Page 6 of Screwed

Fine. he can hold my hand if he wants to. It’s not terrible.

“Almost there,” he mutters as he races around traffic.

We arrive shortly after he runs a red light, and once again, the man feels the need to carry me from the truck.

I could point out that the emergency room has wheelchairs available for this sort of thing. But as the pain in my foot explodes in sharp stabs, I don’t have the energy to argue. And, okay, despite my protests, my body likes being carried by this man. He smells nice, like a combination of wood shavings and spice.

Also, I’ve never been so fussed over before by anyone, apart from Ernestine’s cooking and Grace’s friendship, until she got married. So I’m happy to eat this up. For now.

But after today, Wade Wood cannot tell me what to do. Nope. Not happening again.

“Are you her next of kin?” asks the admitting nurse of Wade.

“No,” he says. “I’m her boss.”

“You’ll have to wait out here,” the nurse says.

Oh no, I’m not going back there alone just to be talked into more expensive medical procedures than necessary. “Sir,” I say to the nurse, “my next of kin is in prison so this man is all I have.” The nurse’s face is sympathetic but resolute. “I’m sorry, but it’s hospital policy.”

I’ve had it up to here with policies, be they hospital or employment. “And he’s my fiancé!” I blurt.

The nurse looks from me to Wade, sighs, then gives in and waves Wade through the double doors with me.

When Wade leans over and holds my hand again, I’m not ready for the jolt of electricity that skitters through my body.

From my hospital wheelchair, I sneak a glance at Wade’s dark expression. My cheeks burn for who knows what reason.

“I was going to tell them our family built this entire wing of the hospital, but I like your argument better,” he says. That mischievous smile warms me all the way to the stabbing pain in my foot.

Soon enough, I’m in an exam room, awaiting X-ray results. And because Wade is a gentleman, he averted his gaze as the nurses helped me remove my clothes and put me in a hospital gown.

“So, fiancée,” he asks. “What kind of cake are we having?”

Wade’s got jokes. Awesome. And he’s possessive as hell. His big body overwhelms the folding chair someone brought in for him, and he’s scooted it up right next to me, and still grips my hand.

“White chocolate raspberry,” I quip.

He nods and cocks his head to the side. “Good, but I prefer a cream cheese icing.”

“Why choose?” I say.

He laughs. “White chocolate and cream cheese combo sounds amazing.”

My stomach rumbles at all this cake talk.

“Are you hungry?”

Embarrassed that I haven’t eaten anything today because I’ve been saving the rest of Ernestine’s biscuits for dinner tonight, I don’t give him an answer.

“You’re being ridiculous. Hang tight, babe. I’ll be right back.”

I should protest. Wade’s already done too much. He’s taken too much time out of his day to tend to the world’s crappiest employee. But much like riding around in his arms, it feels good to be taken care of. I’ll allow it. For now.

“I’ll try not to hoof it in my elegant new gown,” I say, smoothing down the scratchy cotton fabric that hangs open at the back.

I know the fiancé talk is for the benefit of the hospital staff that rushes around. But the kiss on the forehead is a bit much.

Instantly, my nipples harden against the scratchy cotton, and when he pulls away, I have to fight the urge to pull him back for a real kiss.

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