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Dammit. She’d smacked her head against the desk. She pushed herself up and winced, her head swimming dizzily. Blood flowed freely now—she felt it trickle down her cheek—and a stab of fear shot through her gut. What if it was a serious injury? She was here, alone.
Michael.
Light cut through the dark suddenly, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the brightness, her hand cradling her head. “Oh God,” she groaned, exhaling in an effort to focus.
“What the hell?” The voice was male, deep, and raspy.
Once the world stopped spinning, Maggie’s eyes opened. She saw legs—masculine legs. They were spread slightly, and her eyes moved up to muscular thig
hs, a pair of plain black boxers that left nothing to the imagination, and abs that would make an athlete envious. She winced once more as pain shot along her skull and she angled her head to stare up into Cain Black’s dark eyes.
His hair was mussed as if he’d just woken, and his jaw was shadowed with more than a day’s worth of stubble.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” He was angry.
Unease uncoiled inside her, and she broke out in a sweat when he kneeled down. Shit, she didn’t know anything about the man. Didn’t know what he was capable of, other than the fact he looked damn good half-naked.
Oh God, she must have hit her head hard to be thinking such thoughts.
“Christ, you’re bleeding.”
She wanted him to move away, to give her some space and room to breathe. He was too close. Her thoughts were fuzzy, and she needed to think.
Michael. Suddenly her anxiety surfaced and her stomach churned crazily. Where was her child?
His hand reached for her and she flinched. “Don’t touch me.” Her words were hoarse, and she hated that she couldn’t hide her fear.
Cain was silent for a few seconds, then rose. “You’re hurt and need to see a doctor.” His voice was softer now.
“No!” She was now on her knees. “I’m fine, I just…” Her voice trailed away and she clenched her teeth in an effort to combat the dizziness. There was blood everywhere, it seemed. On her T-shirt, her fingers…the carpet. Oh God, what would Lauren say?
“Mom?” Michael’s voice cut through the haze inside her head. “Mom! Are you all right?”
“She’s okay, buddy. It looks a lot worse than it is. Head wounds always bleed like a son of a…like crazy. But we’re going to take her to the hospital just to make sure, all right? You think you can help?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know where your mom left the keys to my truck?”
The boy nodded. “I think she left them on the counter in the kitchen.”
“Good. Grab them and unlock it. Leave the passenger door open, okay?”
“Okay.” Michael ran from the room.
Maggie heard the sound of a zipper. When she chanced a look, she was happy to see him dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He knelt in front of her. In his hand was a towel, which she accepted and held against her head.
“Let me help you up.”
She couldn’t go to the hospital. She had no insurance. Panic set in at the thought, and she tried to clamp down on it, but it was no use. How could she? A trip to the emergency room would wipe out her savings, because she sure as hell wouldn’t apply for Medicaid. That meant paperwork, and that left a trail.
“I’m fine, Mr. Black. Please give me some room.”
“You’re not fine. Ten to one, you have a concussion. At the very least, you’ll probably need stitches.”
He was right. Maggie gritted her teeth.
“And the name’s Cain. Mr. Black really isn’t me.”
