Page 37 of Reckless Devotion

“Pepper,” he says quietly over his shoulder as he reaches his mother and wraps an arm around her. “Please see to my sister’s hand, if you can?”

I start, so entrenched in the storm cloud of tension in the room that I only just now feel guilty for barging my way in on this. I shouldn’t be privy to this—it feels wrong. I frown at the woman in question who still stares at her mother and brother, and realize that the hand she cradles at her abdomen is steadily dripping blood.

“Of course.” I rush forward and Emily Walker notices me for the first time. “I’m sorry,” I whisper instinctively as I reach her. “I’m sorry for intruding—please let me help you?”

A faint crease appears beneath perfectly sculpted brows and her aqua gaze tumbles to her hand. The abrupt rush of breath into her lungs tells me that she hadn’t truly noticed she was bleeding either.

“O-okay.” She nods, and allows me to gently turn over her hand. The quiet sounds of Chase comforting his mother accompanies soft, sniffling sobs, and something inside my chest cracks with the heartbreak that lives in this room, bombarding from every angle. A distinct slash of red graces the center of Emily’s palm, and I squirm internally. It brings up another memory of blood coating my own hands, beginning to crust between my fingers.

I shake it off quickly, and glance around for something to try and stem the bleeding. Unless I want to use heavy damask curtains or a throw pillow, I’m screwed for options. “Do you have a first-aid kit here?”

Emily nods, swallowing roughly. “Downstairs, in the kitchen.”

She turns and walks shakily to the door, leading me across the threshold and the black and white checkered tile, and then down a flight of stairs into the lower level where a large full-service chef’s kitchen is stationed. The tall glass doors at one end lead into a garden that looks distinctly overgrown.

“That black box on top of the refrigerator.” The woman sniffs, tugging down the hem of her workout top with her uninjured hand and seating herself of one of the molded steel chairs situated around a large wooden sleeper table.

I silently retrieve the box and flip a steel bowl lying face down on the drainer, running cold water into it from a metal faucet over the sink.

“You might need stitches, but we will clean it up and do what we can for now,” I say gently as I take a seat next to her and start pulling supplies out of the box. Gauze, wipes, bandages. “Is that okay?”

The woman nods and I’m struck by how entirely flawless she is in real life, too. You expect it on a billboard, but perhaps a small and insecure part of me hoped it’s Photoshop. No, Emily Walker boasts the same polished good looks as her brother, even if she does still look half dazed.

She nods, and I gently take her hand and sink it into the clean water. Her face crumples into a grimace as scarlet wisps dissolve into the water—thankfully I can’t see any glass in the cut. She seems to come to somewhat, giving her head a sharp little shake. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know who you are.”

I offer her a small smile. “I’m Pepper, I’m…” I pause as I gently dry her hand with some gauze, searching for the best word to use. One that doesn’t invite too many questions. “A friend.”

The woman lifts one arched eyebrow, and color floods into my cheeks. “Not that kind of friend,” I rush to correct.

For one wild moment, my brain freefalls me into what that might look like. What would it be to bed a man like Chase Walker? To have all of that laser focus pinned on me, that powerful body, those lips—holy fucking cow, what am I doing?

“Well, that’s a turn up for the books. A woman hehasn’tmanaged to bang.” She sighs, flexing slim shoulders. “Good for you. So, are you gay?”

Her big blue eyes blink at me like she hasn’t just asked an incredibly personal question to someone she met thirty seconds ago. “Not gay.” I shake my head, and then as an afterthought add, “Unfortunately.”

Life really would be simpler.

“Amen to that.” Emily lets out a low hum of agreement, some of that faraway expression returning to her gaze.

I reach for the tube of antiseptic cream and decide that I need to keep her talking, because this is going to sting like a bitch. “Are you?”

“Gay?” She snaps back into the room, her glacial blue eyes trained on me. I nod, squeezing a glob of cream onto some padded gauze. Hey, if she can ask, so can I. She twists her lips contemplatively. “I’m gay in the same way vegans eat chicken wings when they get drunk.” She lets out a snort and I choose that moment to flip the padding into the open wound, effectively pressing antiseptic into the slice. She hisses, shoulders bunched and teeth clenched.

“Sorry.” I offer her a sheepish grin and set about distracting her again while I wind the bandage around her hand. “So…predominantly a beef steak diet, but sometimes you fancy the trout?”

“Correct!” she announces loudly, a small chuckle breaking from her lips. We both hear the sound of footsteps moving upstairs at the same time, and her smile fades. She flipsher thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the stairs. “I’d better go see what’s happening.”

But before she can vacate the stool, the sound of heavy footfalls coming down them creaks old wood. Chase appears at the door, somehow having lost his suit jacket since I last saw him. The cuffs sit roughly rolled at his elbows, corded forearms sprinkled with masculine dark hair. Something about seeing him be so soft with his mother flips him up the Scoville scale. Think less bird’s eye and more Carolina Reaper. His face appears guarded.

“Do you need a doctor?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Emily waves the hand that is now bandaged to the best of my ability.

“Are you sure?” He strides over, picking up her hand and examining it intently.

The woman scoffs, rolling her eyes in a way that reminds me of Sunny. “I’m fine, will you relax? Where is Mom?”

Chase lets out a noise that could almost be aharrumph, and swipes a large hand down his face. “Upstairs for a nap—I said you would go and help her get changed.”