Gayle Wilson - Under Surveillance

Putting his hand on the trunk of the car, he pushed himself to his feet with a small grunt of effort. The adrenaline that had flooded his system during the fight had faded so that he was beginning to feel the effects of the blows to the body he’d taken. He was fairly certain his ribs weren’t broken, but he was going to be reminded of those baboons every breath he took for the next couple of days.

She had already leaned back into the car in order to follow his instructions about the emergency brake. Hearing that involuntary intake of breath, she straightened, looking back at him, instead.

“Sore?”

“Nothing a few aspirin and a long, hot shower won’t fix.”

“I can provide the aspirin. And the sooner you take them, the better. In the morning, you might want to get a doctor to take a look at—”

“I’m okay. I will accept the aspirin, however.”

“As soon as we get to my place.”

My place or yours? For a second or two her eyes held on his. Then she turned away, completing the motion she’d begun to release the parking brake.

Yes, sir, he thought, sometimes things just fall into your lap. The problem then became knowing what to do with them when they did.

“THROUGH HERE,” Kelly directed, leading the way down a wide hallway.

There were photographs along each wall. He wanted to stop and check them out, because he recognized more than one famous face. She had already flicked on the light in a room a little farther along, however, and disappeared inside.

He followed, stopping in the doorway of a bathroom that was more than twice the size of his bedroom. There had been no expense spared in either the design or in the facilities. The round glass shower stall would have held a jury of his peers; the whirlpool, only a few less.

“Nice,” he said.

He had refrained from comment as they’d made their way through the rest of the house. It had an understated elegance that, even to his untutored eyes, indicated it had been professionally, and expensively, decorated.

“The house was my brother’s. I didn’t see any sense in not using it while I’m in town.”

She hadn’t looked at him while she gave that information. She was busy searching through a cabinet that had been hidden behind a large panel of mirroring. He suspected the rest of the full-length wall of mirrors covered a variety of storage units. One by one she set the items she took from shelves down on the counter: gauze pads, alcohol, cotton balls, a tube of salve, a prescription medicine bottle, tape.

“It’s a very small cut,” he said as she continued to rummage.

She turned to look at him this time, her hand hesitating over the next selection.

“A Band-Aid’s fine,” he added.

“It needs to be cleaned. They weren’t.”

He was at a loss until he realized she meant the teens who’d attacked her. “The kids weren’t clean?”

“Not the one who grabbed me. His shirt was dirty, and he smelled.”

“Okay. Alcohol and a Band-Aid then.”

“Followed by an antibiotic salve.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” he said agreeably.

He still couldn’t quite believe he was here. As frightening as tonight’s experience had been for her and as sore as he knew he was going to be in the morning, this had been an incredible stroke of luck. He didn’t intend to blow it.

“I think the light’s better over here.”

Since you could have shot a movie in the place, he couldn’t see what difference a few feet made, but obligingly he walked over to the area she’d indicated. She tilted the bottle of alcohol and poured some of it onto a cotton ball.

Its strongly antiseptic tang pervaded the pleasant scent of the room. Unthinkingly he tilted his head back, avoiding it.

“This will sting,” she warned, moving toward him.

She was close enough now that, even above the bite of the alcohol, he could smell whatever perfume she was wearing. She reached up, bringing the soaked cotton ball near his forehead. He closed his lids to protect his eyes and braced for the burn.

It didn’t come. After a couple of seconds, he cautiously opened his eyes to find that, although she was nearer than before, the hand holding the cotton ball still hovered in midair. Given the difference in their heights, she was at a distinct disadvantage.

“This would be easier if you sit,” she suggested.

Obediently he settled one hip on the black marble counter behind him, keeping his other foot on the floor. He closed his eyes again, waiting. Still she hesitated, long enough that he finally opened them once more.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, moving forward until she was standing between his legs. The fragrance he’d noticed before, something dark, undoubtedly costly, and entirely suited to that strapless red gown, surrounded him.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned again.

He hoped so. He hoped it hurt like hell. Enough to take his mind off what he was thinking. And if she got an inch or two closer, she was going to be in no doubt about the direction of his thoughts.

She put her free hand on his face, positioning her thumb under his chin, so she could turn it up to the light. He closed his eyes, determined to keep them that way as long as her cleavage was so temptingly near.

He wanted to bend his head and press his lips into the shadowed hollow between her breasts. To run his tongue along the top of that low-cut dress. He knew how her skin would taste.

The touch of the alcohol against the wound was cold and painful, exactly the distraction he needed. He flinched, pulling his chin away from her fingers.

“Sorry,” she said, her warm breath feathering against his face. “Just a little more, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” he muttered. “It was just…cold.”

She dabbed at the wound again, more forcefully this time. When he didn’t respond, she scrubbed away at the dried blood until the cut had been cleaned to her satisfaction.

She stepped back to survey her handiwork, allowing him an opportunity to open his eyes. Her face was right in front of him, although her gaze was still fastened on the injury.

“It’s not too bad,” she said, her eyes shifting to meet his.

He didn’t know what they revealed about what he’d been thinking, but obviously something. Her lips parted, and she took a breath, deep enough to lift her breasts. He could see the pulse beating in her throat.

“You should probably have a stitch or two,” she said, her voice thready.

“It’s fine.”

Again he raised his hand, intending to trace the cut in order to estimate the extent of the damage by feel. Her fingers quickly wrapped around his wrist, preventing him.

“You’ll contaminate it,” she said.

“Look, I don’t think this is life-threatening…”

He hadn’t intended to mock what she was doing. It was evident by the way her expression closed, however, that she had taken it that way.

“Just put some salve on it and tape it up,” he said, modulating the impatience in his voice. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

She nodded, but he could tell she was still hurt. Way to go, idiot. You get the break of a lifetime, and you can’t keep from being a smart-ass long enough to take advantage of it.

She took a step back, tossing the bloodstained cotton ball into a small, gold-toned garbage can before she reached for the tube of antibiotic salve she’d set out. She removed one of the gauze pads from its cellophane wrappings and spread a generous layer of ointment across it.

Then she moved back into position between his legs. He had thought he was better prepared for her nearness this time, but when she leaned in, her hip rested against the inside thigh of the leg that was not in contact with the floor.