“It hurts.”
He combs my damp hair out of my face and then gently pulls out of me, the pain not subsiding right away. He sets my feet on the ground, and I slowly sit on the toilet seat, shaking a little.
Neither of us liked that.
“Hey, what do you need? Talk to me.” His worry grows each second I’m quiet. I must be pale too because he removes his T-shirt, soaks it in the sink, and wrings it out. He pats the cold fabric against my cheek and forehead, standing above me.
I close my eyes, the coolness calming me a bit. “I think I jinxed myself,” I whisper. “The whole time I was practically cheering about the lack of pain and regular periods…now this happens.”
“You didn’t fucking jinx yourself,” he refutes.
Just in panties and a flannel shirt, I know I need to dress but I’m hit with exhaustion. “You promise you’ll still have sex with me after this? Not today, I mean, just in the future?” I can’t read his hard features so I add, “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
He glares like that’s furthest from the truth. “I’ve never been scared of you, sweetheart. That’s not fucking changing now.”
I smile weakly. “Good.”
“Now I’m going to help you get your fucking clothes on, and then I’m going to carry you through that fucking door. How does that sound?”
I smile more. “Fucking good.”
He messes my hair and lets me hold onto his cold shirt while he collects my jeans off the ground. His back muscles ripple, especially as he jumps into his own pair of pants and zips them.
Ryke turns around and raises his brows at me. “You fucking watching me, Calloway?”
“As much as you watch me.”
He actually smiles but it fades at the sight of my panties. “Can you stand?”
I nod and do. He checks the cotton one more time, not anymore blood than there was before we had sex.
“If we were the last two people on Earth, do you think we could survive? Just you and me. No doctors around to save us.”
“Seeing you hurt in any capacity is not on the fucking agenda. Doctors or no doctors. Last people on Earth or surrounded by millions—I don’t give a fuck.” He helps me step into my jeans.
“I think that’s the most you’ve said all day.”
He flips me off.
I laugh, feeling better. I’m sore, in a different way than usual, but I’m fairly certain it’s just the chocolate cyst seeking revenge against me.
I’ll get you next time. Before you get me.
He buttons my flannel shirt while we stare into each other’s eyes. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. He kisses back and then swiftly lifts me into his arms, cradling my frame.
I press the back of my hand to my forehead and mime fainting. “How shall I ever regain consciousness again?” I outstretch my hand to his face. “Apothecary, the pois—”
He slaps my hand away, skillfully keeping me in his arms before slipping his hold beneath my knees once more.
I gasp. “You’re a horrible apothecary. That’s twice you’ve denied me a blissful end.”
“Then I’ve done my job fucking right.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, “you’re not dying while you’re with me.” Then he pushes open the door, and we come face-to-face with a guy we’ve both just met earlier today.
While I’m still firmly in Ryke’s arms, his commanding back the fuck up glower directed at this new guy says the most.
All I can think: how much did my new bodyguard hear?
RYKE MEADOWS
Price Kepler.
That’s his fucking name. I’ve kept an open mind about Daisy’s new bodyguard for the past three hours, but now that he’s physically blocking my fucking path and listening outside the fucking bathroom—not to mention I’m holding Daisy securely in my arms—I’m starting to have a major fucking problem with him.
Add in these facts:
1. Greg Calloway hired him.
2. He has slicked-back, longish light brown hair, baby-fucking-smooth face, and he sports a navy button-down paired with slacks. Clean-cut. A decent build. Nothing like me, but something Greg would fawn over in a heartbeat.
3. He’s twenty-two.
Daisy’s father hired a bodyguard close to her age. He’s five years younger than me. All day my gut said something was off about Price. He’s been hovering around Daisy like the air will infect her. Now this. I don’t believe in coincidences with that many factors.
“Is everything okay?” he asks Daisy, his gray eyes sweeping us and pinning to my wet shirt in her clutch.
“Indubitably.” Daisy offers him a smile while swinging her legs. She has a habit of cutting tension before it begins, but I’m not ready to let this guy off without questioning.
He shifts his weight. “It sounded like you were hurt in there.”
“Stomachache,” she lies with ease and touches her belly. “I ate tuna salad this morning. Bad choices, all around.”
Price finally meets my fucking glare. “It’s just my job. I’m trying to look out for her. Protect and serve.”
“She was in the fucking bathroom with me,” I say flatly, controlling my rage that simmers my veins.
“I know.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “Then what are you protecting her from? We’re on a motherfucking plane.”
Daisy says under her breath, “With motherfucking snakes.”
My brows furrow at her. What the fuck.
“Snakes on a Plane? Samuel L. Jackson?” she asks. “Nothing. Not ringing a bell for you?”
“No.”
“Oh Ryke.” She shakes her head with a widening smile.
“This movie sounds fucking horrible.”
Price says, “It’s really not good.”
Daisy gasps dramatically. “What a low blow, Price Kepler, already ragging on my movie choices. Next thing you know, you’re going to say you’ve never watched Harriet the Spy.”
“What’s that?” He turns to me for answers, but this entire exchange between them has solidified my fucking bones, and I’m ready to end it.
Daisy probably senses my annoyance because she beats me to the punch, sliding out of my arms. She sways against me for a second, and I keep a hand on her hip.
Price actually takes a step closer, which is not what Daisy fucking wants. As hard as it is for me, I willingly let go of her. She gestures to the leather seats. “I’m going to lie down for a second.”
“Cookies or chips?” I plan on grabbing her a snack before I join her later.
Her lips rise. “Both.”
I kiss the top of her head before she walks away, and when Price tries to follow, I snatch him by the back of the shirt and pull him towards me.
He straightens up, gray eyes flitting attentively between Dais and me. “I’ll get her the cookies and chips—”
“No,” I force. “That’s not part of your fucking job description.” Or is it? I have no idea what Greg Calloway told Price. Part of me feels like this is the final test. Maybe her father still doesn’t trust me as much as I thought he did.
“I’m here to help,” he says, halfway sincere, halfway pushy. “I’m a second or third pair of hands. In case you both need me.”
“That’s the thing, you have to give her some fucking space.”
He sighs like this sits uneasily with him. “I have to do my job here. I’m not going to just sit in a corner. If something happens to—”
“I don’t think we’ve properly met.” Connor Cobalt interrupts Price by sidling next to me, a glass of red wine cupped in his hand.
“Price Kepler,” he greets. His name sounds like he comes from an aristocratic family. Does no one else find this fucking strange?
I watch Price shake Connor’s hand and engage eye contact longer than most people. I run my hands through my hair, ready to fucking land already. Call Daisy’s doctor. Eliminate some stress since I can’t eliminate him.
?