Enemy Down - Cathryn Fox Page 0,28
paid for me, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be with other girls, even if I’m not putting out.
Oh, but how I want to.
I quickly shut that thought down as he comes back into the room, a cloth covered plastic bag filled with ice in his hands. His smile is soft and warm as he sits at the foot of the bed, puts my leg on his lap, and removes the sock.
He puts the cloth on my ankle. “This okay?” he asks, those piercing blue eyes gazing at me with a hint of worry.
“Fine.”
He lightly runs his fingers over my scar. “Does it hurt a lot?”
Oh, something is hurting. A lot. Right now, however, it’s not my damn ankle.
“It’s getting better.”
“Warrior wounds,” he says. “Something to tell the grandkids about.”
I laugh. “No kids or grandkids in my future.”
He nods, like he understands. “Ditto. But why don’t you want kids?”
I look at him like he might be insane. “This world is too cruel to bring kids into it.” But as I look at him, take in the frown on his face, I realize I might sound bitter. I’m not, it’s just that I know firsthand how unaccepting people are if you’re different.
“Maybe one day you’ll fall in love, get married, and see things differently.”
“Maybe. What about you, though?”
He moves the ice to another spot on my ankle and I wince a little. He glances up to check in on me, and I really appreciate the gesture. I nod to let him know I’m good. He falls silent for a long time and I don’t think he’s going to answer me when he finally breaks the quiet.
“I don’t know, Maize. I guess I’m influenced by my past.”
I stare at him, completely dumfounded. “What happened in your past?”
“When I said we had more in common than you think, I wasn’t kidding.” He glances down and shakes his head. “Never mind. Let’s talk about something else. What do you do in your spare time?” He chuckles. “What am I saying? You don’t have spare time. I barely have any. But now you have spare time.” Sadness invades his eyes as he moves the ice along my ankle, and for the first time, I wish he didn’t feel so guilty. “Are you going to take up any hobbies?”
“I’ll just study harder.”
I take in his posture, the tenseness in his shoulders, and while I wasn’t interested in getting to know him better, I really can’t help but want to know what it was he was going to say—what’s so painful for him to tell me. I want to ask, I actually open my mouth to ask, but he cuts me off.
“Shit, I have to go.” He takes my hand in his, his big palm practically swallowing mine whole, and puts it over the bag of ice. “I’ll be gone for a couple of hours. Just dump this in the sink when you’re done.” He jerks his head toward a closed door.
“You have a sink in your closet?”
His bark of laughter trickles through me. “No, there’s a bathroom in there.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, there is.”
“Feel free to use it.” He pushes to his feet, snatches up a backpack, and stands over me. “You’ll be okay?”
“I’m a big girl, Christian.” I tug the blankets tighter around me, feeling oddly exposed, and aroused, and dizzy, and aroused. Oh wait, did I say that already? His gaze moves down my body, sending sparks through me. “Been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“Now I’m going to take care of you.”
“While I always appreciate your honesty, nothing is going to change.”
He grins at me. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
I want to protest, but can’t quite give voice to the words in my head. Why? Because I want to be wrong, want someone—Christian—to just once take care of me for a minute, or maybe two. But hasn’t he been doing that? Putting me in his bed because my house is falling down around me, and just now, icing my ankle. He has, but maybe I’m thinking of other ways—sexual ways. He’s such a contradiction. One minute he looks at me like he wants to eat me alive, touching my skin like I’m a prize possession, and the next he’s saying this isn’t about sex.
I hate, hate, hate that I want it to be.
“Make yourself at home, and if you want to lock the door go ahead. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he says and disappears through the