After getting out of the cab, Ryske put his arm around her again. Instead of shrugging it off, Harlow took his forearm in both hands and pulled it further around her body, nestling it between her breasts. It wasn’t like he’d be explicit about asking for support; all she could do was assume that he needed it.
Guiding him up the stairs and into her apartment, she worried about why he was being quiet, fearing he could be in pain. Turned out, she was worrying for nothing because he was full of confidence from the moment they stepped over her threshold.
Ryske boosted her forward out of his way so he could close the front door and plucked the keys right out of her hand. Forging ahead, flicking on lights as he went like he’d made himself at home there a dozen times, he checked the kitchen and closet. Having no idea what he was looking for, Harlow stayed by the door, just watching him, waiting for his curiosity to be satisfied.
Once he was done with his inspection, Ryske came over and linked their fingers. The man had purpose, she couldn’t deny that. His grip was sure and strong as he pulled her past the breakfast bar and into the living room. Much to her relief, he ignored her messy corner desk, and kept on going to stop by the open arch that led to her bedroom.
Well, what had been her bedroom. She’d have to give it up to the patient who’d been thrust upon her. Caring for Ryske for the remainder of his recuperation was a huge responsibility that she hadn’t expected to shoulder.
Ryske scanned the living room, but she didn’t let him loiter. He’d been on his feet for too long already. Squeezing his hand tighter, she swiped aside the beaded curtain of transparent crystal beads that covered the arch to lead him to the bed. Pushing him down, she wanted him to rest.
Ryske didn’t interpret her actions that way. “Love a woman who knows what she wants.”
Her sense of humor was dormant. Adrenaline was still too potent in her bloodstream for her to relax enough to joke. This might be run of the mill for him, but Harlow needed some time to calm down and get herself together.
“Good, then you won’t mind stripping for me,” she said, sitting on the end of the bed to check what supplies Bale had packed into the med bag.
“I’ve been waiting all week for you to ask, Trink,” he said, kicking off his sneakers and wasting no time stripping to the waist.
All week, he’d proved time and again that he had no modesty. The moment his tee-shirt hit the floor, he raised his hips to drive his thumbs into the waistband of his pants.
As soon as she saw his thumbs disappearing into the elastic, Harlow stopped rifling to hold up both hands. “Ah, that’s enough. I can see your wound from here.”
With a sly smile, he tilted his head. “But, Trink, I’ve got so much more to show you.”
Already she was beginning to feel more at ease. “So much more, I don’t have to see,” she said, leaving her seat to turn on the lamp by the bed. “Lie down.”
He leaped onto the bed and locked his fingers behind his head. Kneeling on the floor next to the bed, she carefully edged the waistbands of his pants and underwear down just enough to give her space to work. Being as gentle as she could, Harlow began to pick off his dressing.
“I think this is the first time we’ve been all alone,” he said. “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves, Trinket.”
Keeping her concentration on inspecting his wound, she couldn’t be as chilled. It was on her to keep this man alive; Bale was trusting her. “Just because I haven’t called the cops on you yet, doesn’t mean I won’t,” she said, peering closer. The wound was one problem, but his constant flirting and cajoling would have to be monitored and handled too. “Bale put a couple of syringes in that bag. Don’t know what’s in them, but I’m sure one of them will subdue you.”
In Bale’s apartment, with the gun, Ryske had been a serious, almost menacing guy. The man in her bed was the relaxed, teasing Ryske she’d hung out with all week.
“Wow, baby, you surprise me,” he said, breathing out and closing his eyes as a smile curved his lips. “Was that an offer to get high with me? I had no idea you were the type. Let’s do it.”
“I do not want to get high with you,” she said, not satisfied that the dressing she’d started to take off was clean enough to put back on. Ripping it off fast, she got a shot of pleasure when he tensed in a recoil that proved he hadn’t been expecting the action. “What drugs do you do, Ryske?”
He didn’t answer her and seemed to have moved onto something else in his mind. “You know what I love?” he asked, settling against her pillows again, satisfaction written all over his face. “I love it when you use that sexy stern tone on me. Tell me off, Trink. Damn, it gets me hard.”
