“You gonna pass out on me?” I tease, knowing he has this thing with blood.
At this point he swipes his face of all expression, going testosterone-stoic. Now wasn’t that just Jackson for you? Tall, handsome, and enigmatic, and so completely full of shit.
Out of the four brothers, I would say Logan is probably the easiest to read … not that I’m saying he’s an open book, ’cause he’s not … just less stoic, followed by Enrique.
Jackson slants his body onto my couch and stretches his long legs onto the coffee table, typing something on his phone. I fall into the chair and take a sip of coffee, thinking that maybe my ‘curse’ is backfiring onto me and Damion now. They say karma is a bitch.
“You okay?” Ilkay asks as soon as he steps over the threshold. He takes the towel from me and holds my face between his hands while he checks out the wound.
“What happened?” With sympathy, he opens his kit, puts on some gloves, and gently starts swiping the gash behind my left ear, cleaning the wound free of the blood, probing, until I hiss out a pained breath.
“I kicked him, he hit me, and my head fell onto the corner of the table.” I’m not in the mood to go through everything while my head is hurting big time. He stares at me for a beat.
“Isn’t that Damion’s top?” He asks through narrow eyes. I roll mine. How the hell do they know each other’s clothes this well?
“No.” It’s been like not even a day, and I already had to lie twice. Keeping a secret from them is not going to be a walk in the park, that’s for sure. He knits his eyebrows a little more but doesn’t dwell.
“You’re going to need a few stitches.” He takes more things from his bag. He puts a pad on the sofa and knowing the drill by now, I lay down, putting my head on it. Sometimes I wonder what we would have done in situations like this if Ilkay decided to become an engineer, for instance. Who would have saved us each time? Or maybe he became a doctor because he had to, knowing we would need him in situations like this.
“That’s nasty.” Jackson leans over and slants a skirmish droll look.
“I’m going to numb the area first,” Ilkay says, cool, calm, and collected. Jackson disappears into the kitchen again.
“Ouch!” Ilkay sticks the needle in. He moves it around. A few more pricks. He threads another needle and I can feel it tug, in and out, but there’s no pain.
“Done.” He pulls his hands from the gloves and starts cleaning up.
“Here, bro, you deserve this.” Jackson is back with another cup, holding it out to Ilkay this time.
Axel storms through the door, followed by Enrique. I sit up straight with four Alphas towering over me with worried faces and crossed arms. Damn. It feels as if I’m suffocating from all the overpowering testosterone bunched together in the room.
“She gonna be okay?” Enrique asks as if I’m not right here.
“Yeah, eight stitches, but it won’t even leave a scar. I’m pretty good at my job.”
“So what now?” Axel is still wearing part of his uniform, looking pretty darn hot in his white sleeveless vest and firefighter pants.
“I’m going to kill the fucking bastard … that’s what!” Unexpectedly that came from Ilkay, not Jackson. Although Jackson’s eyes thoroughly agree with that statement, Ilkay’s grays looks like a chameleon on an emotional rainbow, ranging from worry, anger, and frustration, to sadness, pride, and love. Not every day one gets a look inside his well-guarded soul.
“Why is she wearing Damion’s hoodie?” Enrique asks plainly. Oh, my frickin tempered soul. Really.
“She says it’s not,” Ilkay shrugs, his voice curt and gruff, arms still crossed. The other three lift their brows, in the same motion, in my direction, clearly giving me the floor.
Great. With their full focus solely on me, they’ll spot a lie from a mile away … and they’re merely inches from me. Frick. I can’t lie and I can definitely not tell the truth.
“Well, it’s not much of a story, actually.” I start and manage a skew smile, hoping it looks natural and not fake.
“I, um -” What to say? “I took it from his closet.” That’s the truth. “At his mom’s house.” A little lie. “Because I slept in his room.” Not a lie.
Jackson’s mouth twitches, though his eyes remain sharp. He rolls back on his heels, obviously enjoying himself, the bastard. The rest don’t react at all, just stare with annoying fixed male confidence.
“I’m gonna take a bath,” I jump up and Axel pulls me into his arms. He snuggles his head into my neck and pulls me tight. He smells like smoke and sweat, and he’s dirty as hell, but I don’t mind. I know he loves me like a little sister even though we’re just a month apart.
“Don’t worry mate, you can’t get rid of me that easy,” I say, knowing he’s worried even though he hasn’t said anything. Axel is not one for many words.
“You should consider a shower … you stink.” Axel squashes me against him again before letting me go. He grins widely, emotions under control again.
“Put some ice on the bruise, and don’t get the stitches wet,” Ilkay instructs with dark eyes and I know he’s upset. I flee and hear Enrique say, “I brought burgers as you asked.” My tummy rumbles.
Their Alpha male ways can be so goddamn irritating. I smile to myself – if they act like this just because Harry was in my house for a mere ten minutes, imagine how they will react if they find out I was in Damion’s bed for a solid ten hours.
“MEL!” Kiara grabs me into a bear-collapsing hug. She just came through the door with her date, a huge black dude that looks like the Rock and Will Smith had a baby. She’s not letting go. “Never do that to me again, bitch.”
I smile and try to wiggle out of her arms cause I swear she’s restricting the blood flow to my lower regions.
“What happened to those weak arms of yours?” She immediately drops her hands and glares at me.
“Gmf, making jokes at a time like this. It was a one-night weakness, okay. Only happens whenever I need a hot ANNOYING guy’s help.” We both burst out in laughter leaving the guys with a WTF expression, Enrique saying “I don’t even want to know.”
“Okay, go get out of those bloody clothes,” she wiggles her fingers at me and pulls her face as if she’s Valentina and I just crashed her stage with a Prado outfit. “Whatever they are.”
“It’s Damion’s!” Someone shouts from the kitchen.
“Give me two hours,” Kiara tells the hunk as I continue to my room.
Date = 9 November
Place = San Francisco (Mel’s house)
POV – Melaena
Candles. Wine. And a very long, hot bath with lavender-flavored foam is just what the doctor ordered. I slide into the bubbles and close my eyes, wondering if Damion and Logan are already on the plane.
Just then my ringtone breaks the invigorating silence and upon seeing the caller ID I feel my insides pull into a knot. How does he do that? Even over a distance.
“Hello,” It’s not Harry or D … but a whole other type of danger. I answer the video call, trying to hold the phone so he can only see my face, not that it’s possible to see anything with all the bubbles.
“Hi angel,” the hoarse worry in his voice rolls over me, before I even catch his dark gaze, filled with an emotion between possession, vulnerability, safeguard, guilt, and what I would like to believe, lust.