Nearly an hour later, Mason stepped out of the kitchen and listened for any signs of activity from upstairs. The shower wasn’t running, and the light was on, but everything was silent.
“Daisy?” No response. Concerned, he rushed upstairs only to halt on the landing. She was stretched out on her side, wrapped in nothing but one of his massive towels, fast asleep. His eyes tracked over her bare skin, inventorying every little scrape and bump and bruise. The mark on her jaw was now a livid purple and was starting to swell.
Her knees were badly scraped; had they dragged her? A sob caught in his throat at the mere thought of it. Finger marks on her arms and around her wrists, a massive bruise on her left thigh, all of which made him feel physically ill. But none of them compared to the sizable knife wound that he knew was hidden beneath that massive dressing. He had nearly thrown up at the sight of it and had hated himself for not being there to protect his woman. The terror she must have felt. It killed him to know that she now understood what that kind of fear felt like.
She was trembling, he suddenly saw, and her skin was pebbled with goose bumps. She must be freezing. He dragged a comforter over her, but the shivering didn’t stop, so he kicked off his shoes and dragged off his clothes until he was wearing only his boxer briefs and climbed in behind her. He tugged her carefully back against him, telling himself he would hold her just until she warmed up. But even after the shivering stopped, he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. He didn’t think he would ever have the strength to let her go. He fell asleep resigned to that fact.
He awoke hours later, the house still ablaze with light, and he groggily reached for his phone to check the time. It was just after two in the morning. He got out of bed, careful not to disturb Daisy, but she didn’t move at all, and he headed downstairs to switch off the lights and check on the dogs. The pooches were both curled up in Cooper’s big bed and lifted their heads to watch him approach.
“You show your girlfriend how to use the dog door, boy?” he asked quietly, and Cooper’s tail thumped against the wooden floor. He checked that there was enough water in the bowl for them and went to the kitchen to store the soup in the fridge.
After making sure the house was locked up and everything was switched off, he headed back upstairs. Daisy hadn’t moved at all, and he watched her for a moment, contemplating the sofa downstairs before deciding that he would risk her wrath in the morning, and climbed in next to her once again. This time she sighed and snuggled closer to his body heat. Content, Mason allowed himself this moment of peace and fell asleep again in moments.
Daisy was warm and comfortable and reluctant to open her eyes. A small, niggling part of her brain told her that waking up would bring way too many problems. She wanted to stay in this happy, peaceful moment, where everything was perfect.
A light snore surprised her into opening her eyes. The sound had not come from her. And with full consciousness came pain and memory. There wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t hurt, and she groaned. The glorious source of heat all along her back tensed, and she knew immediately who it was.
“You okay?” his sexy morning voice asked in concern.
“Achy,” she said, and the large hand resting on her thigh squeezed gently. He sat up, careful not to jostle her, and she looked up into his grim, unsmiling face in confusion.
“What happened to the sofa?” she asked.
“The bed was more comfortable. I’ll get you some coffee.” He got up before she could stop him, and she flushed when she saw he was wearing nothing but a pair of white boxer briefs . . . and an impressive morning erection. He didn’t acknowledge it, but he made no attempt to hide it either, keeping his gaze level and his face impassive.
She pushed herself up, wincing when her stomach wound tightened and pulled at the stitches.
“Gently,” he snapped. “You don’t want to tear those stitches.”
“Okay, nurse, I just forgot about them for a second. And where the hell are my clothes?” The latter as she realized that she was stark naked beneath the covers.
“You were wearing only a towel when I found you last night. It probably came off during the night.” Despite that impressive hard-on, he managed to look remarkably unaffected at the idea of her nudity.
“Mason, why am I here?” she asked quietly, and he tensed.
“You needed someone to take care of you.”
“You know as well as I do that my family would happily have done so.”
“I needed to be sure that you were okay.”
“And now that you’re sure? Should I go home today?”
“Who says I’m sure?”
“I’m bruised and a bit achy, but I’m fine,” she pointed out, and he glared at her.
“Well, I’m not fine!” he snapped furiously. “I’m nowhere near fine. You scared the hell out of me, Daisy, and the least you can do is stay put while I—while I . . . get over that fright.”
“This is a lot of concern for someone who isn’t even a friend,” she pointed out with what she believed was impressive logic, but he didn’t look impressed at all. He still only looked mostly pissed off.
“I’ll get you that coffee.” He turned away from her and headed downstairs, while Daisy sighed before gingerly getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. She grimaced at the sight of her reflection in the huge wall-to-ceiling mirror. She looked like death warmed over, so pale that the bruises stood out in stark relief against her flesh. She examined the waterproof dressing over her stitches carefully, but there were no signs of bleeding beneath it, so they had managed to survive the night intact.