Roberts, Sarah - Action Hero Junkie [Movieland] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Read online

“No hospital, no police. I just need a safe house until dark. Take me to your place.”

  “Whoa!” Mia’s eyes whipped up to the rearview mirror. She was so surprised that she even tapped the brakes. She heard him grunt when he hit the back of her seat. “Sorry about that. No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, I think the police can help you better than—”

  There was that double-damned gun barrel again, pointed right at the back of her head. She drew a breath while her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Okay, then. My place.”

  Luckily, there was no one around when Mia got back to her apartment. Her neighbors all worked during the day while she was sleeping. Mia had never more bitterly regretted her lack of social life. She unlocked her apartment door. The guy muscled her out of the way and went in fast, his gun pointing first one way and then the other. “Okay, you first.” Mia sighed and shut the door behind her. “Do you want to check under the bed? Maybe in the closet?”

  He just looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes very cold. Then he marched into her bedroom. Mia tagged along behind him. He had a nice butt. He really did check out the closet and under the bed. She wasn’t surprised. He also took a quick look in the bathroom and then spun around to pin her with his baby blues.

  “We’re clear. We’ll probably be safe enough for now.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.” Mia turned around and headed for the kitchen. “I’m hungry. You want something?”

  She could hear him following her. Not that he was loud or anything. She could just hear a bare rustle of clothing and his breathing. That short, rasping sound that she’d heard before. Mia stopped dead and turned back around. He almost ran into her. She poked a finger into his broad chest. It felt hard and warm. “You, back to the bathroom. I want to check you out. If you’re still bleeding—”

  “I’ll do, ma’am.”

  “Don’t give me that macho crap. Turn your beautiful buns around and march, soldier boy.” Mia scowled up at him just the same as if he was a miffy patient. He gave a ghost of a laugh. He didn’t argue but went back to the bathroom. She made him sit on the closed toilet seat. Then she started looking. It wasn’t too hard to find where the blood had come from. His upper sleeve was saturated. A strip of ragged cloth was clumsily knotted around his huge bicep. Mia got a mental vision of him pulling the knot tight with his teeth.

  Mia got out her emergency kit. It had in it a little more than the usual Band-Aids and antibiotic wipes. She took out what she needed. Mia noticed that he was watching her and that he looked kind of pale. Must be the lighting. “Okay, lose the gun. I’m going to cut that rag off. Then you shuck the shirt, so I can see the damage.”

  He moved kind of slow. He sure didn’t want to let go of the gun, but he did. He propped it up against the tub. Mia cut through the ragged bandage with a pair of sharp scissors. It came away stiff in her hand, and she dropped it into the trash can. “The shirt.”

  He pulled the tails out of his pants, unbuttoned the shirt, and shrugged out of it. He had on a T-shirt underneath. It was sweat-grimed and bloody down one side, but it stretched nicely across that broad chest and molded to a flat stomach.

  Mia swallowed. She shook her head free of bad, bad thoughts and looked at the wound. It was better than she thought it might be. “The bullet sliced cleanly through the muscle. Looks like it might have nicked the arterial vein. That’s why all the blood. You were lucky.”

  Mia cleaned the gaping edges of the torn flesh. Then she threaded a needle. He was looking pale again. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

  He gritted his teeth. “No! I just don’t like needles.”

  “Rambo would have stitched himself up already.”

  He lowered his brows and cast a glance of dislike at her. He muttered, “John Rambo is a legend.”

  “Yeah? Then take a page from the legend’s handbook and hold still.” Mia began stitching. It took a few minutes. She had to pull together some underlying muscle tissue before she could close the wound and set several neat closing stitches. She tied it off and snipped the thread. Then she covered the wound with a waterproof bandage and taped it. “There you go. A very neat job, even if I do say so myself.”

  He didn’t lift the back of his head from the wall. He just opened his eyes. They glittered at her. Mia didn’t think he appreciated her cheerfulness. His mouth was held in a grim, straight line. He looked kind of limp leaning back against the toilet box.

  Mia cleaned up everything and put away the emergency kit. She picked up the clean water glass that she always had on the counter, turned on the faucet, and filled it. “Here. You’re probably dehydrated. If you feel up to it, get cleaned up in the shower. I can put your clothes in the wash. I’m going to go make something to eat. Come out when you’re ready.”

  Mia left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

  * * * *

  He drank the water slowly. The cool liquid soothed the tissues of his parched throat, the welcome coolness spreading down inside his body. The nausea receded, and his stomach stopped flipping. He set the empty glass down and dropped his skull back against the wall again, breathing heavily. His head was still swimming. My arm aches like a son of gun.

  The last several minutes had taken a lot out of him. The woman had been efficient and quick, but the stabbing of the needle and the dragging together of torn tissue had hurt. It was more than that, though. It was just the feel of the thread tugging through his flesh.

  He had been lucky. He knew that. Anyone could have found him. The woman had obviously come looking for him in order to help him. It must have taken incredible courage for her to do that, and then to bring him back to her home and care for him. He was grateful and humbled.

  She had had the medical supplies and the knowledge to do what she had to do. She has to be a trained medic. She had been matter-of-fact and even a little abrasive, with those cracks about Rambo that were obviously meant to stiffen his manly pride. He huffed a grating laugh. It had worked, too. But damn, it had been hard not to squeal and make a few snuffling noises and maybe shed a tear or two!

