“You’re safe now, Hadley.”

“I know,” I agree, burrowing deeper into him. “I….” I pull in a shuddering breath. “It felt so real, like I was back there.”

His warm hand roams down my back, and his softly spoken words seep into my skin. “You’re not there. You’re here with me, safe in my arms, right where you’re supposed to be. You’re safe, Hadley.”

Fresh tears fill my eyes and my grip on him tightens. He’s right, but he’s also completely wrong, because as safe as I feel in his arms, I also feel more afraid than I have in my entire life. I pull in a shaky breath, not sure what I’m going to say, but knowing I need to say something to him. But before I can open my mouth, his body goes rigid and his grip on me tightens almost painfully.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You’re bleeding. Where are you bleeding?”

“What?” I blink as he jostles me in his arms then listen to him curse when he notices the lamp is not on the table but on the floor next to the bed.

“Did you cut your feet?” I don’t have a chance to answer him before he carefully sets me away and gets up. Then I watch him stalk to the light switch and flip it on. His gaze zeros in on my feet, and I cringe at the sight of blood that has dotted my sheets and blankets. “Shit,” he growls, coming back toward me and scooping me up out of bed like I weigh nothing at all. Going to the bathroom, he flips on the light then sets me down on the edge of the vanity. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“No, but I have some Band-Aids in one of these drawers.” I start to hop down to find them, but he stops me, wrapping his hands around my waist.

My breath stutters as he places his face an inch from mine. “Stay put. I have a kit in my truck. I’ll be right back.”

“I…” I lick my lips, trying to fight the urge to lean in and place my mouth to his. “I think I just need to wash my feet off. The cuts don’t look that bad.”

“Stay put,” he orders, kisses my forehead, and then disappears.

“Stay put? What the hell am I, a dog?”

“I heard that,” I hear him say, and I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. Not even two minutes later, he comes back in carrying a large plastic case that he sets on the vanity and opens. I watch him pull out a bottle of alcohol and a roll of gauze then turn on the tap. My eyes widen when he wraps his arm under my knees and lifts my legs so that my feet are in the sink. I bite the inside of my cheek when the water hits the open cuts.

“This might burn a little.” He turns off the water then pours the alcohol on my open wounds, making me jump and cry out.

“A little?” I shout. “It feels like my feet are on fire now.” I grip his forearm and dig my nails into his skin. “Oh my God, blow on it or something, you jerk!” I continue to yell, and he laughs. “This isn’t funny.”

“Breathe, the burn will ease in a second.”

“Says the guy who’s not being tortured,” I grouch, watching him smile. “I hate you.” I place my arms behind me when he lifts one foot then the other. When he touches one of the cuts, I flinch.

“The cuts aren’t deep, but this one has a piece of glass in it that I need to get out.”

“Great, more torture. Are you enjoying this?”

His eyes meet mine, and the look in them is so intense my breathing stops. “I’d never enjoy hurting you.”

My quiet “Okay” is barely audible as we stare at each other. With a jerk of his chin, he pulls his eyes from mine then digs out a pair of tweezers from his kit. I watch the muscle in his cheek jump as he carefully and painlessly pulls the piece of splintered glass from my foot, and then groan when he lifts the bottle of alcohol. “Is that really necessary? You already did it once.”

“Sorry, baby, I’m not taking any chances.” Without warning, he pours the cold liquid over my skin and I flinch from the burn. When he’s done, and the burning has eased, he dries off both my feet. I sigh in relief when he tears open a few packets of ointment and slathers my skin before starting to wrap my feet with gauze.

“Thank goodness I don’t have to work tomorrow. If I did, I would look like an idiot wearing heels having mummy feet,” I tell him, and he looks at me briefly and smiles. At his smile, my heart does a double beat inside my chest and my body gets warm from head to toe. I know if I turned and looked at myself in the mirror I’d look like a bright red tomato. “Um… I think I need to say something about what happened earlier,” I start, needing to fill the silence in the bathroom.

“You don’t unless you want to,” he states, setting down one foot when he’s done wrapping it and picking up the other.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, but I want you to know that… I… umm.” Crap, how do I tell him that I’m not a hussy?

“You don’t have to say anything, Hadley. I know that what you’re going through is difficult, and that until you talk to someone it’s going to keep messing with your head. It will get easier.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip, wondering if I should just let it go, let him think that’s what I wanted to talk about. No, I can’t. I don’t think I will be able to be around him if he thinks less of me, especially when I seem to need him as much as I do. “It’s not that.”

“Excuse me?” He looks at me once more, his hands on my foot pausing mid-wrap.

“It’s about what happened on the couch. I…. Well, I just want you to know I don’t normally…” My cheeks burn even hotter as his eyes roam my face. “Well, I don’t do that kind of thing, like ever.” I squeeze my eyes closed then open them back up. “I mean, obviously I do that kind of thing. I mean, I don’t… but I have done it.” My eyes narrow on his. “Why are you smiling?”

“A few different reasons. But please continue.”

“I don’t think I want to now.”

“I can wait.” He shrugs, going back to my foot.

I stare at him for a long time, expecting him to ask me what I was going to say. When I realize he’s not going to, I give in. “Fine.” I let out a huff. “I just wanted to say I’m not normally that slutty.” His hands pause again and his head turns toward me. When his eyes meet mine and the words I just spoke register in my own head, I know I’m officially past embarrassment. “I’m just going to shut up now.”

“You’re not slutty, and I would never think you are. What happened between us was good, so don’t try to twist it in your head into something bad, ’cause that will piss me off,” he growls, his eyes blazing with something I have never seen before. “We’ve got chemistry. It was bound to happen. Was it too soon? Maybe. Will it happen again? Fuck yes, it will.”

“I…” Holy cow. Why the heck did I open my mouth? “I don’t know if that’s smart, Cobi.”

“You don’t have to know, because I do.”

“You seem… umm… pretty sure.”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.” He pulls his eyes from mine then finishes wrapping my foot, having no idea the effect his words have had on me. When he’s done, he leaves the mess on the counter and picks me up, carrying me to my bed. Stopping at the side of it, he holds me in his arms then grumbles something I can’t make out before carrying me to the living room and placing me on the couch. “Stay here, I’m going to clean up the glass. You got an extra set of sheets somewhere?”

Stunned, I nod then point him in the direction of the hall closet where I keep my towels and extra bedding. I listen to him moving around, and then hear the sound of my vacuum start up. I watch the clock on the wall as I wait for him to finish, wanting to get up and help but having no doubt if I tried he’d carry me right back in here. When he’s finished, he comes back to get me then carries me to bed, setting me down. I’m surprised at the way he made the bed; most men I know of wouldn’t bother tucking in the top sheet or folding down the edge of the blanket.

“Thank you, again.”