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If I’d been cold before, that was nothing to now. My feet literally felt like they were going to drop off, and when I rushed to the bathroom, which was steamy and warm from the running water, I undressed fully while I still had the energy to do so.
Sinking into the bath was close to painful. My skin stung and my toes burned but damn, my muscles responded to the heat.
Grateful that this motel believed in having decent water heaters, I felt myself grow drowsy as I soaked, but as inactive as my body was, my brain was whirling at a high speed.
Digger—exactly who was this man I’d be calling husband tomorrow?
Over the twenty-five or so hours of riding, I’d had nothing else to do but think and consider how fucking crazy this entire situation was.
Yet, in the little time I’d known him, he’d agreed to spare me from a forced arranged marriage, had helped a granny during a mugging, had taken down her attacker, then had gone to save some poor woman next door before sparing her son from choking.
Either I’d fallen for a Boy Scout who wore a cut or he was just a genuinely good guy.
But good guys didn’t go to jail—what crime, I wondered, had he committed?
He said he’d buried bodies in his time, but there was no way he’d be out of prison this young if he’d been inside on a murder one charge…
As I let the heat sink into my aching bones, I stared at the faded, ancient tiles lining the walls and registered that, good guy or not, criminal or not, I was putting my life into his hands, and I’d take that any day of the week over my father and Bill goddamn Murphy.
13
DIGGER
BEHIND BLUE EYES - LIMP BIZKIT
When the doorunlocked to the bathroom, I was sitting on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands on my abs as I watched TV.
The last ninety minutes hadn’t exactly rolled out as I expected.
My shoulder ached like a fucker after busting that door down. I didn’t regret that, or the two-hundred-dollar bill I’d paid for repairs, because our neighbor looked as if she didn’t have money for her next meal, never mind an unexpected charge that high.
No, aching shoulder and lighter wallet aside, I couldn’t regret it when the kid had been turning blue in the face by the time I’d raced in.
I had some ice from the machine outside on my shoulder, but I knew from experience it wouldn’t do jack. I’d had enough injuries throughout my lifetime to know that time healed these particular wounds.
Still, the sight of her wet and warm and sleepy as she stepped out of the bathroom packed more of a punch than four Tylenol.
Her drowsy smile was like ambrosia to a wounded soldier too.
When she clambered onto the bed, did it make me a jackass that I took note of the fact she’d put on her bra under the cami I’d left her in?
She wore the long johns too, and I could see the line of her panties cut into an asscheek I wanted to bite—shoulder be damned.
Even though she was as far from polished as could be, there was something about her that felt a hell of a lot more tactile. Like she was more accessible now in her regular gear than in the CKs and the D&Gs and the CHs that she wore. Hell, even her gloves were branded.
I figured she was too exhausted to argue about there only being one bed as she lifted the sheet and curled beneath it.
“That was a nice thing you did over there,” she whispered once she was settled beneath the comforter.
I’d seen her come in and head out, and I didn’t blame her, not with as few clothes as she was wearing.
The woman needed a keeper—got it.
“Thought she was being attacked,” I said gruffly.
“I did too.” She curled onto her side, making the scent of her flowery soap perfume the air. Even that was innocent. “Do you want me to rub some of that Deep Heat onto your shoulder? It must be hurting.”
“I was supposed to do that to you.”
