As his focus shot to her paling face, and her eyes fixed on the blood oozing down her arm, he knew without question what was next. “No. Don’t look at it, sweetheart…No—no, don’t—” Too late. Her eyes rolled back, her face went slack, and her body crumpled against him. Great.
This just got better and better.
The last thing he’d expected as he knocked on the hotel room door was for the incredible woman who’d run out on him the night before to open it. But once it had happened, and he’d seen who she was—connecting Cali to Calista—he’d indulged in a momentary fantasy about picking things up where they’d left off.
Obviously he was going to have to forget about that ego-driven idiocy, because Cali clearly hadn’t been thinking the same thing. In those first seconds she’d looked more like she wanted to skin him than screw him, so it was safe to assume she was annoyed to discover he wasn’t just some stranger who’d gotten her off and then conveniently faded into the mist. And that didn’t jibe with the image he’d constructed from the night before. Which was just irritating. She’d been soft. Funny. Sweet. And a little bit shy, blushing at her own interest.
He’d spent hours lost in her laughter.
He was an idiot.
He did not want a relationship. And he did not date—even in his über-casual capacity—women connected to his family. Ever. They came with too many strings that were too hard to sever, and he wasn’t interested in the complications. So why should it matter if Cali wasn’t exactly who he’d thought the night before? If what had happened wasn’t quite as special as he’d thought?
It shouldn’t—didn’t.
And special? What was he? Twelve? They’d been in a phone booth, for God’s sake.
But she was now crumpled in his arms, and he did care about getting her cleaned up and back on her feet. Pulling her into his chest, he banded one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees, then swept her up.
“Cali? Calista, sweetheart?”
Dodging the low-profile furniture in the suite, he crossed to the bathroom and sat with her tucked into his lap, her arm elevated, head lolling against his chest as she struggled to come around.
“Hey,” he whispered into the top of her hair. “Don’t watch—just look up at me or keep your eyes closed while I wash this out.”
But in the mirror’s reflection he saw her eyes on the sink, where the water was tinged with red as he ran the tap over her arm…and she was out again. The cuts were shallow and didn’t require stitches, so he finished up, then carried her to the bed. He laid Cali back, using a towel to protect the rumpled spread.
Blood rose slowly on her cuts—but it was nothing a few Band-Aids wouldn’t take care of. At the very least they’d cover enough to keep Cali conscious. He returned to the bathroom and, with only mild guilt, began riffling through her bags. In his experience women traveled with enough toiletries to perform a double bypass, so Band-Aids were a sure bet.
In addition to a selection of cosmetics, brushes, sprays, gels and creams, he noted the slim case of her birth control pills, a pack of breath mints, mouthwash, floss and, in one stiff zippered plastic compartment, a single condom with a label he hadn’t seen since med school. The expiration date had passed the year before.
Somehow the idea of Cali packing her little wash bag with the accoutrements of a sexually responsible woman—even though it appeared she’d had limited or lack-luster experience if that one single condom had suffered such a bleak and joyless existence in her bag—made him think again of the way she’d looked at him the night before as she confessed that she hadn’t been kissed in such a very long time.
He shouldn’t be thinking about it. The way she’d melted against him, the taste of her sigh in his mouth, the heat of her—
This was Amanda’s new shooting star. He didn’t want the strings. But still he made a mental note that if Cali ever looked at him as she had last night—if his resolve ever weakened—to bring his own protection. A whole box, not a single rubber.
Behind the decrepit prophylactic he hit the jackpot, with a small stash of equally ancient bandages. Returning to Cali’s side, he peeled the adhesive backs free then carefully applied them to cover her cuts.
“Pretty big faint for not a lot of wound, there, Cali.” He pushed a lock of hair from her eyes, tracing down the line of her jaw and under it to the soft, warm skin of her neck, where he found her carotid artery. Her pulse beat against the gentle pressure of his fingers, healthy and strong.
As he stared down at her face he saw she was beginning to stir. Her long-lashed lids fluttered like butterfly wings and then slowly lifted, revealing eyes like emeralds. Her lips parted, and he had the insane urge to sink into them with a kiss—
“Get your filthy hands off me.”
Jake arched a brow, not bothering to fight the smile that rose in response to her throaty grunt. “My hands are clean, sweetheart. Habit of the trade. Aren’t you a nasty little ogre in the morning?”
Cali began pushing up on her good arm, her sharp-edged stare slashing at him, but Jake stopped her with a firm hand against her shoulder and pushed her back into the mattress. “Not yet. Let’s give it a minute more before you hop out of bed. Do you always faint at the sight of blood?”
Her jaw flexed, and a sound that was almost a growl emanated from low in her throat. “Only when it’s mine. Your blood wouldn’t bother me a bit.”
For someone on the edge of consciousness, her temper seemed in good working order. Jake leaned back, amused. “Really? Interesting.”
“Not interesting. Not interested. I’m furious, so thanks for catching me, but back off.”
Wow. “Take it easy. My presence on your bed is purely professional. Doctor? Remember?”
Cali’s delicate jaw clenched as she blew out an angry breath and refused to meet his eyes.
“Someone must have gotten under your skin good. Look, I didn’t know you worked for Amanda, but, honestly, does it really matter now?” From the look of her scowl, Jake gathered it did.
“Are you kidding?” Cali gritted out, flashing him a murderous glare.
“This is because of last night?” he asked, confused by the overt hostility. “Or did I miss something else?”
Maybe she was as worried about Amanda as he was. But her lashing out at him didn’t make a world of sense. It was an accident. One of fate’s little mess-ups you lived with and got past.
If she was miffed he could understand it. Sulking or in a bit of a pout, sure. Women got that way. But Cali wasn’t any of those. She looked as though she wanted to flay him alive. Considering he’d just carried her, princess-style, across her suite while she dripped blood down his sleeve, and then spent the next five minutes cleaning her minor but messy wounds, a smidgeon of gratitude seemed in order. But, no, she was in a snit.
Emotional and unreasonable, he thought with an inward shiver. Yeah, definitely no more kissing. Right about now he was wishing last night hadn’t taken place either. Being tied, however loosely, to a woman with an irrational temper wasn’t high
