Elizabeth Finn - Unforgiven

He pushed forward, yelling, panicking, and trying like mad not to lose his mind. All he could see was the damn bluff of rocks that fell away steeply below. Shit. That was a good three and a half miles on unsteady terrain, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the fear of what he might find for that distance. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She had to be okay. She simply had to be okay. He rounded a curve in the path, grunting as his muscles burned and his lungs did too, and then she was there.

He stopped, relief washing over him, but then he saw the blood, and he bolted toward her.

“Bailey!” The blood on her face was dry; she was leaning against a tree with one foot held up to rest with just her toes on the ground. She had another dry, bloody trail down her leg. She leaned her head against the trunk of the tree when she saw him.

When he reached her, he ran his hand down the side of her face. He wasn’t sure what to touch, what hurt, or how much pain she was in. “Darren.” She breathed his name out on a sigh of relief; he pulled her gingerly into his arms.

“Bailey, you have to tell me what hurts. What happened?”

She sighed into his chest as she snuggled up to him. “I lost my footing up near the rock outcropping, and—”

“You fell from there!” He sounded horrified.

“No. I was near there, and I was making my way up the path. The ground was muddy, and I lost my footing. I fell down the embankment. My ankle twisted pretty good, and I jarred my hand, but it feels all right. My knee’s torn up, and I hit my head on a tree.” She peered up to him. “But hey, your dog’s okay.” She tried for a small smile.

Macy was racing in circles around them, and Bailey sank against his chest again. Darren was more relieved than he thought he was capable of. “You hit your head?” He could see the scuff on her forehead, and blood had dripped down the side of her cheek. “Look at me.” He pulled back, holding her at arm’s length. He studied her eyes, looking for any abnormal movements or responses. “Any blurred or double vision?” She shook her head. “Fatigue?”

“Hell yes. I feel like I’ve been hobbling for hours.”

“If this happened at the outcropping, then you likely have. You’ve made it halfway home from there. When did you leave the house?”

She glanced away for a moment. She looked embarrassed. “This morning?” It wasn’t a question, but her voice certainly sounded as though it was. “I ran a few miles farther than the outcropping. I was actually on my way back when I fell.”

“Jesus, Bailey, that’s a long way for someone who’s out of practice and who had muscle spasms like you did just yesterday. What the hell were you thinking?” His voice caught in his throat. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Actually, she probably wasn’t thinking at all—she was seeing red when she’d taken off with Macy in tow. “We need to get you to the hospital. You need some X-rays.”

“Darren, I don’t have insurance anymore, and—”

“Well, thank God you know the doctor.” He smirked.

“I’ve really only made it halfway back from the rocks?” She looked disappointed.

“Sorry. Hop on.” He turned and lifted her to straddle his waist. It took nearly an hour to get back, and that was resting occasionally. She could put some weight on her foot, which was at least encouraging, but after twenty feet or so of trying to walk, the pain would become too much, and he’d lift her again. When the house finally came into view, she sighed.

He ran Macy inside while Bailey waited in his car, and then he took her to the hospital.

They didn’t spend much time at the hospital at all. He slipped her into radiology quickly, and she sat on a stool in one of the empty X-ray rooms as he reviewed the images on a large monitor. He toggled between the different views of her ankle, and he took his time. His face was serious, his concentration evident, and she was mesmerized at the sight of him in his world.

“Well, there’re no breaks. Sprained all to hell, but you’ll be fine.” He turned to her as he flipped the monitor off, and then his face scrunched up in concern. She was still a bloody mess, and as she watched him, he reached out and stroked his thumb across her chin. “You shouldn’t have done this. You pushed yourself too far, and the only reason you did it was because you were mad at me.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have pissed me off.” She wasn’t upset at this point, though she certainly still felt hurt by his comments that morning.

He sighed, and he studied her face for a moment. He grabbed the ACE bandage he’d placed on the counter earlier, and as he lifted her ankle to his lap, he started to speak. “Listen . . . I wasn’t trying to boot you out my door this morning. I wasn’t telling you to get lost. I wasn’t saying I hate you. I wasn’t saying anything.” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what this means or what it doesn’t mean. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, and I don’t have a fucking clue how to figure it out. But I’m here, and I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just don’t know how to do this anymore.”

“This?”

“Us.” She wasn’t sure why it hurt to hear him say it. Probably because it was an acknowledgment that things were different between them. She knew that, of course, but she’d also found it very easy to let herself feel close to him after the night before.

He sat silently for a minute longer before he stood. “Stay here. I’m going to run to the pharmacy, and then we can go home and get you cleaned up.” She nodded, and when the door closed behind him, she stared at the floor, feeling confused and antsy.

He wasn’t gone long, and he came back bearing Vicodin—only a few doses worth to get her through the next couple days. Soon they were on the road, silently sitting next to one another. “Are you taking me to my house?”

He glanced to her, looking perplexed. “Of course not.”

“I can take care of myself, Darren. You can just take me home.”

“Why don’t you want to come to my place?”

“A bit of foreplay is no reason to assume I’m welcome in your home, now is it?” She was being a cheeky brat, and he glared at her for a moment. “I don’t need to come over. I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.”

