did just get a good glimpse of some sweet cheeks.”
I sighed. “It’s Meera. And I can do it myself.”
He chuckled. “You can’t even put on your pants.”
