“What’s terrible?”
“Having you so close and not being able to do anything about it.”
He laughs. “It’s good for us. Forces us to get to know each other even better instead of always getting naked.”
“Maybe I like getting naked.”
“Oh, I love getting naked with you, Sus. But not right now, not with your ribs and your arm and all that.” He waves a hand at me, indicating…all of me. “You’re packed in bubble wrap right now. A delicate little flower, too fragile to touch.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell him, reaching out to touch his bicep. It’s rock hard and warm and oh my God, I’ve missed him tremendously.
“You gotta stop touching me,” he says.
“My hand is just on your arm,” I say, letting go of him.
“Yeah, but it drives me out of my mind. And I’m trying to concentrate on the road and scared I might jump over to the other side. You Brits got it all ass backwards,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Um, I’ll have you know we were here first, and you Americans ran away from us, so you’re the ones who drive on the wrong side of the road,” I point out.
“Whatever.” He shakes his head and I sock him on the arm, unable to resist. “Didn’t I tell you not to touch me?”
“Am I really that much of a distraction?”
“Yeah, you are. First you’ll touch my arm. Then you’ll touch other body parts, and the next thing I know, you got your hand in my pants and your fingers wrapped around my junk and that just won’t work. I’ll crash the car, you’ll get into another accident and might hurt yourself even more. It’ll be all my fault, and your parents will hate me forever,” he explains.
Hmm. He really does have a point. “You might be right.”
“I know I’m right. You should take a nap.”
He did grab that hospital blanket for me before we left the room. It’s not the coziest thing—it’s kind of stiff, a little scratchy, but at least it’s something to keep me warm. I tug it farther up so it covers my chest, and snuggle into my seat. “This car is comfortable.”
“Nothing but the best for my girl,” he says, making me smile.
I close my eyes, appreciating the smooth ride. My car may be a Mercedes, but it’s old, and it’s low to the ground, so it’s not that comfortable. This Range Rover, though, is a luxury ride through and through.
“You sleepy, baby?” his deep voice asks me a few minutes later.
I nod. “Mmmhmm.”
“Get some rest. You’ll wake up and we’ll be at your place in no time,” he encourages, his voice sounding distant…
My eyes slowly open to find Cannon hovering above me, reaching across my lap to undo the seatbelt. “Home sweet home,” he says, his voice soft just before he dips his head and kisses me.
A girl could get used to treatment like this.
“I’d carry you up to your apartment, but with my knee, I can’t.” He makes an apologetic face. “I hope you can walk up.”
“Of course I can.” It’ll be a slow go, but I’ve got this.
“I’ll help you,” he offers, and I smile and say I’ll be fine, but really I’ll probably need whatever help he can give me.
I wasn’t exaggerating with the slow go. Between both of our injuries and trying to carry our bags and the vase full of roses, we’re kind of a mess. And I only live on the third floor.
But that’s the third floor, people, so it’s quite the journey.
“I should’ve got us a hotel room,” Cannon grumbles when we finally make it to my door. The hallway is so narrow, he’s practically pressed up against me, and I really hope none of my noisy neighbors pop out of their doorways and start asking questions.
Luckily enough, most everyone is away at work, so no one will disturb us when I finally get the door unlocked and we both stagger inside my dark flat. I go to the window that faces the street and crack open the blinds, then hobble into the tiny kitchen and light a candle to take away the dank, damp smell that permeates the place.