Page 43 of Darkest Kiss

And we just sit in silence.

A doctor I'm getting unsettlingly familiar with shows up and stitches Rian's arm and clucks at him. Once he leaves, the all-clear comes down from somewhere. We drag ourselves back up to the penthouse inside a moving wall of armed men.

The apartment looks exactly like it did when we left, which feels obscene. There should be some evidence. Three men died. Rian has a hole in his arm.

And yet, the kitchen still smells faintly of the croissants we had this morning.

Even after he kicks the bodyguards out of the penthouse, Rian will not sit down. He prowls the perimeter, checking locks I watched the guards check. He holds his bandaged arm close to his side and he’s actually limping a little bit.

I realize he won't stop until he physically can't continue.

"Bed," I order Rian. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He stands up straighter. "I'm fine."

"You got shot keeping me alive. Lie down before you fall down. Now."

To my genuine shock, he listens. Maybe it's the blood loss.

We end up in his room, in his bed. He stretches out beside me, careful with his arm, staring at the ceiling the way he did in the blue room. I lie next to him, scooting closer and laying my head on his chest.

“Is this okay?”

“More than okay. I’ve been aching to hold you, Noemi.”

I sigh. “This is a mess. We’re a mess.”

“I know. Fuck, you should hate me.”

“Hate you?” I glance up at him. “Are you sure you didn’t slam your head into something while we were running for our lives? Maybe get a bad concussion?”

He gives me a humorless smile. “As opposed to all the fun, lighthearted concussions I’ve had?”

“You’re a laugh riot. You know, without you, I'd be dead. Several times over by now. In a box, or in the river, or bleeding on a rooftop. You're the reason I'm not."

His jaw works. “You think I’m just going to lay back and accept your praise? I’m a killer. I’m insane. A murderer who talks to himself. And I think… I think I would’ve kidnapped you eventually if you hadn't been taken first.”

“Hey.” I turn Rian’s head with two fingers, forcing him to look at me. “That didn’t happen. Okay? You can’t sit around and mope about what you might have done.”

His eyes pin me in place. “You’re too pure, Noemi. Too sweet.”

My eyes dip to his lips before I yank them away. Not right now. I’m not allowed to be horny for this guy when he’s wounded.

"Take a painkiller," I say. "The doctor left them. You're allowed to not be in agony."

"I don't like them,” he protests. “They make me feel dull."

"I don't like watching you grit your teeth every time you breathe. We're both going to have to compromise." I get up, find the bottle, bring him one with a glass of water, and stand over him until he takes it. With a put-upon sigh that's almost funny, he does.

I lie back down on his good side, where I won't jostle the arm, and I press myself against him. My cheek rests over the steady beat of his heart. His uninjured arm comes up and wraps around me like it has always been there. It feels good.

Right. Is that crazy? I’ve only known this man for over a week.

The painkiller does its work and his body relaxes, muscle by muscle. The hypervigilance bleeds out of him until he's just an oversized man falling asleep beside me. He snores very lightly in my ear.

And I just lie here, grateful that he didn’t die today so I could have a fancy salad somewhere vaguely more stimulating.

God. I should be plotting my exit. The deal was, the day it's safe, I'm gone. I meant it when I said it. I think I still mean it.