Page 82 of Inflict

“It’s just … it’s unusual to have someone care for me if something needs it,” Evelyn said softly.

Connor clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he smeared her palms with the antibiotic cream, and went about wrapping them up. “That’s a damn shame, lass.”

“I can handle a bit of pain, Connor.”

“That’s grand. Doesn’t mean you don’t need a bit of aftercare to make sure you’re okay, and whatnot.”

Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “Aftercare?”

Connor smiled crookedly, holding her palm up to his cheek before tipping his head to the side so he could kiss the bandage there. “I know you’re grand, and that this doesn’t bother you all that much. I get you like a wee bit pain, and roughness isn’t going to send you running scared, love. Fact is, you still let me do …” He kissed her palm again. “… This, which means it’s only right that I do something for you. Understand?”

“You don’t have to, though.”

That was the thing …

Just because she said it so indifferently, because she didn’t know any different.

“Yes,” Connor said firmly, “I do.”

• • •

Connor held out the piece of ravioli, and Evelyn took the bite with a serene smile. Her contentedness was the only thing keeping him from hauling her pretty arse back upstairs and keeping her in bed for the rest of the day.

That, and she was eating.

He never interrupted her eating.

It had become a habit for her to eat with him whenever she could, though. In the two months since he had found her, Evelyn had gone from frail to healthy. She was no longer underweight, she sometimes ate more than he did, and he was not about to complain.

It was only when the phone rang in the living room—his brownstone’s line, not the cell—did Connor finally decide to move the woman from his lap, and leave her to her own devices. Evelyn didn’t say a thing as he pushed her chair in, only reached for another ravioli as Connor kissed the top of her head.

“Save me some,” he said.

Evelyn laughed. “I promise nothing.”

That was his lass.

Connor made it to the ringing phone before the answering machine picked up, and he didn’t even pretend to be pleasant when he answered. Hell, it was whoever interrupting his morning, he didn’t need to be nice.

“What?” Connor snapped the second he had the phone to his ear.

“Connor, we’ve got a problem.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Killian?”

“Yeah, mate. You need to get down to the—”

Connor groaned. “First, I don’t have to do feck all. Second, I’m not in the mood to talk. Try again later.”

“I don’t have time for this cac, Connor. We’ve got a situation at The Ink Shoppe—a dead one.”

What?

Connor glanced back toward the kitchen, where he had left Evelyn. “At my Shoppe?”

“I just said that.”

“You can’t handle it?”