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“No, I’ll be staying out here with you. Right now, let’s get you settled. You can shower while I run into town for a few supplies. Tomorrow, I’ll do a full grocery run.”
My tour of the cabin ends in a bedroom on the second floor. “There are some sweats and T-shirts in the dresser. They were my sister’s. There are towels in the bathroom, but it’s gonna take a little while for the water to get hot so let it run. I should be back by the time you’re finished,” Chris says.
When he leaves, I look around and smile. This is the nicest place that I’ve stayed in six months. I undress while the water is heating up and look at myself in the mirror. There’s a large blue bruise running around my abdomen, and the area is tender to the touch.
I shrug it off, telling myself it’s minor compared to what would have happened if Chris hadn’t come to my rescue.
What about this super cop Chris?
He’s older. I’d guess late thirties, but he has a better build than any of the guys my age on campus. His body isn’t the only thing he has going for himself either. His perfectly chiseled jaw, cheekbones, and big, pouty lips coupled with his deep, dark eyes and thick, dark hair could land him on the cover of a magazine. Even his five o’clock shadow screams perfection.
With looks like his and a name like Cappella, I wouldn’t be surprised if his ancestors were Roman gods and goddesses.
Something about him makes me feel safe for the first time in a long time. He commands attention and respect but isn’t afraid to knock someone unconscious if that’s what it takes. He was so gentle with me yet so deadly with the man that attacked me. I can’t think of any combination of traits that would make me feel safer or more aroused.
I stand under the shower and let the warm water run through my hair. It feels so good that I don’t come out until the water runs cool. I wrap myself up in a towel and go back to the bedroom. I find a pair of gray sweats and a white T-shirt on the dresser and put them on. I’m brushing my hair when I hear movement downstairs.
Chris is rattling around in the kitchen, probably making us dinner. It’s good. My dinner was left in a plastic bag on a sidewalk downtown.
He stops in his tracks when he sees me enter the kitchen. He stares at me for a moment then asks, “Feel better?”
“Yes, thank you. And thank you for the clothes,” I reply.
“I bought some first aid supplies for you. Have a seat and I’ll get your hands fixed up.”
I sit at the breakfast bar and watch him pull bandages, gauze, and alcohol out of a bag. He takes my hands and gently wipes them with alcohol. My hands look so tiny in his large hands. When the scrapes are clean, he bandages them and lifts his eyes to me. “Is there anything else?”
“Well, when I was getting in the shower, I noticed some bruising,” I tell him.
“Can you show me where?”
I hesitate for a moment then lift my shirt and drop the waistband on the sweats, exposing my battered midriff. He walks around the breakfast bar and places his hand on my bare skin. I lose my breath and my legs grow weak when he touches me. His hands feel like they belong on my body. He looks into my eyes and asks, “Does it hurt when I press on it?”
“A little but not too bad.”
“Then it’s unlikely that there’s anything going on here. If you were bleeding internally, you’d be in a lot of pain,” he answers and turns me around. His hands glide across the small of my back, and I grab the counter to steady myself. “You’re bruised back here, too. It’s amazing that you were able to hold on for so long.”
He lifts his hands and I turn to face him. I look up at his face, wishing he’d lean down and press his lips against mine. For a split second, I believe that he might but he says, “How do you feel about burgers?”
“Burgers are fine,” I answer, my pulse racing in response to his proximity.
“I think there’s ice in the freezer. I’ll make you an ice pack for that bruise then I’ll start cooking.”
“Can I help?” I offer.
“No, you lie down on the couch and ice that bruise. I can handle the food.”
He hands me a kitchen towel folded around some ice, and I lie back on the overstuffed sofa and place it on my stomach. I watch him maneuver around the kitchen. He has his jacket and tie off and his shirt sleeves rolled up.
It’s clear that he spends a lot of time in the gym, and his ass fills his slacks better than any man I’ve ever seen. I bet he could make a fortune as a male model if he wanted to change careers. I close my eyes for just a second but as the stress of the day leaves my body, I drift off to sleep.
Chris shakes me awake and I jump, momentarily forgetting where I am.
“Dinner is ready,” he tells me, setting a plate on the coffee table in front of me. He sits on a chair to the left of the sofa and begins eating. I look over at him and see that he’s focused on my midsection. I look down and realize that my shirt has ridden up a bit, exposing the lower part of my breasts.
I don’t cover them because I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable for looking. I just sit up allowing gravity to fix the issue for me.
“How’s your abdomen feel now?” he asks.