“Odd you chose to come back to Savoy, then.” He was starting to match her irritation with his own, but then he exhaled deeply. “You’re coming over. I want you there. You’re going to be there. End of story.”

She relented, staring out the window for the remainder of the drive. He helped her into the house and up to his master bathroom, settling her on the side of the large bathtub. He started the shower, and he returned to undress her and unwrap her ankle. She watched as he stripped out of his clothes, and when the shower was warm, he led her into the large enclosure to sit on the built-in bench. He kneeled at her feet, pulling her foot onto his lap so he could gently start cleaning the grime and dirt from her knee. She hissed as the soapy washrag he was using grazed over the sensitive raw and open skin, and his eyes flashed to hers.

He was serious again, in that incredible concentration as he worked. It didn’t mean his body wasn’t fully aroused, but he ignored the erection jutting up on his abdomen, and he focused on her knee. When he was finished, he pushed her knees apart and kneeled up, bringing himself closer to her face. He used the rag to clean the abrasion on her forehead, and she tried to ignore the way his rigid cock tickled her tummy. He was still ignoring it, but she’d be damned if she could.

He pulled her up to her feet, and he held her steady under the shower as she washed her hair. He washed her body, pausing over her sex to toy with her while her breath lurched. He ran the washrag over the mound of her sex, but then slipped his middle finger between the lips. He tickled her clit until she was gripping his waist harshly. He abandoned it, turning the water off and looking down at her. He was expressionless, but there was a slight tugging at the corner of his lips.

He dried her off and then himself and helped her onto his bed. He made no move to get her clothes, and when he pulled her mangled leg onto his lap, he slowly started massaging her calf. He was gentle when he neared her ankle, but he manipulated it, stretching the painful and tight joint. They were silently watching one another as he caressed and gripped her muscles, and after he rewrapped her ankle, he stood.

He was still as naked as she was, and he was still as aroused too—though he couldn’t hide it nearly so easily as she could. He gave her a small smile when he caught her staring, and then he turned toward his bathroom. “Would you mind lending me a clean T-shirt to put on?” He stopped and turned back to her slowly, pausing in the door of the bathroom.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Then why are you so worried about clothes?” He smiled again and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing moments later with his discarded pants in his hand. He pulled something from the pocket before discarding his pants in the dirty laundry hamper, and he walked back to her, fully erect, stunning, and impossible to ignore.

When he reached the bed, he sat at her hip, and she glimpsed the syringe in his hand. He wasn’t hiding it, and she was suddenly confused. He’d said nothing of needing medication other than the Vicodin, and yet he was holding a slender syringe. She wasn’t the world’s biggest fan of needles, and this one was no different.

“Would you go on birth control?”

She could feel her eyes bulging at his question. “Why on earth would I do that?” Her eyes flashed back to the syringe. “What’s that?” Now she was suspicious, but he only gave her a mischievous smirk. “Jesus, you’re going to sterilize me.” That earned her a chuckle.

“No. Well . . . only for a few months.” He feigned innocence with an expression that could melt a nun’s heart.

“Because you intend to sleep with me?” Saying the words alone left her groin pulsing with warm heat.

“Sleep is what you do when you’re done fucking.” He was turning on the seductive voice she remembered from long ago, and he was so very good at it. He studied her for a moment, taking in her reaction to him. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t know.” He shook his head in frustration for a moment. “But I’d at least like the option of fucking you and not worrying about getting you pregnant.”

“You want to stick me with that ‘just in case’ you decide you want to sleep . . . have sex with me?”

He shrugged mildly. He was back to full-on seductive.

“Do horses push carts in your world too, Darren?” He laughed, showing his white teeth that were ridiculously straight and perfect.

When he leaned to her, bringing his face up close to watch but far enough back to let her take in his expression, she gasped. “Horses fuck in my world.” His eyebrows shot up. “Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes hard, sometimes gentle, sometimes from the front, sometimes from the back, sometimes sitting up, sometimes lying down.” He licked his lips, and she did too as wetness built between her legs. “And sometimes in secret little tight naughty places they’re not supposed to want to fuck. And of course, sometimes when their nag is laid up with a nasty sprained ankle.”

“And apparently never with condoms.” She was going for sarcastic, but her voice was breathy.

“Always with condoms . . . just not with you. I’ve never once had unprotected sex, not once. And if I know you well enough, I’m guessing you haven’t either—the few times you actually got laid.” She rolled her eyes. He’d nailed her on that one. “Never mind the fact you’ve been out of the game . . . or let’s say, off the horse track . . . for six years now.”

She couldn’t seem to stop biting her lip or licking them for that matter. He eventually set the syringe down on the night stand. “Not very sexy, I know—propositioning you with a needle. But the idea of feeling your wet pussy around me . . . You liked touching my cum. Don’t you want to feel it inside you? Now that’s sexy as hell.” He stood then, and he took a deep breath. “It’s up to you. I’m running out for food. Try not to hurt yourself while I’m away.”

She was stunned after he was gone, and she stared at the syringe on the nightstand. What the hell were they doing? It didn’t take the question long to exhaust her to the point of slowly but surely drifting away to sleep. Her body ached terribly, and she was ready for escape—even from him. Her brain was fuzzy and confused—pretty much exactly as it had been for weeks. But sleep would help. Sleep always helped.