Page 7 of Twisted Road

She didn’t turn her head back toward him, but he was standing above her and he could see her fantastic lips curve slightly. For one moment her dimple showed. He dragged her jeans down to further expose the wound in her thigh. His heart took another hit. Yeah, this one had to hurt like a mother.

“You think? Glad you’re able to comprehend. You had no business getting yourself shot.”

She pressed her lips together and tried not to come off the seat when he examined the wound. “I suppose it was okay for you to get shot.”

Bog, he wanted to shake her. “How many times do I have to explain things to you?”

She was shaking so much he was half-afraid she’d break bones. He had nothing to cover her with, so he just reached over her and tried coaxing the truck to start. It took several attempts, but the engine turned over. It knocked like crazy, sounding as if it was going to come apart, but he didn’t give a damn. He blasted the heater.

There was a small first aid kit in the glove compartment, and he cleaned both wounds. He’d address the head wound later, after he got her warm. Butterfly stitches were the best he could do. Later, if that didn’t hold, he’d use a needle and thread. He could pull thread from anything if he had to. He detested that she didn’t make a sound while he worked on her. She kept her face averted and shook until she appeared to be having seizures.

He spent a few minutes rummaging through the double cab, looking for anything that might keep her warm. He found a sleeping bag that had seen better days, but it would help. An old flannel shirt that would cover her to her knees. He really didn’t like her wearing another man’s shirt, but there was nothing else for it. That just proved he had it bad, whatever the fuck it was.

He warmed the shirt up in front of the heater and then carefully lifted her into a sitting position so he could envelop her in it. Once he laid her down again, he tucked the rather disgusting sleeping bag around her.

“Babe, I’ve got a lot more to do to make us safe, but if I don’t warm up, I’m going to be in trouble. We can’t afford that.” He had no idea why he was bothering to explain himself as he set aside his boots and peeled off his wet clothes. “The fastest way to heat up is skin-to-skin. I’m going to lay down and put you on top of me with your shirt unbuttoned and then pull that foul-smelling sleeping bag over the two of us. I have no idea how long the heater will last, but I do know we aren’t safe here. Someone is going to come looking for them, and we don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when they do.”

As he explained, he put the plan in motion, thankful she was so tiny. He had a good hundred pounds on her, all muscle. She was easy to maneuver, even when he was being careful of her wounds. She didn’t protest or even stiffen up as he slipped the buttons loose on her shirt, pulled it open, and arranged her over his naked body. When he had her skin-to-skin on his bare chest, he drew up the sleeping bag.

His head pounded, his body shivering continuously in the first stages of hypothermia. Even his teeth were chattering, and his movements had become clumsy. He needed this. As tiny as she was, as cold as her body was, the moment she was sprawled over him, he felt the difference. Maybe not warmth of body, not at first, but something shifted in him. Something hot and wild and possessive. Something he’d never felt before and didn’t want to put a name to. Maybe there was no name for it, but when he wrapped his arms around Lyric and just held her to him, sharing skin, her breath on his chest right over his heart, nothing in his life had ever felt so right. Scary right. The way he felt terrified him.

Keys didn’t feel fear. He hadn’t since he was a child and lived among monsters. He hadn’t been able to control anything then, and when he finally could, he vowed to always be the one controlling every situation. He didn’t want to have the relationships some of his fellow Torpedo Ink members had with their wives or girlfriends. He didn’t want the baggage. The way he looked at it, women were a liability, using men’s cocks to get their way. That was a huge no for him. He wasn’t going to have any woman tell him where to put his cock. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her lead him around by it.

Lyric hadn’t moved. She just lay over him, her soft breasts pushing into his chest. He’d found his answer to the question of real red hair when he’d removed her jeans and panties. She had vivid red at the junction of her legs. Her mound was pressed tightly over his groin. If he weren’t so damned cold and she hadn’t taken two bullets and a hit on the head for him, he’d already be burying his cock deep.

He stroked a caress down the back of her head, feeling the sticky blood matting her hair. “That hurt?”

“Yes.” She murmured her answer, lips against his nipple. Her breath was warm. He was fast getting hot. This might not have been his most brilliant idea. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to shut it down.

His fingers tangled in her hair. “Don’t go to sleep,” he cautioned.

“Do you have to make everything sound like an order?”

There was a tiny note of petulance in her voice. That alarmed him more than the nameless emotion he felt holding her. That single little note of complaint was unlike her.

“Yes. I’m always in charge. You need to get used to it. As soon as we’re both in better shape, we’ll be having a conversation,” he warned. He wrapped a thick strand of her blazing-red hair around his finger. “I’m extremely upset with you.”

“How thrilling.”

That was a classic Lyric response, so much more like her. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Why should I be?”

“Everyone else has the common sense to be. You’re the only person who argues with me.”

“I don’t argue.”

The way her lips moved against his chest began to drive him crazy. She did oppose his opinion in their discussions, but she didn’t view that as arguing. Neither did he. “You just ignore me when I tell you to do something and get your ass shot.”

“That was a conscious decision.”

His entire body went still. His mind froze. The volcano that slept in him woke with a terrible roar. It was all he could do not to smack her bare ass as hard as he was capable, which was far too hard.

“Conscious decision?” he repeated, willing her to take it back.

“Yes. I did so with intention and determination. That’s a conscious decision.”

His fingers tightened to a fist in her hair, uncaring of her head wound. He dragged her head up until her emerald eyes met his. He ignored the pain he saw there. She deserved to be in pain. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Lyric? I’m going to make a conscious decision to beat you within an inch of your life.” He meant every word, and he let her see she wasn’t nearly as safe with him as she thought she was.