Page 12 of Chased

He finished with her stomach, then cleaned off her arms. She really did have wicked allergies—those were some nasty welts coming up on her skin.

He wet another dish towel with water from the bottle, and washed off the orange cleaner as best he could. He gave her another wet towel and told her to wipe her eyes, which were streaming with tears. She did it, but slowly, like a sleepwalker.

By that time, Cisco was back with the cortisone cream, ripping the tube out of its pasteboard box and handing it over.

Sanchez squirted a dollop onto his hands and started rubbing it into the angry skin, starting with her stomach. She had to be itching like fire.

Her belly was soft, but with muscle underneath, just the way he liked. She shivered slightly, as if the coolness of the cream was a shock. He could feel the heat of her skin through his fingers, and he slowed his movements, smoothing it on, making sure to get every spot.

Now that most of the lavender stink was off her, he could smell that tantalizing scent. The same one he’d smelled on the street, that had stopped him in his tracks.

Her breathing had quickened, and when he looked up, her eyes seemed dilated. Shit. Was she going into shock after all?

He stopped rubbing. “Are you okay?” Her eyes met his and focused, and some current seemed to jump between them, sizzling in the air and making his fingers tingle. He felt a wild need to fix everything for her, to make it all right again.

To be her hero.

Time seemed to stretch out, and then he pulled his hand back. What the fuck?

Whatever it was dissipated. The girl shook herself a little and seemed to wake up. “I can do my arms.”

“No, you can’t. You can’t reach all the places.” He treated them with cream, one after the other. The bones of her arm felt tiny as he cradled them in his hand. Delicate, but somehow strong underneath.

Like maybe inside, she was tougher than she looked on the outside.

He was almost done when he realized there were some spots of lavender oil on her bra, and once again he felt the need to fucking fix it. Now.

Without thinking, he reached take it off her.

“Hey!” She pushed him away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

His tunnel vision vanished and he realized Cisco and Matéo were both standing there staring, obviously hoping to see some nipple.

He stood up and stepped back, hands raised in an ‘I’m putting down my weapons’ gesture. “Hey. If you want hives on your tits, fine.”

She flushed darkly red and snapped, “Well, I can’t go around town with them hanging out naked. You’ve already ruined my shirt.”

This was why Sanchez didn’t rescue people. Instead of appreciation, all he got was shit. “You can get another one,” he pointed out. “There’s stores here.”

“Oh, sure.” She stuck her chest out. “Hi, here’s my tits. Want to sell me something to cover them up?”

At that moment, Samantha came around the end of the aisle and stopped dead. “What on earth are you doing? Why is she almost naked?” Then she registered the wreckage of her display.

“My lavender!” she wailed. “What the hell happened?” She turned to the three Sanchezes. “What did you do?”

Of course she was blaming them. They answered automatically.

“We didn’t do it,” Matéo said.

“It wasn’t our fault,” Cisco added.

“We weren’t even here,” Sanchez finished, which was a blatant lie, but he said it anyway just to mess with her.

From behind him came a man’s voice. “Well, this is a hell of a scene to start out the week with.”

Sanchez swung around. It was Hawk Romero, the local sheriff, leaning against one of the shelves with a paper cup of coffee in his hand and a ‘here we go, what have you done today’ look on his face.

Hawk was more or less an Outlaw Ridge wolf—he’d been one of their best undercover operatives before he quit to settle down and get mated. But as sheriff, he had a love/hate relationship with the Hounds. Love because they’d recently helped to keep the town from being leveled by cartel soldiers under the command of his mate’s brother.