“Because I saw you. You drank three drinks after I arrived and I’m guessing at least one before I spotted you in the corner with your friends. One of them should have stayed to see you home.”
The censure lacing his voice was unfair to Alan since he had offered to come back to her apartment, but she was too pleased he had noticed her to argue with him. He kept hold of her hand as they returned to the bar. Even in heels, Leslie’s head only came to those wide shoulders, his towering height making her appear shorter than five foot six. She always did prefer big men, like the Masters at the club. Her throat tightened as she thought of them again, and their recent commitments. Staying away these past weeks failed to put what was missing, and always would be, from her life out of her mind.
“Okay, let’s get you home.”
Leslie shook her head, trying to clear the fog as she watched him return his wallet to his back pocket after speaking with the bartender, figuring he’d shown proof of his identity.
“So, you two decided I was safe with you, is that it?” The breathless catch in her voice could have been attributed to the quick tug on her hand and the spinning room as he led her back outside, but she knew that wasn’t it. The submissive part of her psyche reveled in his take charge manner, just as she knew come morning and sobriety she would likely regret her actions tonight.
“Since I already know you’re safe with me, I was hoping to ease your mind.” He looked at her as he opened the passenger door to the massive truck she had bumped into earlier. “But I can see the extra step I just took was unnecessary. You should be more cautious, sweetheart. Up you go.” Grasping her waist, he lifted her onto the seat, her hands gripping his shoulders to keep her balance, his warm breath now fanning her face.
“You just said I was safe with you,” she whispered, wishing he would use that tempting mouth to shut her up.
Instead, he tightened his hands and exasperation colored his tone as he drawled, “Turn around and give me your address.”
Leslie settled on the wide leather seat, leaned her head back and closed her eyes against her blurred vision, rattling off her address on a sigh.
Responsibility. That word had been drilled into Kurt Wilcox’s head his entire life. It was why he found himself moving back to Montana after an eight-year absence and why an inebriated woman he didn’t know, sporting a bruised cheek was sitting in his truck. He didn’t like seeing her face swollen from a would-be mugger’s hit any more than he could sit back and do nothing when he’d spotted her leaving the bar in an obvious effort to hide her looped condition. At least taking the time to perform this good deed offered one benefit; it delayed his return to the family ranch and the father he was not looking forward to sparring with again. Eight years wasn’t long enough to put aside the hurtful accusations he’d finally tired of hearing and had walked away from.
Kurt slid his gaze toward the attractive blonde, glad her eyes were closed, hiding the shadows of desperation in their blue depths. What self-respecting Master wasn’t a sucker for a woman in distress and didn’t want to see to her emotional and physical needs? Just because she tugged on his dominant urges didn’t mean she would welcome his control or anything else though. Besides, he was seeing her safely home, not planning to stay for a one-night-stand, something he hadn’t indulged in since college.
Pulling into the apartment complex just a few blocks from the bar, he cut the engine and nudged her shoulder, eager now to be on his way. No sense in adding complications to his return. There were already enough to overcome as it stood. “Wake up and tell me which apartment is yours.”
She moaned, the throaty purr going straight to his cock as she stretched and arched her back. The soft blue dress cinched around the waist with a narrow belt pulled over the soft, round shape of her breasts, her nipples peaking as he watched. He whipped his eyes up to her face to see hers opening wide, the indefinable need reflected in the blue depths almost painful to see.
“Your apartment number,” he reminded her in a gruff tone.
She looked around as if confused before nodding and pointing out the window. “That one, third from the end.”
“I’ll see you to your door.” Kurt came around to the passenger side and lifted her down, stepping back before she could lean against him. Gripping her elbow, he gritted his teeth when she weaved alongside him as they strode up the sidewalk. He’d taken the time to stop at the bar to delay his long overdue return, but if the hour grew much later, that delay would extend until morning and give the old man one more thing to take him to task for.
But when she opened the door and then hesitated before entering to look up at him with a desolate expression, Kurt refused to leave until he ensured she would be all right, his father’s expectations be damned.
“Will… will you come in? Please?”
The whispered plea tugged on his conscience even as he was tempted to lecture her about inviting strangers into her home. “Not a good idea, sweetheart, but yes, I will, just long enough to help you put something on your cheek.”
“I know, but sometimes doing the
right thing isn’t always the best thing either.”
She turned her face away before he could gauge her meaning. Pressing a hand to her lower back, he nudged her inside, asking, “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
Flipping on a light switch, she shook her head, tossing her purse toward a chair where it bounced and fell to the floor. “No.” She kicked off her shoes and then stubbed her toe against an end table next to a small sofa. “Ow, shit!”
“Sit down before you bruise yourself again.” Grasping her shoulders, he pushed her onto the sofa with a scowl. “What’s your name?”
“Why?” The belligerence behind the suspicion etched on her face amused him.
“I have a newsflash for you. You won’t be any safer now that I’m here by withholding your first name.” Kurt saw the moment the lightbulb went off in her head.
“I guess you’re right. It’s Leslie.” She tried to smile and winced, reaching up to cradle her hand against her puffy cheek.
“I’m Kurt. Do you have an ice pack in the freezer?” He pivoted and took the four steps to the small refrigerator, noticing the sparseness of her living area extended into the compact kitchen.
“No, at least, I don’t think so.”
Leslie’s cute frown tickled him. As far as drunks go, she was pretty easy to tolerate and talk to. “Never mind, this bag of frozen peas will work just as good.” Returning to the sofa, he sat next to her and held the cold vegetable bag against the darkening bruise forming on her face. She flinched but still leaned into him, her eyes conveying an open invitation he was having trouble ignoring the longer he stayed.