Fever (Breathless #2)

Fever (Breathless #2) Page 11

She blinked in surprise when she realized that there was a change of clothes lying on the counter that hadn’t been there before. And a thick robe hanging on the back of the door. There was also a pair of slippers. The man had thought of everything.

Her gaze tracked to the clothes again and she frowned. Like he kept women’s clothing just lying around his apartment?

She picked up the pair of jeans and the T-shirt and quickly saw that both were too big. Not by much, and truthfully, a year or so ago they would have fit. She hadn’t been as thin then. Not as lean. More fleshed out. She’d had more of an actual shape.

Now she was reduced to boobs and not much else. No hips. Not much of an ass. Angular features due to weight loss. Life on the streets was hard. It aged a person before their time.

After taking the time to dry herself completely, she pulled on the pair of panties stuck between the jeans and the T-shirt, embarrassed that she was borrowing some other woman’s underwear. There wasn’t a bra, and she supposed it didn’t really matter anyway. She only had two and both were almost falling apart. The one she’d taken off—or rather Jace had taken off—was dirty and torn. It wasn’t salvageable.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already gotten up close and personal with her boobs. Seeing her without a bra wouldn’t be a shock.

She tugged the T-shirt over her head and it hung loosely over her hips. It didn’t even stretch tight over her breasts, which meant whoever the shirt belonged to was more endowed than she was.

After pulling on the jeans, she took the towel off her head and dragged her fingers through her hair in an attempt to rectify the bedraggled wet-cat look. She was only moderately successful and she wasn’t about to rummage through Jace’s drawers to borrow a brush.

She blew out a deep breath, squared her shoulders and then turned to the door. She hesitated, her hand gripping the knob. Total chicken. The idea of facing Jace terrified her. Not because she thought he’d hurt her but because she knew she didn’t stand a chance against him.

Worse, she wasn’t certain she wanted to stand up to him. It was far easier to allow him to take charge. Being taken care of was such a foreign concept that it tempted her. It dangled before her like the proverbial carrot before the donkey.

She jumped when the door vibrated against her hand.

“Bethany? Are you finished?”

Swallowing, she opened the door to see Jace standing a few feet away. He glanced down her body and frowned.

“I need you to take those jeans back off. I was supposed to bandage you up before you got dressed.”

“I forgot,” she said in a low voice. “I assumed since you left the clothing there that you intended for me to get dressed.”

“Not a big deal. Come into the living room. We’ll do it there.”

He reached out his hand to cup her elbow and then he guided her out of the bathroom, back through his bedroom and then into the sprawling living room.

He had a truly spectacular view of the city with panoramic windows.

“Slip out of your jeans,” he said. “Then get comfortable on the couch. Dinner is just about ready. By the time I get you all fixed up, we can eat.”

Knowing it was useless to argue, she unfastened the pants and let them fall down her legs.

“I know they’re too big,” Jace said as she kicked them away. He reached for her hand and pulled her down to sit next to him. “We’ll go tomorrow and get what you need. The very first thing you’re getting is a damn coat. It’s freezing out there and you’ve been running all over this damn city without proper clothing. That shit stops now.”

There was steel in his tone and yet some of the deeply entrenched cold began to dissipate at the edge of concern in his voice. He spoke like a man who genuinely cared about her well-being.

She mentally shook herself because that kind of fantasy was dangerous territory. She’d learned the hard way that she could rely on absolutely no one but herself to take care of her. And even she had let herself down. Just like all the others.

He leaned toward the coffee table, where a small first-aid kit rested. There was a long moment of silence while he applied ointment to each and every scrape and then affixed gauze and tape on the large ones and put large Band-Aids on the smaller cuts.

Before she realized his intent, he pushed her back on the couch and lifted her T-shirt.

“I don’t have any cuts there!” she cried when his hand skimmed over her belly.

His expression was murderous as he lifted his gaze to hers. “No, but you have bruises. What the fuck happened out there, Bethany? Who did this to you?”

He sounded so pissed that she flinched from the anger in his voice. It was instinctive to withdraw. Self-preservation.

A low hiss escaped his tight lips. “Goddamn it, Bethany, I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you. But I want to know what son of a bitch did.”

“Y-you s-sound so a-angry.”

“Hell yes. I’m furious! But not at you, baby.” His voice softened as he called her baby, and something inside her went soft as well. “I’m pissed at the bastard who put his hands on you. And you’re going to tell me exactly how this happened.”

She went pale and her eyes widened.

Then, when she hadn’t thought he could do anything else to surprise her, he leaned over her and lowered his head to her ribs. He pressed a kiss to each and every bruise, his mouth so tender she barely felt the pressure.

Dear God, how was she ever going to resist this man?

“Do you need something for pain?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Just hungry.”

He immediately lifted his head, his mouth tightening once more. “How long has it been since you ate? And don’t lie to me.”

She swallowed hard, but she didn’t lie. “Three days.”

“Son of a bitch!”

His jaw bulged and he turned away as if collecting himself before he faced her again. When he did return his gaze, there was fire in his eyes and he still looked as if he’d explode at any second.

“You have to give me a minute,” he muttered.

He visibly inhaled and exhaled through his nose before finally rising from the couch. He put his hand down, palm up, waiting for her to take it and get up too. When she let him help her stand, he reached down to snag her jeans. Then he guided her hand to his arm and told her to hang on while she put her feet through the pants legs.

