The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play #2) - B.B. Reid Page 0,7
overpowered my girlish infatuation.
“You’re going to need stitches,” Shane grumbled as he set about sterilizing supplies.
Wren simply nodded, and I realized he was still watching me even as he took a swig of rum.
Despite my inner turmoil, I couldn’t stop my feet from moving or explain why I grabbed his hand, but when he held mine for dear life, I knew there was no way I was letting go. His warmth comforted me as much as mine must have soothed him.
I didn’t miss a single wince or clench of his jaw as Shane sewed his flesh back together. My stomach turned at the same time my heart pounded with worry. Wren’s pain felt like my pain. I only wished I knew why.
After Shane finished dressing the newly stitched wound, he pressed a couple of painkillers into Wren’s hand and ordered him to take them when the alcohol wore off. Wren defiantly popped them both in his mouth and swallowed. Shane chuckled and shook his head as he cleaned up. I wanted to scream at this monstrous man who’d taken part in corrupting him, but Wren’s hand squeezed mine, effectively keeping me silent.
“You and the girl can take my spare for the night.”
“We’re leaving,” Wren announced.
It was all I could do not to run for the door. The danger of icy roads and hypothermia was probably ten times safer than a night spent under Shane’s warm roof.
“Not in this storm, you’re not. That’s an order,” Shane quickly added before Wren could object.
Wren glared at Shane and freed his hand from mine as he stood. “Fine,” he said.
I wanted to scream that it was not fine. With a jerk of his head, Wren ordered me to follow him. I did, slowly, while wondering if anyone would object if I left to brave the storm alone. I never got the chance to ask.
The moment we left the kitchen, Wren, as if reading my mind, looked over his shoulder and trampled my hopes with three words.
“You’re not leaving.”
Upstairs, he led me to the guest bedroom at the top of the stairs and flipped on the light. It was stylish yet simply decorated with flowing dark green curtains, a queen bed covered with a comforter to match the curtains, white nightstands on each side, and a tall white dresser with a TV mounted on the wooden surface.
“This is…cozy.” I thought being alone in a car with him had been stressful. Spending the night, sharing the same bed, however, was…nerve-racking. My body didn’t seem to mind, and I told myself I was too tired to care. No way could I still find him irresistible after what I had just learned.
Wren didn’t respond, and I began to wonder if he considered all conversation rhetorical. He pulled the comforter and a pillow off the bed, and I watched, feeling perplexed yet a little relieved, as he began making a pallet on the floor. After freeing his gun from his waist, he placed it under his pillow.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to bed,” he answered without sparing me a single glance.
“But your shoulder won’t survive on the floor. Take the bed. I’m used to sleeping on the ground.” That wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t need to know that. I couldn’t exactly spend the night alone on a park bench and expect to survive the night unmolested. It forced me to take risks my homeless peers didn’t have to, so I got creative. Sometimes, I’d spend the night right under my foster parents’ noses inside a neighbor’s shed. The older school buses were easy to break into, and sometimes, I crashed with Miles during the rare times his parents weren’t hovering.
Wren paused, and I would have thought he might be considering my point except he looked pissed as fuck. Lying down, he grimaced as he searched for a comfortable position.
“You’re going to be doing that all night if you don’t take the bed,” I observed.
He stood to his feet quicker than I would have expected, gripped the front of my shirt, and with little effort or care, he tossed my ass on the bed. Eventually, I stopped bouncing enough to see him watching me with his arms crossed. His eyes dared me to move from the bed.
“Now go the fuck to sleep.”
Stalking across the room, he shut off the light.
“I’m dirty, and I smell,” I admitted shamefully. The bedding looked too pristine. I shuddered to think what my dirty clothes were doing to them.