I sit back down.
He rushes to me, as if to catch me.
“What is it? You alright?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Just woke up all… sweaty and hot.”
Did that sound sexy to him, too?
My voice ends on a little squeak because he’s reached me, and his eyes rove over me as if he’s just seeing me for the first time. I look down at myself, as if just remembering that I could.
My full breasts are barely supported by this thin little cami. And do pain meds make nipples bigger, or is that just my high imagination?
He turns away. “Get back in bed.”
All the Cowen men are like this. I’ve wondered if it’s like a mafia thing, like all mob guys just grunt and boss people around. I’ve seen mob movies; it’s a thing.
I’m not complaining. I normally wouldn’t mind at all, but he’s a little overbearing.
“Need to use the toilet,” I say. “That’s a definite.”
“I’ll help you.”
I flush to my hair roots and blink at him. “No, sir, you absolutely will not.”
He gives me a wicked grin. “I like it when you call me sir.”
He did not just say that.
I blink and give a forced laugh that’s meant to sound affronted, but I don’t quite pull it off. “Do you?”
“I do.”
“Is that how you play all the girls?”
“No, Fran. Just you.”
Oh, God.
He continues. “Now, just to clarify. I meant I’d help you to get to the toilet. Once you get in there, whatever you need to do you can do on your own without my assistance.”
Of course that’s what he meant, and I’m an ignorant cow.
I laugh again, and again sound deranged. “I’m a little off,” I say to him in explanation. “I don’t know what that doctor of yours gave me, but it made me loopy A.F.” I actually say “A.F.” like I’m verbally texting him, and I cringe at how juvenile I sound.
“I noticed,” is all he says. “Now, let me help you.”
He’s right up against me, closer than he’s ever been, closer even than he was that time on our not-really-a-date, when we met accidentally over a cup of coffee. And then he touches me, and oh my God, his hand’s on my elbow. I can feel each finger as if he’s branding me, heat emanating from his touch. Then he places his other arm around my waist, and a pleasant shiver runs down my spine.
I hold the arm he has around me tightly, and hobble like a little old lady. It’s disconcerting, and I don’t like it. I don’t like being dependent on anyone.
“Were you in here before?” I ask.
“Aye. Leith called me out, needed to have a brief meeting.”
Ooh. They were talking about mafia things, I just know it. My pulse races. I don’t say anything, though, because I have to keep a modicum of self-restraint.
“Oh, aye, I understand. Meetings are important.”
