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“Morning.” Blaze’s voice is gruff. But instead of moving away from me, his arm tightens around my waist. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. But I’ll be okay.”
I feel Blaze’s hand in my hair, gently pushing it to the side and inspecting the cut on the back of my head. My doctor said it wasn’t too deep, but it still stings.
Blaze sits up, and a wave of disappointment floods me at the loss of his warmth. But then his arms are snaking under me, and he’s pulling me into his lap. His eyes rake over my skin, taking in every cut and bruise. When his jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, I look away.
Here it comes.
Ever since he stormed into my house last night, I’ve been waiting for the lecture. You should’ve told us David threatened you. You can’t be this reckless.
It’s nothing I haven’t already told myself over the past twelve hours, although I highly doubt that’ll stop Blaze.
But the lecture doesn’t come. Instead, I feel his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. Then he kisses my jawbone lightly, mumbling, “I’m glad you’re safe, Brooke.”
I relax into him. “Thank you. For last night.”
His knuckles brush against the bare skin of my arm.
One more minute. One more minute like this. Then I’ll get up.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs, and my heart stutters at the vulnerability in his voice.
I shiver when his lips graze my cheek. Then he presses his face into my neck, inhaling deeply. My heart aches with want, but it’s too much.
I can’t do this. I can’t be close to him like this.
“Please don’t.” I crawl off his lap, wincing when I put too much weight on the wrist that David twisted yesterday.
“You didn’t tell your doctor you hurt your wrist.” His jaw is tight, his eyes filled with fiery anger. “You didn’t tell me, either.”
I flinch at the hardness of his tone. So much for being back to the way things used to be. “I was having trouble thinking straight. Concussion, remember?”
He scowls.
I slip off the bed, bending down to snatch yesterday’s clothes from the floor. When I straighten, my head feels too light. I sway.
Blaze moves to me, but I hold up my hand, leaning against my dresser.
“I’m fine,” I snap, although it comes out much weaker than I meant.
As I finish getting my clothes—more slowly, this time—Blaze watches me carefully. I feel like I can’t breathe until I lock myself in the bathroom.
The dull pain in my skull has turned into a full-blown, pounding headache. When I look at myself in the mirror, I wince. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot. And paired with the dark circles under them, I look like death.
Not to mention the bruises on my thigh and knees. No wonder Blaze looked so scared last night.
I reach up and press my fingers to the sensitive skin around the cut on my head. I can’t see it, but it still hurts like hell.
Sighing, I get ready for the day, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. When I come out, Blaze is sitting on the bed, still shirtless but thankfully wearing his jeans.
Why did I think it would be a good idea to let him share my bed? I was scared last night, but still. We need to stay as far away from each other as we can.
Besides, when he’s not treating me like he used to, the man acts like hates me. And maybe I deserve it—I’m the one who pushed him away first.
“You done staring?”
I snap back to attention. Blaze is giving me a smirk, leaning back on his elbows. My mind goes straight to the gutter. What would it feel like to straddle his hips? To ride him while he sat back and watched like that?