So not really something else. Sex. That was where Ryske’s mind seemed most comfortable.
Just the threat of him getting aroused was enough to make her rise and bow over him. She meant to show him that she wasn’t to be messed with, but he took the opportunity to stroke her ass. Telling him off was exactly what he’d told her to do. Instead, she reached past him to retrieve a pillow from the opposite side of the bed and thrust it onto his lap.
“I really don’t want to be acquainted with that part of you,” she warned.
Walking to the end of the bed, she dug around the med bag for more gauze and tape. The wound was red, but was still sealed, so she hoped that was a good sign.
“Why are you so afraid of it?”
She kept sorting the supplies, putting things in places where she knew she’d be able to find them in a hurry. “Of what?”
“Sex.”
She stopped sorting to look at him. For once, it didn’t sound like he was teasing, but that only made her more suspicious. “I’m not afraid of sex.”
“Sure you are,” he said.
Seeing him slip his hand beneath the pillow on his lap made her swallow hard. Whether it was inside or outside his pants, he was definitely making contact with… himself.
“Can you not do that while I’m in the room, please?”
Intrigue eclipsed his usual smirk. “Maybe it’s my dick you’re afraid of.”
“I am not afraid of it,” she said.
Raising his brows like he didn’t believe her, he flipped the pillow off his lap and showed that not only was his hand inside his pants, but he was holding the imposing member tenting his sweats. “No?”
Rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, she tipped up her chin. “Oh, God.”
“Definitely afraid.”
Glaring at him, she might be getting used to his triumphant leer, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t resent it. “Your penis doesn’t have special powers.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What do you think I’m afraid of exactly?” she asked, going back over to kneel by the bed, taking her wares with her, and ignoring whatever was going on beyond her work area. “I’ve had sex before. I’ve seen dicks. Plenty of them.”
“Yeah? How many?”
Pausing with the tape extended, she blinked at him. “What?”
Whether it was genuine or not, his expression didn’t seem to be mocking. “You brought it up, so tell me… How many have you seen, Trink?” She couldn’t even make her lips part. “Guess with porn that’s a tough one to answer. Better to tell me how many you’ve gotten to grips with.”
It took effort on her part to blank her expression, and she wasn’t sure she succeeded. “You want to know how many penises I’ve touched?” He nodded. After a second of silence, the corner of his mouth twitched. He quickly flattened it again, but the brief crack in his mask was enough to snap her from her discombobulation. “You’re mocking me.” Picking up her scissors, she clutched them tight. “You think that’s a smart thing to do to the woman in charge of your care.”
“You saved me from a stab wound last week, no reason you wouldn’t this week.”
Except if she was the one who inflicted it. “Last week, I didn’t know you. This week, I do,” she said, but turned her scissors to cut the tape. “I don’t doubt that I have less sexual experience than you. I also don’t doubt there are rabbits with less experience than you, given how sex seems to be on your mind twenty-four seven.”
“Not twenty-four seven,” he said, locking his fingers behind his head again. “I don’t think about it when I’m with my crew.”
“Lucky for them,” she said, affixing his clean dressing. “Maybe you should initiate me, so I can be saved the trouble.”
He laughed. “It’s trouble for you to hear that a guy’s attracted to you?”
“It’s trouble for me to hear you’re attracted to me,” she said, tipping her head to admire her work, hoping it was good enough. “Especially since I don’t believe it.”
“I’m not going to lie and say I can’t lie. But why would I—”
“It’s some weird Florence Nightingale thing,” she said, gathering up her supplies and trashing the used dressing. “Just like Dover says. You think you’re attracted to me because I was there at the right moment and because I’m the only woman you’ve seen all week. You don’t really want to be with me.”
“Let me be the judge of what I want.”
Breathing out a laugh, she tossed what she hadn’t used back into the med bag and sat on the bed by his feet. “What I should really have said is that you and I have different definitions of what being with someone means. You believe in casual sex.”
