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Dane gives me a pair of the soft cotton trousers he was wearing on our first two encounters. They’re way too big for me, even after I roll up the legs and tighten the drawstring. He’s at least 6’3, which makes us a full foot apart in height. Probably at least a decade in age, too, though it’s hard to tell. His hair is thick and springy, the sort that might have gone prematurely gray.
I wonder if these are the same pants he had on the other day. And if he wears underwear beneath.
That’s a bit of a stupid thought to have about someone I just learned might be a murderer, but since I’m already inside the potential murderer’s house, it probably doesn’t matter if I have pervy thoughts about fabric that might have recently touched his cock.
My hormones don’t seem to give a fuck about the circumstances of this encounter. It shouldn’t be hot to be bleeding all over someone’s couch, especially not when it hurts like a sonofabitch, but I think I’d have to lose the whole leg not to notice how fucking sexy Dane’s hands look on my body.
Hands are my kink—they show everything about a man’s competence. The way they move, the way they touch….a well-shaped hand resting on a steering wheel or shifting gears…I could come just thinking about it.
Dane doesn’t just have a surgeon’s hands; he has the hands of an artist. I was mesmerized as he elegantly sewed my ragged cut into a neat, smooth line.
Maybe it was the pain that made his touch feel so good. Heat seemed to spread from his palms, infecting my blood, setting fire to my brain...
I never wanted the stitches to end.
That’s fucking crazy considering what I just learned about Dane.
Do I believe it?
Rhonda’s a gossipy old bitch, but that doesn’t mean she’s wrong. If anyone was going to get away with falsifying a medical report, it’d be a doctor. And Iwashere just twelve short hours ago accusing Dane of breaking into my house.
But now he’s making me a drink and a sandwich. And I’m very susceptible to bribery.
“Eat,” he orders, like there was any chance I’d let a good sandwich go to waste. “You lost a lot of blood. And you were going hard out there.”
“Were you watching me?”
He obviously was—he ran out the moment I hurt myself.
And he doesn’t try to deny it.
“It looked like you were trying to fix the whole fence in one night.”
“I was. I like getting shit done.”
“You’d need an army to finish that fence before dark.”
“I can still try.”
“That’s…a little delusional.”
“I call it motivated.”
His mouth makes a funny downward motion that I think is one of his smiles. A dimple appears on the downturned side, a surprising interloper on his cold, stiff face. It’s kind of adorable.
I bet his wife thought that, too…
Oh, shut the fuck up, Rhonda. I don’t even know if he actually had a wife.
Yes, he did. Her husband said it, too…
Small town gossip.
A lot of things get swept under the rug in small towns…
I take a huge bite of the sandwich. If Dane wanted to poison me, he could have done it when he injected whatever the fuck that was into my arm. Also, even if hedidkill his wife, I doubt he bumps off every random girl who crosses his path. This is fine. I’ll be fine.
