Wicked as Sin (Wicked & Devoted 1)

So he’d started an exercise regimen, first walking, then running on his treadmill. Push-ups, pull-ups, biceps and triceps curls, planks—he pushed his body to the limit of the doctor’s advice…and a little bit beyond—working harder every day. He’d also talked Josiah and Trees into giving him rides to the shooting range. He wanted to go back to work, so he had to stay sharp.

After all, he had a vendetta to settle.

“Got busy.”

“Did you nap?”

“No.” He’d resisted the urge, because once he resumed work, the bad guys weren’t going to let him curl up with a blankie in the corner and check out for a couple of hours. And if he got tired enough, maybe he’d finally sleep a whole fucking night without waking up in a cold sweat.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you work out again?”

Last Friday, she’d had a midday cancellation and dropped by to check on him, only to find him in his home gym pulling up on the bar attached to the door. She’d taken one look at him shirtless and dripping in sweat, swallowed hard, then blessed him out.

“Want me to lie to you?”

“Never.” She sighed and started the blender. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d give you a tongue lashing.”

“It won’t.” But he knew what he’d like her to do with that tongue.

She checked the consistency of his dinner, then, seemingly satisfied, poured it into the big plastic cup with its accompanying straw and handed it to him. “Is there anything the home nurse helped you with that you can’t do yourself?”

“A shower.”

Brea stilled before her stare drifted back to him. She studied him—up his legs, his abs, his chest…all the way to his face. Vaguely, One-Mile wondered whether she’d noticed behind his denim that he was hard as hell for her.

He sent her a lazy smile. “That a problem? You’ve already seen it all.”

“Um…no problem.”

Her breathless reply gave him hope. Despite his injuries, the passing of nearly two months, and however Cutter had fucking touched her, he still got to Brea. She hadn’t forgotten the night she’d spent in his bed. It was all over her face.

“How can I help?” she asked.

Such a deliciously open-ended question. He almost hated to take advantage of her sweetness. He felt a teensy bit bad about trying to tempt her to cheat on her boyfriend again.

But not enough to stop.

He shrugged. “Pretty much everything. If I lose my balance and hit my head…”

“Oh…” She paled as if that possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “That would be horrible.”

“The neurologist said another concussion this soon could take me back to square one.”

That was the truth. Not being able to shower without help…not so much. He’d been doing that for nearly three weeks. But if it took showing some skin to break down the walls between them, he was all for flashing her a full monty.

“O-okay.” She nodded like she was working up her courage. “You drink your dinner. I’ll, um…”

Busy yourself so you don’t think too hard about seeing me naked? “You’ll what?”

After a comically long moment, she sent him a stilted smile. “Find you some clean clothes. Maybe I’ll change your sheets while I’m up there, too.”

Perfect. “I’ll be there in a few.”

With a nod, she disappeared upstairs. Yeah, he felt a little guilty for stretching the truth. But he couldn’t stand the bland politeness between them. If he wanted to know how she felt about him, he had to bust them out of it.

He also wondered how she would react to a body covered with a whole new litany of scars. His hair had grown back enough to disguise the ones on his scalp and the last of the yellowish bruising flaring from his temple, over his jaw. The bruising on his shoulder had almost healed. The tube they’d shoved between his ribs to help reinflate his lung was long gone, replaced by a red, puckered reminder. His back was still a network of scabs and discolorations. He’d never been anyone’s definition of pretty, not with eyes like black holes, a long nose, and an aggressive jaw. Now he probably looked downright scary.

But so far Brea didn’t seem afraid. He was calling that a win.

He did his best to slurp down dinner, then tiptoed upstairs. He found her in his bedroom being industrious and leaned against the doorjamb to watch her bend to tuck his sheets in place. Goddamn, she looked juicy, her hips seemingly a little rounder, her ass a little riper.

Fuck, he’d do anything to lay her across his mattress and muss up everything she’d just arranged.

“Need help?” he asked.

She turned, clearly startled. “No. Almost done.”

One-Mile waited patiently while he enjoyed the view. She kept stealing clandestine glances at him. Did she want to know what he was thinking? Was she imagining him naked? Probably not, but a guy could dream.