After he fastened the fly, he took her hand and guided her into the kitchen. The entire apartment was an open concept with one room flowing into the next. The dining room, or rather dining area, was in front of the kitchen and off the living room to the side. There was an island-bar combination, which enabled whoever was cooking to see into the dining room as well as the living room.

He lifted her onto the high-backed bar stool and then walked around to the stove top, where three different skillets were simmering. She watched with interest while he drained pasta and then tossed it into the skillet with the sauce. He gave it an expert twist, and added seasoning before serving two plates. Lastly, he speared a chicken breast, which had been sautéing in the last pan and sliced it into thin pieces before arranging it over the pasta.

“Voilà,” he pronounced as he handed it over the bar to her.

“I’m impressed,” she said sincerely. “It looks and smells wonderful. I wouldn’t have thought you cooked.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Why not?”

She felt heat bloom in her cheeks. “I don’t see a lot of wealthy, eligible bachelors cooking for themselves.”

He laughed. “I raised my younger sister and at the time we couldn’t afford to eat out or pay someone else to do the cooking. I was just a poor college student trying to survive.”

“Where were your parents?”

His eyes flickered. “They were killed in a car accident when Mia was six years old.”

Bethany frowned in concentration. “You must be quite a bit older than her then if you were already in college.”

“Fourteen years,” he confirmed. “She was an ‘oops’ baby, born when my mother was in her forties. She had me quite young and they thought they were through.”

“It’s pretty cool that you raised your sister,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “Not much else to do. I wasn’t going to abandon her. I’m the only family she has.”

He walked around, holding his own plate and then sat beside her on the next stool. He glanced over to see she hadn’t even taken a bite and he frowned. “Eat, Bethany.”

She dug her fork into the succulent-looking pasta and inhaled as she raised the bite to her lips. It smelled divine.

When it hit her tongue, she closed her eyes and sighed.

“Good?”

“Delicious,” she said.

He suddenly got up and she saw him go around and get two glasses that were out on the counter. He placed a glass of orange juice in front of her and she went soft. He’d remembered that she’d asked for orange juice last time.

She savored every bite, every sip until she was beyond full. Pushing the plate away, she gave a contented sigh. “Thank you, Jace. That was wonderful.”

He stared at her for a long, silent moment. “I like the way you say my name.”

Her brows furrowed. What was she supposed to say to that?

Knowing they had a lot to talk about—she absolutely had to tell him that she wasn’t moving into his sister’s apartment!—she wrapped her fingers nervously around each other and peeked up at Jace.

“Jace?” she said softly. “We need to talk.”

He nodded, his lips pressed firmly together. “Bet your ass we do. Let’s go back into the living room. I have questions I still don’t have answers to.”

She blinked and then drew her brows together. Before she could tell him that she was the one planning to do the talking, he urged her up from her chair and put a firm hand on her back to guide her into the living room.

After parking her on the couch, he turned on the fireplace. She sighed as the flames licked upward. It gave the room such a homey feel, and then she shook her head at the absurdity of that thought. What would she know about a home? Home was what you made it, and she and Jack had made home out of some pretty barren places.

Bleakly, she thought back to the places, or rather nooks, they’d made home over the years. In a few cases, she’d been fortunate to land a job for an extended period and they’d actually gotten to live in a shabby efficiency motel. It hadn’t been much, but she’d been delighted to have a permanent residence and not one they had to move in and out of based on occupancy.

“What are you shaking your head about?” Jace asked with a frown.

She looked up to see that he’d slid onto the couch beside her. He was close—within touching distance—and his heat and scent wrapped around her, warming her from the inside out.

Without thinking of the consequences, she was instinctively honest.

“I thought the fire made the room seem so homey, and then I realized how ridiculous the thought was since I know nothing about what makes a home.”

She heard the sadness in her voice before she realized it was there. Instantly she bit her lip, knowing she shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Jace looked as though someone had punched him in the face. Then he bit out another swear. It was long and vicious and it sent a chill skittering up her spine.

She flinched when he reached out to touch her cheek and then he dropped his hand down to her waist, where the shirt covered the bruises. He found the spot that ached the most, however, and cupped his palm over it.

“Who did this to you, Bethany? What the fuck happened out there? And don’t lie to me. I want the whole bloody truth.”

She sucked in her breath, her eyes wide. She couldn’t tell him. How could she? He’d toss her out so fast her head would spin. But wasn’t that what she wanted? To be able to go? He couldn’t very well keep her. But even as she thought it, she had doubts. He seemed so . . . determined.

Jace was staring hard at her, silent and expectant. He wasn’t going to let her out of this.

“I can’t tell you that,” she said in a choked voice. “Please don’t ask me, Jace.”

His lips thinned even further and anger glittered in his eyes.

“Let’s get a few things straight, okay? I already know a lot about you. You’re homeless. You have a prior drug possession charge. You haven’t eaten in three days. You have no money. No place to sleep and someone out there put their fucking hands on you.”

All the blood drained out of her face. Her stomach knotted viciously and shame crawled over her shoulders and seized her by the throat. She gave him a stricken look, her humiliation so keen that she wanted to cry.

Jace moved his hand from her abdomen up to cup her cheek. He brushed his thumb tenderly over her cheekbone, his gaze softening as he took in her horror.

“Bethany,” he said in a quiet voice. “I knew all this before I came for you. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”