We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,61
knew exactly how to use those hands of his in all the right ways. There was a reason those doofy nurses were so…doofy…over him. The man had a reputation after all.
“Don’t worry. I don’t like thorns. Or stingers.” He handed her a small clear travel bag. A tiny tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush were visible. “Good hygiene, please, if we’re going to be all crammed up against each other. Courtesy of Nikkie Jean. There’s deodorant in there, too.”
She grabbed the bag instead of kicking him like she wanted.
She wanted to kick him—but she wanted that toothbrush even more.
His laughter followed her around the sardine can they were stuck in as she closed the small accordion door to the wet bath to block him out.
After a few minutes, she felt at least a little normal again, even if it was the most plastic bathroom she’d ever seen. There were luxury washcloths in a tiny cabinet next to a plastic toilet.
She’d never been in an RV this small—or this expensive. She felt extremely out of place. Izzie stepped out of the wet bath and there he was. Big, strong, broody.
Half naked.
Shirt off and in sweatpants now. The man was built like a god.
She gawked again—ok, she hadn’t imagined him looking like that without the starched button-downs he usually wore at FCGH.
Allen Jacobson was in prime physical shape. Complete with a six-pack. He might even be more well-defined than Caine and Rafe—two of the most beautiful men in the world that she’d seen without shirts, anyway—when they’d been helping Annie move recently.
Wow.
Izzie wasn’t blind. She liked the look of a beautiful man when she saw one—that didn’t mean she had to act on it.
She turned away and almost scurried to the rear of the van.
She had to climb to get onto the mattress. It wasn’t super-long. She suspected the jerk’s feet were going to hang off the end. Good. He deserved it for thinking he was the one in charge here. All bossy and arrogant, and “you’ll do what you’re told, woman” all of a sudden.
She never had taken direction well. Especially from arrogant men who thought they were in charge. Even if they did it in an entirely too hot kind of way.
That pissed her off even more. Jake, she could deal with him making decisions for her when she was incapable of making them for herself—and unfortunately that situation had happened to her before. Annie and Nikkie Jean, too. Even Lacy and Jillian and Cherise to some extent. But Allen Jacobson?
He had no right.
In that moment, Izzie didn’t think she had much choice.
She jerked back the duvet awkwardly with her least-injured right hand—the duvet was pure silk, she’d bet her next paycheck on it—and hurried beneath it.
It felt like snuggling into a cloud, and her aching body thanked her for it. Yes, this was exactly where she wanted to be right now—physically.
Her mind wasn’t quite on board, though.
She deliberately faced away from him, feeling like a pouting child.
He laughed as he slipped into the wet bath and closed the door. She hoped he drowned in the tiny plastic toilet. The man deserved it.
If he did, she’d be honor-bound to give him mouth-to-mouth.
Izzie barely fought the urge to growl.
She needed to think.
Izzie needed to quit using her battle with Allen as a way to avoid dealing with what had really almost happened tonight.
She had almost died tonight. Again.
Someone had tried to either abduct or kill her tonight. That was the big thing right there. That she was relatively safe—even with Allen—was a minor miracle.
One she owed directly to him.
She supposed being stuck with Allen wasn’t as bad as it could have been. She could be seriously injured or dead. Or stuck with someone she couldn’t stand at all.
She’d get through the next day or two, call Jake or Nikkie Jean, and then find out when she could go home.
This definitely couldn’t last for too long.
He finally came out of the wet bath a few minutes later. Izzie flipped over. She was going to watch him, make sure he was keeping to his side of the deal. She didn’t trust him. They both knew that.
She’d probably never trust him on a male-female level. She wasn’t interested in being one of a crowd. His weight caused the bed to shift. He pulled the covers tightly. “You have enough room?”
He’d practically purred it.
Izzie resisted the urge to yelp and scurry away.
She had more backbone than that. “I’m good, but are you even going to