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They’d pulled into a detached garage beside a single-family, ranch-style home in a blue-collar but quiet neighborhood. Instead of walking in the front door, Maria led him to the back, where a large, armed federal agent waited for them.
“Special Agent Deluca,” the Fed said by way of introduction, ushering them in the door and securing it behind them. “Mikey Flynn sends his regards.”
Teag wanted to answer, but he was short of breath. In addition to sweating profusely, he was getting lightheaded, the now-familiar dark spots threatening him again.
Maria’s eyes widened with alarm when she looked at him. “Shit. Give me a hand,” she ordered Deluca.
The Fed gripped his left arm, and between the large man and Maria, Teag swayed and stumbled his way to the sofa.
“How embarrassingly unmanly,” he joked, as they eased him down onto the soft cushions.
Agent Deluca let out a short bark of a laugh. “Dude, you got shot a few days ago.”
True.
“You lost nearly half your blood volume, and you’ve been high on painkillers. You’re gonna feel pretty wrecked for a while,” Maria added.
“All right, well, you’ve convinced me. You may wait on me hand and foot now,” he joked, but his voice came out weak and strained.
“Let me get the lay of the land here, and then I’ll get you sorted, Teag. Hang on a few more minutes,” Maria said.
“Not going anywhere, love,” he answered. He let his head fall back on the plush cushion and closed his eyes, trying in vain to ignore the nasty throbbing in his chest.
He heard Maria reviewing security protocols with Deluca, but their voices were muted and distant, the pulsing of his own heartbeat much more pronounced in his ear. Drifting off, he wondered if he’d passed out or fallen asleep, or if there was much of a difference at this point.
Maria’s hand on his cheek woke him. The house felt still and silent. Agent Deluca must have left.
“Let’s get you more comfortable,” she said, helping him into a seated position.
On the coffee table in front of the couch, Maria had several items laid out neatly. A fresh pair of scrubs, an IV setup, bandages and other first aid supplies, and a glass of juice. As she helped him change out of his sweat-soaked shirt and uncomfortable khakis, she kept up a running commentary on the state of affairs here at their little safe house.
“Deluca stocked the kitchen, so I’m going to make us some dinner shortly. The place is locked up tighter than Fort Knox, and there’s a state-of-the-art security system online. We’ve got all the medical supplies we need and, equally as important, Netflix,” she said, helping him slide the scrub bottoms over his hips.
God, he wished he was standing half-dressed in front of her for entirely different reasons. As soon as that thought entered his brain, blood rushed straight to his cock. Despite how weak he felt and the excruciating throb in his shoulder, another part of his body throbbed relentlessly.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered.
Maria looked up at him, a question on her face. It only took her a second to notice what had him so uncomfortable though, and an adorable blush tinted her cheeks. “Oh,” she whispered.
“Ignore that,” he instructed.
“Um, okay,” she mumbled.
The air felt charged around them as she finished helping him dress, but the radiating pain in his shoulder acted as quite the buzz kill. As soon as his ass connected with the sofa again, he squeezed his eyes shut, all feelings of arousal gone.
Maria seemed to be in tune with his body. She spoke to him in a soft, comforting voice, one he wouldn’t have expected from her before his nasty injury, and her touch was gentle. Inserting an IV with practiced efficiency, she set up the bag of fluid, and dosed him with morphine. “Can’t have you dehydrated, and pain doesn’t help with healing,” she said.
“You’ve done this before, I take it?” he asked, sighing as the warm, soothing bliss of the painkiller spread through him.
“I have indeed. You’re in good hands.”
“I can’t wait to feel your hands,” he said.
Before he succumbed to a narcotic-induced sleep once more, she took his vitals and made him drink down the orange juice.
“Sweet dreams,” she said. He thought he detected a note of promise in her voice, but it could have been wishful thinking on his part.
“A man can hope,” he mumbled as he drifted off.
