Page 40 of Damaged Protector
The lines around his eyes relaxed, and I noticed for the first time that his irises weren’t black like I’d originally thought. They were the darkest of browns, like one of those fancy chocolate bars with eighty-five percent cocoa.
“I’m fine, Mal. Definitely not the worst this body has ever seen.”
“Did you even clean the wounds?” The scowl on his face gave me my answer. “You’re going to get an infection, and then your legs will fall off. Is that what you want?”
“Why, yes. That’s my dream,” he said, releasing my shoulders.
“Great, and when I’m a physical therapist, I can help you learn to use your prosthetic legs,” I said with an equal amount of sarcasm. Crossing my arms over my chest, I bobbed my head toward one of the tall beige bar stools. “Sit. Where’s your first aid stuff?”
“That’s really not necess—”
“Sit!” I barked, jabbing him in the chest with my index finger. Damn, it’s like poking a boulder.
He huffed out an exasperated sigh but did as I asked. “There’s some first aid stuff in the cabinet beneath the sink in my bathroom,” he grunted before mumbling under his breath. “Stubborn-ass woman.”
“I heard that,” I sang on the way out of the kitchen.
“I meant for you to,” he sang back.
Hawk’s bedroom was two doors down from mine, and I hesitated at the closed door before cautiously turning the knob and pushing it open. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
The bedding was a creamy ivory that popped against steel-gray walls. His destroyed khaki pants were tossed over a chair, but the room was otherwise tidy.
Though he’d been nothing but nice to me, Hawk radiated an almost palpable darkness. But this space looked… normal, the only dark spot being a black door in the center of the wall on the right.
That must lead to what the other women called the Den of Sin. Curiosity made me want to look inside, but an innate sense of self-preservation told me not to. Instead, I approached a white barn door on the opposite wall and slid it open.
My nostrils flared as I was overwhelmed by the delicious scent of something masculine. Dark-green bottles of expensive-looking shampoo and body wash were lined neatly on an inset shelf in the walk-in shower, and I assumed they were the culprits.
The huge shower tiles were a deep Prussian blue, the brushed nickel trim a stark contrast. A matching soaking tub was set into an alcove beneath an arched window, and I had the urge to dive in. It was certainly big enough.
Turning my attention to the cabinet beneath the sink, I quickly located a rectangular plastic tote with a mish mash of medical supplies. After grabbing a dark-gray washcloth, I headed back to the kitchen to find Hawk peeking into the oven.
“Back on the stool, please,” I said, turning on the hot water and wetting the cloth.
“Why are you such a bossy little thing?” he asked, trudging back to his seat.
I kneeled on the floor in front of him and began cleaning his wounds with the warm washcloth. Hawk’s hands clenched the padded edge of the stool, and I glanced up to find him staring across the room, a pinched look of discomfort on his face.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No,” he said shortly. Unsure why he was acting so weird, I decided to try and get him talking.
“Who did you have to tackle?”
“We were protecting a movie star this afternoon, and an overzealous fan put his hands on her while she was moving to another shooting location down the block. Got a little aggressive and grabbed her hair, the asshole.”
My curiosity was piqued. “Which movie star?”
Hawk stared at the kitchen timer, still not looking at me. “Calista Jones.”
“Ooh, I love her. She’s such a badass,” I said, dabbing his scrapes with antiseptic.
“She’s a nice lady too. We’ve dealt with some pompous asses in our line of work, but she’s one of the good ones.”
“Who else have you protected?”
He filled me in on some of the famous folks they’d dealt with, adding funny anecdotes on a few of them as I finished cleaning his knees and dabbing on antibiotic ointment.