As he zips up the two large packs, Ridge remarks, “This smaller bag is yours. My friend Amora donated some clothes and necessities for you. She’s probably a bit bigger than you, but they should work.”
I nod, wondering who Amora is. Is “friend” just a euphemism? Is Amora his girlfriend?
The idea that he might belong to someone else makes me crazy with an unreasonable sort of jealousy, and I bite back any desire to question him about her. I’m fragile enough without adding excess fuel to the fire.
Leaving the bags by the door, Ridge leaves the room one more time. When he comes back, he’s got a small bottle and a few white pieces of gauze in his hands. He approaches me with smooth, even steps, as if wanting to make sure he doesn’t scare me.
He doesn’t though.
He’s broad and imposing, but for some reason I’m not afraid of him, even if his presence always seems to take up the whole room.
When he reaches me, he kneels on the hardwood floor in front of me, grimacing slightly as he takes in the sight of my scraped and dirty knees. His gaze flicks up to meet mine. “I’ll clean and disinfect these, okay?”
I nod, unable to look away from the sight of this massive man kneeling before me.
Working quickly, he dabs some disinfectant on one of the gauze pads before brushing the pad over my knee. I hiss at the sting, and he freezes immediately, clenching his jaw as if it hurts him too.
He looks up at me again. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “It just stings a little. I’ve felt worse.”
I shouldn’t have said that. His gaze drops to the scars crisscrossing my bare legs beneath the oversized shorts, and he clenches the gauze pad so tightly that little drops of disinfectant drip from the bottom of his closed fist.
His tension makes my skin prickle, so to distract him, I ask, “Is he really your brother? Lawson?”
The anger in his expression doesn’t go away, but it morphs into a new kind as he shakes his head with a grunt. “Yes. Really. Unfortunately.”
“He’s kind of an asshole.”
I feel safe saying this, considering I’m pretty sure Ridge already knows it. And he proves me right when he laughs humorlessly.
“Yes. That he is.” His features soften a little as he starts swiping gently at my skin
with the wet pad again. “I’m sorry for what he did. He’ll pay for it, I promise you that. And I won’t let him touch you ever again.”
The truth in his words sends a little shiver up my spine—a mixture of fear and something else I can’t quite name. He means it.
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I let silence fall between us as he continues cleaning up the little scrapes on my knees. His big hands are surprisingly careful as he dabs the disinfectant over each little tear in my skin.
When he’s done, he sets everything on the coffee table beside the couch before looking up at me, his big palms resting on my thighs just above the knee. He gives a soft squeeze, and I feel one corner of my lips tilt up into a smile.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Of course.”
He gazes up at me for another long moment before he finally moves. Sitting beside me on the cushions, he slides a finger beneath my chin and tilts my face up toward his.
“You don’t have to do this.” His gruff voice is gentle, and his gaze sweeps my face as if he can see right through me.
Hell, maybe he can. From the moment I woke up here, he’s been able to sense my fear, my panic, and calm me down. Now, I’m sure he can clearly sense my thoughts and just how stressed I am over this extremely odd situation. Like every other action he’s taken in my presence, his statement is one more way in which he seems determined to protect me.
Warmth unfurls inside me, and I lean into his touch. His protection feels like a force-field, cutting me off from the storm brewing inside me. I focus on the heat of his finger on my chin, way too aware of his closeness and his breath not far from my lips.
I could take him up on this offer. Back out now. But there’s something in me that can’t do it. Instead of my usual instinctual need to flee, I want to stay right here forever with his finger on my skin and his warmth radiating over me. As long as he’s there to comfort me, I’ll be all right.
“Thank you. But I’m going,” I say resolutely. “I—I want to.”
The tension in his forehead melts away, and the corners of his lips turn up, making his ruggedly handsome face even more beautiful. “Good. I’m glad.”