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“I’ll be fine.”
He guides my foot underneath the warm water, and I bite my lip to get from making a sound. But God, how it hurts.
Hayden keeps my leg suspended, his gaze on the blood and dirt swirling down the drain. His face morphs into a frown at the damage revealed and begins bathing my foot with a soapy washcloth, his ministrations methodical but gentle.
I run my gaze over him, drinking in the way he switches from one sole to the other, his head bowed and his eyes focused. With him this close and his hands on my skin, this position feels too intimate, too vulnerable, yet I remain still, not wanting to miss a moment.
Hayden rinses and bandages the numerous cuts and abrasions, and when he’s finished, he releases my bandaged feet. Then he reaches for me, his long fingers encircling my hips, and leans close. The air between us is charged with unspoken words as his gaze finds mine.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to stop running, Callie?”
I stare up at him, lost as to how we've come to this place, but finding myself unable and unwilling to refuse. I give the barest of nods, accepting the sanctuary offered in his embrace. At least for now.
“Good,” he says. “You don’t need to worry about a stalker finding you here. The security is subpar to none. You’ll be safe until I take care of it.”
“Thank you.” I drop my gaze to his hands and then look at his face. “Can you help me get down?”
With concern swirling in his gaze, Hayden assists me into a standing position. He keeps a tight hold on me, steadying me throughout the transition. The padding on my feet cushions them enough to prevent any major discomfort, and I sigh with relief.
“That mouth.” He reaches out to brush his thumb along my lower lip. “The things I want to do to it…”
Before I can come up with a response, he lets his hands fall to his sides. “Do you need anything?” he asks.
That simple inquiry is like a loaded gun, able to take me down and make my heart bleed. What Ineedis emotional distance from Hayden before I fall in love with him. Every gentle touch and protective action entwines me with him. Soon I’ll be so wrapped up in him that I won’t be able to leave him without hurting myself.
“I’d love a glass of water.”
He lifts a sardonic brow. “Dehydrated from your night out?”
“No. I’m parched from all the running I did earlier.”
His mouth twitches with suppressed amusement, but then it overtakes him, and he smiles at me. A genuine smile. It lights up the room and blinds me to anything except Hayden and how devastatingly handsome he is. But it’s more than that.
Seeing him happy, even if it’s for a second, moves me in a way that’s profound. It does something to my soul, a place he shouldn’t have any access to.
“Can you walk?” he asks, the joy on his face disappearing at the mention of my injuries. “Maybe I should just carry you to the kitchen.”
His obvious concern for me has my heart squeezing in my chest. Even though I love being in his arms, I want to reassure Hayden that I’m fine. I hate seeing him upset. Especially because of me.
“The bandages provide enough padding so that I barely feel the cuts,” I say, waving a hand in dismissal when his frown deepens. “Lead the way.”
With a look of skepticism, he places his hand at the small of my back, his palm warm against my body. The familiar scent of his cologne lingers in the air, soothing and comforting, and I inhale, soaking it in. Like I have every time I’ve been in his embrace.
My first few steps are awkward as I adjust to the padding on my feet while hiding my discomfort from Hayden, but once we reach the kitchen I’m confident that my wounds are minor and of no concern. At least, not as bad as he’s been treating them. It’s endearing. You’d think I stepped on the blade of a machete from the way he’s taken care of me.
I’ve never had anyone do that. Not in the way Hayden has.
He’s quick to retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator, unscrew the cap, and offer it to me. I take it from him, careful not to touch him. Having Hayden’s fingers on my skin makes it impossible for me to think coherently. Or at all.
“Thank you,” I say. I take a long drink and he watches me, making a normal activity challenging. While trying not to choke, I empty the bottle, feeling like I deserve a gold medal for completing such a feat. “I appreciate what you did tonight, but I think we need to have a conversation about boundaries.”
He folds his arms, causing the material to strain against the contours of his chest, which distracts the shit out of me. “Is that so?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
The warning underlying his words has me refocusing my thoughts. “Yes. I’m assuming you tracked me through my cell phone, and that’s not okay.”
