Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

Before she could recover from the compliment, he turned to rummage for a washcloth.

His hands were harder than iron yet disconcertingly gentle as he washed the blood from her cheek. He applied ointment before dealing with her scraped palms the same way. “All done.”

“Thank you.” The gratitude was real…as was the need to blink back tears.

“Not a problem. Let’s get some ice on your face.” After sitting her down on her living room couch, he sauntered into the kitchen.

The minute he disappeared, the aftermath of the fight set in. First a tightness in her throat, a flutter in her stomach. Hold together a little longer, and he’ll be gone.

Nothing could stop it.

Coldness swept through her body, and she shivered. Huddled in a corner of the couch, she wrapped her arms around her knees and shook as the sound of shouting crashed back over her, the fear, the feeling of fist meeting face. Her jaw ached from trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

Holding an ice pack, deVries appeared in front of her. “Ah hell.” After setting the pack on the end table, he scooped her up and took her place, settling her on his lap.

“Don’t.” She retreated into herself. No matter how nice he was now, he didn’t like her. She could do without his charity. “Just go. I don’t want you here.”

“Too bad for you that’s not going to happen.” His voice wasn’t mean, simply matter-of-fact. Almost affectionate. Tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder, he rubbed her neck with his free hand.

He was so warm…and she didn’t want to be alone. Not now. She turned her face into him, inhaling the soap fragrance of his shirt, the underlying masculine scent. When she sighed, he hugged her closer. She’d never realized what a difference it made to feel safe.

“Did you know you have a mouse?” he asked. “I saw it run across the kitchen.”

“A mouse?” She blinked. As her muscles relaxed, tiredness swept through her. Her head felt too heavy for her neck. “You mean Francois?”

There was a pause, and he burst out laughing. Rough and dark and sexy. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him really laugh before. Hadn’t thought he knew how.

She drank in the sound like parched soil in an autumn rain. “Hey, only the finest of apartment rentals provide a ready-made pet.”

He grinned at her.

She grinned back…until she remembered he didn’t like her. How he’d treated her like a whore. “Debt paid.” She stiffened.

“Lindsey.” He shifted her to a more upright position and looked straight at her. “I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

Whoa, little doggies. “Huh?”

His dimple appeared, disappeared. “I thought you’d taken your ex for everything he owned to get your fancy condo. You looked guilty when I asked if you married for money. And you did say it was a bad breakup and he isn’t living in a ritzy place.”

Her mouth dropped open, and her irritation slid right down the banks into a river of rage. “I was condo-sitting for a friend of Xavier’s.”

WHEN THE LITTLE Texan’s face turned red, deVries knew he was in deep shit. Her hand slapped his chest to push him away.

He didn’t relax his grip. She was going to hear him out—before she kicked him out.

Assuming he could stand to leave her in this dump.

A shame it looked as if he needed to explain further—which was like gutting himself. He cupped her stubborn little chin, stroked his thumb over her lips. She shoved at his wrist without effect. He saw her consider biting him.

Damn, he liked her. “Tex.” He softened his voice. “I was married before. It ended badly.”

The pushing stopped as her gaze met his. “ You were married?”

The incredulity was humorous. And insulting. She figured he was too much of a bastard to catch a woman? “When I was your age.” Stupid twenties.

“You’re divorced?” she asked carefully.

He had her attention. Good. Unable to resist, he ran his fingers through her wavy hair and discovered glints of a dark color under the mink-brown strands. Purple?

She tried to jerk her head away.

“When I was overseas, she screwed around,” deVries said. “I got shot up and was stuck in rehab, so she emptied our bank account to have her breasts enlarged and lips puffed up. I came home to divorce papers.” The taste of bitterness was still foul. “A month later, she married a rich CEO.”

Lindsey’s frown softened into understanding. “I’m sorry.”

He’d been too fucked-up to fight her for his savings. Sure his severance pay had kept him fed, yet starting over had been…difficult. He shook his head. Dragged his thoughts back. “I jumped to conclusions about you. Simon said you’re not rich.”

The sympathy disappeared from her face. “You talked to Simon. About me.” Mouth tight, she pushed off his lap and stood. “You know, deVries, your problem isn’t you jumped but that you didn’t bother to talk with me at all. I was just an easy fuck.”

“Lindsey.” He rose. “I said I screwed up.”

She retreated. “Yeppers. You did. Thank you so, so much for the rescue. Now go home.”

Like hell. He curved his hand around her nape, pulled her closer. A brush over her lips, her resistance started to disappear. She had a great mouth. Soft and—

She shoved at him. “Go away.”

He needed to leave; she was right. She didn’t need more stress. Not now. He took a step toward the door.

A scratching sound stopped him.

The goddamned mouse. She lived in a complete dump. In a fucking bad area. Unease gripped the back of his neck coldly. The gang would return, bent on revenge. He took out his cell and hit Xavier’s speed-dial number.

“Make your calls some other time. deVries…”

He eyed Lindsey. She knew his first name now and kept using his surname. Was starting to piss him off. “Call me Zander unless we’re in the club. Use it there, and I’ll whip your ass.” And wouldn’t he enjoy doing that?

Despite her obvious ire, a flush of arousal crept up her face. She liked the thought of punishment. In fact, if she were his, she’d probably call him by his last name just to see what he’d do.

She’d find out.

He’d whip her ass. Before he fucked her. Jesus, he was getting hard thinking about it.

“Problem?” Xavier’s voice came over the phone.

Focus, Iceman. “Yeah. Does Abby still need a renter for her place?”

“She does. An ad goes into the paper tomorrow.”

Lindsey’s brows drew together. “That’s not any of your busi—”

“Lindsey’s new apartment is in the slums, and her building should’ve been condemned last century. Now she’s pissed off a local gang.” DeVries felt a ripple of mirth when she lunged in an attempt to swipe the phone from his hand. Fisting her hair, he held her far enough away to avoid getting kicked while he continued his conversation. Feisty, wasn’t she?

“I can’t afford Abby’s place.” Lindsey jerked on his arm. “DeVries…I can’t—”

Xavier had obviously heard, since he said, “Abby would be delighted to have her there. Let’s try it like this—for the first month, Lindsey can pay utilities only. If she wants to stay after that, she and Abby can work out a rent to suit them both.”

“No. I won’t take advantage of friends,” she growled. “I don’t—”

“Sounds good.” DeVries smiled down at her flushed face, enjoying the hope lighting her face—as well as the dismay. Had more pride than a US Marine, didn’t she? “When can she move in?”

“Get her out of there. Give me her address, and I’ll send movers over tonight.”

“This your stuff, babe?” DeVries motioned to the stained couch and chair.