“It’s not my religion,” he said, pushing his fists into the mattress to sit up straighter. “But, yeah, I think it exists.”
She shrugged and zipped up the bag. “I’m not a casual sex kind of woman… I’m not afraid of your penis, and I am attracted to you. But I’m smart enough to know what kind of man you are and I know we want different things.”
“Want? If you’re attracted to me, you and me want exactly the same damn thing. But if you’re talking about a future…” he said, a snicker in his voice. “Baby, you should be happy I have no plans for you beyond this bed and your body. The only thing I plan beyond the moment is the con. If I haven’t made plans for you that means you’re not on my professional agenda.”
Trying to subdue what would probably be a condescending smile, she licked her lips. “And that is exactly how I know we’re incompatible. I want to be on the agenda of the man I’m sleeping with. I don’t want him to trip and fall into bed with me just because I’m around and then forget me the minute I’m out of his sight.”
“You want a relationship? Baby, we’ve known each other a week, and I’m not the type of guy to—”
“You’re not my type of guy,” she said, making eye contact. “Isn’t that the point we agree on? You want an easy, fun girl to be casual with. I sleep with men I see a future with. I’m not frivolous and fun, Crash. I’m a serious professional.”
For the first time, she saw a glimmer of offense on his face. It made him appear petulant; it was almost cute. If a man with the physique and demeanor of a tough guy could ever be considered cute.
“I’m a professional,” he grumbled.
A professional law-breaker, yes. “But what are you serious about?” she asked. “Other than whatever scheme you have going on.”
“Okay, so I’m not your white picket fence guy, but I can be the ride of your life.”
His wink made her laugh. “That’s some claim when you’ve no idea who I’ve ridden before.”
“I know you’ve never ridden me.”
She leaned toward him, lowering her volume. “And I never will, Crash.”
Ryske wasn’t dissuaded. If anything, whenever she asserted her opposition, he only grew more assured. “Baby, you are gonna taste so sweet.”
“Do you think I’m some sort of prize or is it just the challenge you crave? You’ve been laid up all week when what you want is to be out on the street, running your con. I’m here, that’s why you want me. As soon as Bale’s clock runs out, you’ll forget that I exist.”
For a breath, it seemed like he was going to say something. But when his eyes moved toward her covered window, she knew that she was on the money. It was ridiculous to be stung by the silent confirmation that she was right, especially when she simultaneously appreciated him not bullshitting her with pick-up lines or platitudes.
Ryske was a dynamic guy, always ready to move, whether it was for a con or onto the next mark. His lifestyle intrigued the immature part of her which was excited by danger. In spite of that, Harlow was smart enough to recognize that letting herself be seduced by the novelty of him would lead to heartache and humiliation in the long run.
He hadn’t said anything else, so she decided to give him some space. “I have to call and let my colleagues know I won’t be joining them. Get some rest.”
Harlow stowed the med bag in her closet, then headed for the dark living room again. “You gonna join me, Trink?”
The guy never switched it off. Keeping her smirk to herself, she didn’t slow. “You’re an invalid, Crash. I need a man who can go all night and not break a sweat.” Sweeping the crystal ball curtain aside, she tossed a sultry look over her shoulder. “If I said yes to you, you’d be too busy drooling and bleeding all over the place to satisfy me.”
She kept on going out of the room, but he called after her. “Come back in here and say that to my face, babydoll!”
Harlow hadn’t intended for Ryske to ever be in her apartment. Now, somehow, he was semi-naked in her bed probably still sporting a semi.
While exerting little effort, the man had a way of diverting the course of her life. Astounding as it was, Harlow wasn’t really complaining.
Whenever Crash was around, life wasn’t boring, anything could happen. Thinking fast, accepting a challenge, was exhilarating. Thrilled by the twists and turns, this wasn’t life like Harlow knew it, but it was every day for Ryske.
As soon as the patient had completed Bale’s ordered recuperation time, he’d go back to his vibrant life and she’d return to the stresses and strains of social work. Normal, boring life, helping people who often didn’t want to help themselves. That was her life; the only one she knew.