When his boots hit the ground, Piper reached out for the she-devil masquerading as a cat. The she-devil who . . . stopped hissing and clawing him and melted into her.
Piper lifted her gaze with a “thank you” on her lips, but broke it off with a gasp as her gaze locked on his hand, which he’d used to rub his chest through his soaked rain jacket. His fingers were streaked with his own blood.
“Oh my God, you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” How was it that a cat scratch hurt more than a bullet? “Get inside. Unless there’s another wild animal you need to rescue.”
She didn’t say anything to this, just tucked the now complacent cat under one arm and grabbed his hand, tugging him with her to run across the property toward her house, skidding to a halt twice in shock as lightning hit far too close.
Cam had been to war zones that were less hazardous than this hundred-yard dash.
Finally, Piper shoved open her front door and they stumbled inside. Kicking the door shut behind them, she set down the cat, who meandered off without so much as a thank-you glance.
“Ingrate,” he muttered as Piper moved off as well.
She was back in less than a minute with a lantern that wasn’t dead. Pushing a bunch of mail and an empty pizza box to one end of a coffee table, she set it down. “Should’ve cleaned up,” she muttered. “It’s on my list.”
The lantern illuminated the room. Curious, he took a good look around. The Victorian had been built what had to be close to a hundred years ago. The ceiling was high, the moldings original to the time period, the wood floor scarred but gorgeous. The furnishings were comfy and clearly well lived in, and plants thrived throughout the room. The bookshelves were filled, and there was just enough clutter and mess to give off the sense that this house had earned the right to be called a home. He didn’t know why, but he loved that she was . . . well, messy. “Nice place. You live alone?”
“I grew up here with my brother and sister, but at the moment, Gavin’s working in Phoenix, and Winnie’s in school at UCSB.”
“They didn’t come for your party?”
She shrugged. “It’s expensive for them to get home, and anyway, Winnie needs to spend the time studying.”
“You need to start a fire. It’s freezing in here. You’ll never be able to sleep.” He moved to the huge wood stove to do it for her, but she stopped him, her expression dialed to grim as she took in the blood seeping through his clothes. “I’ve got this.” Hunkering low in front of the stove, she lit a match. In less than sixty seconds she had a fire going from what clearly had been a pre-prepped fire stack.
“Impressive,” he said, insanely curious about this tough woman who, according to both his dad and the guarded look she wore like a cloak, had been through hell in her life.
He wanted to know more.
“Not my first time,” she said. Rising, she came back to him, looking him over carefully. “She got you good.”
He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
She lifted a hand and touched his jaw, which was also burning now that he thought of it.
“Take off the jacket,” she said.
“What, no dinner first?”
“Off,” she said, not charmed, and then lent her hands to the cause, tugging at it until he took over and let it hit the wood floor with a wet thwap. They both looked down at his torso. Yep. Blood was seeping through his shirt in several places, on his neck, arms, chest. And not that he was about to tell her, but his right thigh too.
“Dammit,” she muttered and grabbed her medical bag, which she dropped at his feet. “Strip.”
Chapter 4
“I’ve been called worse.”
The last time a woman had ordered Cam to strip had been a very different scene altogether, and it’d been a while. Generally speaking, he liked to be behind the wheel in most situations, but he’d never had any complaints about a woman driving in his bed. “Interesting bedside manner.”
“Okay,” she said. “How about strip, please.”
He laughed, and he realized that until tonight, it’d been a damn long time for that too. “Well, since you asked so nicely . . .” But still he hesitated.
“Trust me, I’ve seen it all before.”
He pulled off his shirt, wincing when the cotton stuck to the deepest slice across his chest.
Piper blinked, and for the first time all night, appeared short of words.
It was pretty damn cute, especially with the mud on her nose. “Thought you’ve seen it all before.” She bit her lower lip, eyes suddenly hooded, and he couldn’t resist teasing her. “So, how do I stack up?”
That got her, and she rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t know. Sit.”
The couch seemed too . . . personal, so he sat on her coffee table. She dropped to her knees at his side and doctored up first the cut on his left palm from where he’d nicked himself in his dad’s kitchen, and then the two slices on his left biceps, and then the biggest one across his chest, during which time he did his best to ignore the feel of her soft breath on his skin and failed.
When she’d finished, she looked down at his cargoes and saw the blood seeping through from his thigh. Rising to her feet, she stepped back, gesturing for him to lose the pants too.
“Seriously,” he said. “Doesn’t even have to be dinner. An appetizer would work.”
“If you’re real good, I’ll give you a sticker.”
“How about letting me look at your secret secret bucket list instead?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How about we stop talking now?”
“Wait.” He cocked his head. “Does this mean you also have a secret bucket list? And possibly a not-so-secret bucket list?”
She had hands on hips; a fresh, clean gauze in one hand, antibiotic ointment in the other, her expression dialed to Not Feeling Playful.
With a rough laugh, he stood and took the gauze and ointment from her. “I got this one, Doc.” And then he gestured for her to turn around.
She did with a smirk, and then spoke over her shoulder. “Didn’t peg you for the shy type.”
“Oh, I’m not shy.” He shoved his icy, muddy, wet cargoes to his thighs, and yeah, the cat had come within two inches of de-manning him. “Just didn’t want to have to fight you off.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I always get verbal consent first. And I bet you didn’t want me to see your tighty-whities.”
He gritted his teeth as he cleaned out the cut. Son of a bitch, that cat had gone deep. “They’re not tight and they’re not white.”
“Batman undies?”
“Commando,” he said, and that shut her up. When he’d finished and pulled his pants back up, he lifted his head and found her facing him. His brows went up. “See anything you like?”
Instead of answering, she blushed. And he grinned because, yeah. She’d definitely seen something she liked.
Snatching the gauze and tube of ointment from his hands, she vanished into the kitchen.
A minute later, a burst of lightning lit up the living room like daylight, immediately followed by a thundering boom that shook the house and rattled the windows and actually changed the rhythm of his heartbeat.