Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You stole four hundred million dollars in cash?!”
“No, that would be ridiculous. I stole four hundred million dollars in gold.”
I blinked at him. “That’s why you’re in here?”
His lips twisted and he looked mock-thoughtful. “There were some paintings. A vase. Some jewels. But I’m pretty sure they were mostly annoyed about the gold.”
Suddenly, it all made sense. That fierce intelligence, combined with the hard body, the scars and the cocky charm. What else would he be but a professional thief? Gabriel Kain was the gorgeous highwayman who stole your purse and left your panties wet.
“I didn’t know they put thieves in maximum security,” I said weakly.
“They don’t. But I escaped from the first three places.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “The Lidocaine should have worked by now,” I said. I circled my finger on his abdomen, trying not to think about how good his warm skin felt through my glove. “Can you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
I carefully cleaned the wound, then picked up the needle and suture and began to stitch. Meanwhile, my mind was racing. A thief. Now I understood that badness, that scheming, cunning wickedness that rolled off him in waves. He was a man you could never, ever trust.
Or at least…that’s what he wanted everyone to think. I glanced up at him and saw him grinning down at me. He liked that reputation. He wore it proudly. But…
“The other guy,” I said casually. “The one you were brought in with. He’s going to be okay.”
He nodded, still grinning.
“He told me it wasn’t you who beat him up. He said you saved him.”
His grin crumbled and, for once, he broke eye contact with me. “It was in my interest,” he said. “Someone gets killed, more guards get put on and that’s a pain in the ass for all of us.”
“You sure that was the only reason?”
He still wouldn’t look at me. But I wouldn’t back down: I waited in silence until, finally, he had to look. We locked eyes and, for just a moment, his cockiness was gone. “Don’t make me into something I’m not,” he warned. He looked away again but it didn’t matter: I had my answer.
A few moments later, I tied off my last stitch. “All done,” I told him.
He nodded and gave me a wolfish smile: his confidence was back. Then he looked down at his wound. “It’s so neat,” he said. “The edges are perfect.”
“Well, I didn’t want you to scar.” It was just what I’d do with any patient. But Gabriel looked at me in shock, as if it was a long time since someone had done something caring for him.
I dressed the wound and then stood up. “One more thing. You need a shot of antibiotics. Whatever they cut you with, I doubt it was sterile. Stand up, please.”
He got to his feet. I’m not short but he was taller than me by a full six inches. We’d somehow wound up only a foot or so apart and with him topless, there was suddenly a wall of hard muscle right in front of my face.
I swallowed. “Um. It has to go into a big muscle.”
He grinned and flexed his chest, his biceps. Smooth caramel perfection, so close I could feel the warmth coming off his body.
I knew he was playing with me. He’d had antibiotic shots before. “An even bigger muscle,” I told him. “Turn around and drop the jumpsuit, please.”
His grin grew wider. He turned his back, shook the jumpsuit down around his hips, hooked his thumbs into his boxers—
With one quick push, his clothes were in a tangle around his feet and he was naked in front of me. He looked back over his shoulder at me, still grinning, utterly at ease. I cleared my throat and tried to be coldly professional. I’d seen plenty of male patients in the nude before. But…none of them had that broad, powerful back that led down in a perfect vee to a tight waist. None of them had an ass like that, the cheeks hard and dimpled, or the thickly muscled thighs. And then, as I leaned around him to pick up the syringe, I caught a glimpse of what was swinging between those thighs, and I felt my face go beet-red.
I quickly swabbed his ass cheek with an alcohol swab. “Little prick,” I warned.
He grinned. “Now Doc…we both know that ain’t true.”
We stared into each other’s eyes for one, two, three breaths…then I jabbed the needle into his ass cheek and pressed the plunger. “You’re done,” I said, stepping back.
He started to dress. While I waited for my face to cool, I looked at his tattoos. I could see them better now, and they weren’t vines, exactly. They were more like rose stems, covered in thorns. They grew from his upper back and the ink looked older there, soft-edged and faded. It got newer and sharper as the stems encircled his shoulders and biceps. I walked around to the side so that I could see the tattoos on his arms, the more traditional ones. Before, I’d thought the stems connected them together, but now…it looked more like the thorny plant was choking them, swallowing them up until you could barely see them.