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She leaned her head back, narrowed her eyes at him.
“And if he pulls that shit again”—a deadly glint in his eyes—“I’ll take care of it.”
Two months ago, that wouldn’t have been enough.
Tonight, with Connor’s arms around her, his body close, his worry for Frankie evident, it was.
Because she loved him.
Because she trusted him.
Because she trusted this family she’d become a part of to take care of each other.
And she might not be able to wield guns and navigate a firefight…
But she had scalpels and needles and drugs.
And determination.
She could provide backup.
And could make scary enough threats that even the manliest mass of muscle would get his shit together.
Twenty-Eight
Connor
“You ready to be arealdoctor today?” he asked a few weeks later.
His woman, clad in just a towel, her hair damp and pulled back into a ponytail, glanced up from where she was carefully applying some shit to her eyes that “made them pop,” and then rolled those uniquely Raven irises. “As opposed to what?” she asked, screwing the top on the tube and setting it on the counter.
He stepped close. “A fake, lackadaisical doctor who sits on her hot ass all day doing consults.”
Narrowed eyes. “Lackadaisical is an awfully big word for that tiny…” She slid her hand down his chest, which was bare because he was also in a towel, having just stepped out of the shower.
They were at his place, and he was seriously considering either selling it and hooking his star to Raven’s, because her shower was big enough for the two of them, or getting Rob to do a complete gut and turn this corner of the house into a master suite—complete with a big ass shower he and Raven could use together. A giant tub. A walk-in closet for theobsceneamount of scrubs Raven had.
Mostly because he liked getting ready with her in the mornings.
It was something they wouldn’t have all the time, he got that, especially with her intending to hop back on night shifts as soon as a spot opened up.
But…he wanted the option, mm’kay?
Especially when the option was watching suds slide down her glistening skin—and tempting her into feeling their bodies rub together. Which then led to other things rubbing together.
His place—though—there wasn’t room for that.
So, they showered separately.
Total bullshit.
“An awfully big word for my tiny brain?” he asked, bending and kissing the side of her neck.
“Tinysomething,” she said, picking up a tiny pot from the shit scattered on his counter, spilling out from a toiletry bag.
Another reason to get his ass to Raven’s—she wouldn’t have to keep hauling her stuff back and forth. It was annoying living out of a duffle, his toiletries in Ziplocks, and he had a hell of a lot less than his woman.
Deodorant. Shampoo. A razor. Moisturizer with sunscreen that Soph had gifted him, and he pretended to bitch about (and pretended to only usebecauseof the sun protective qualities, even though he kept buying the expensive brand once it was gone—mostly because it kept his skin feeling silky smooth). But those four things were the extent of his primping materials.