  He worked off his bloodied T-shirt and bent to undo the laces on his dirty combat boots. Time to get cleaned up. He’d be glad of a shower after the night he’d had, even if the water turned out to be ice-cold. The water inside the town’s environs wasn’t always adequate and was often rusty. Shedding his pants and briefs, he stepped naked into the bathtub, glancing down at the drain. No orange discoloration from rust. Either the woman was a maniacal cleaner or she was one of the fortunate ones. He closed the shower curtain and fingered it for a moment, frowning at it. Pretty pattern, pretty color.

  The building where she lived had looked much better than other places he had seen. It was better kept, not tumbledown or as worn. Apparently, someone who had her skill set was compensated with better living conditions even by the present regime.

  He twisted the shower knobs and braced himself for icy spray. A cascade of hot water hit his shoulders, and he groaned in sheer pleasure. Hot damn and hold the sundae! He had tumbled into heaven.

  He found shampoo to wash his hair and then soaped himself down. The water sluicing off of his body was pinkish until the dried blood was washed away. He handled his heavy shaft and balls, cleaning himself briskly, until he suddenly thought of the woman. The incredibly sexy, incredibly brave woman who had saved his life had dangerous curves. His hand slowed, and his equipment grew heavier. She has the most perfect ass. He envisioned grabbing that ass and sliding into her slick heat.

  He uttered a soft curse. Bracing himself against the tiles with one flattened hand, his shoulders bowed under the splashing water spray, and he stroked and jerked himself to completion.

  Chapter Two

  When Mia got home from working a shift, she usually fixed something for dinner. Then she did some household chores and maybe read or zoned out in front of the TV or went to the movies before she got ready for bed. It was kind of a lonely, boring life. Nothing exciting ever
happens to me. She derisively grimaced to herself. Poor, poor me. I ought to get a cat.

  Now she had a deranged hunk taking a shower in her bathroom.

  Mia calmly put together a one-dish skillet dinner, consisting of hamburger and spicy rice. The aroma of sizzling onions and chili powder and browning hamburger made her mouth water. She opened the fridge and got out a couple of beers. On second thought, she got out another bottle. She’d need two for herself.

  He came out wrapped in a blue-and-orange-and pink beach towel. Mia guessed one of her fluffy terry bath towels wouldn’t have covered much. Not that she still couldn’t tell that he had a nice package. His gold hair was damp. His gorgeous face was clean of camo now, but sported a sexy bad-boy shadow. His manly chest was covered with a dark red-gold mat of hair that narrowed as it descended to his flat belly. And there she was at that package again. Mia grabbed one of the beers and chugged a couple of cold swallows. It didn’t seem to do much against the heat in the kitchen.

  He was carrying his gun in one hand and his clothes neatly rolled in the other. “I didn’t know where to put these.”

  Mia made a come-hither move with her hand. When she tried to talk, she kind of squeaked and had to clear her throat. “Give them to me.” Mia took the dirty clothing. “Uh, there’s food and beer. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the tiny laundry room and quickly shoved the soiled clothing and soap powder into the wash. She whirled the dial. The washer started its chuck-a-chuck-a-chuck dance. Then she hurried back to the kitchen.

  He had found plates and stuff, but he hadn’t started eating. Mia frowned at him. “What’s the problem? Don’t you like what I fixed?”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  She melted. Ah, that is just so sweet. A deranged hunk, wrapped in a frou-frou beach towel, with manners! “Okay, let’s eat.”

  While he made appreciative mm-mm good noises, he looked around again at her apartment. He nodded approvingly. “You’ve got the curtains all drawn. That’s good thinking.”

  “I sleep during the day. It keeps the sun out.”

  He grinned like she had made a really funny joke.

  Mia waited as long as she could. She hoped it wasn’t true about curiosity and the cat, because she hadn’t forgotten about the big gun. After all, there it was, leaning against the table. Mia tried not to look at it. “Look, who are you? What happened last night?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I shouldn’t say anything, but I owe you. I’m special ops. You don’t need to know about last night, except that you were a civilian in harm’s way, and I took measures to keep you alive.”

  “Okay, then. Thanks for that.” So much for conversation.

  Mia removed the dirty dishes from the table and carried them to the sink. He followed, and when she looked up, he smiled down at her. His grin was like a one-two punch. Mia practically swallowed her tongue. “Let me wash up. It’s the least I can do.”

  His deep voice finished her. She melted into a gooey puddle. “Uh, sure.”

  Mia had heard the banging stop, so she knew the wash was done. She pointed toward the hallway. Like an idiot, she crab-walked. She was still pointing. “Uh, I’ll go put your clothes in the dryer.”

  When Mia came back, the kitchen was clean. Spotless. Better than I would have done. She wondered if he would leave the toilet seat down.

  Mia turned around. He was sitting on her sofa, facing the coffee table, his muscled legs spread wide. She was disappointed that the big beach towel didn’t gape that much. She got just glimpses of knotted hairy calves. They were very nice calves. He had taken part of the newspaper and spread it out on the coffee table, and his gun was broken down into parts. He was cleaning one of the pieces with a rag and some stuff that Mia guessed had come out of his pack.

  “I’m going to go take my shower. I just wanted to let you know.”

  He glanced up, kind of quick, and his electric-blue eyes seemed to flare. But he just nodded, so Mia went away.

  Mia didn’t take too long in the bathroom. She didn’t want to leave her guest by himself. He might feel lonely. She threw on a loose T-shirt and some comfortable sweat pants and hurried out to the living room.

  The gun was all put back together and was leaning against the sofa. Her hunk was lounging against the corner sofa pillows, one leg straightened out on the cushions, the other leg sprawling over the side of the sofa. He looked gorgeous and tired.

  “Why don’t you go to bed? You probably need the rest.” Mia sat down on the arm of the big stuffed chair that was kind of angled at the side of the sofa. She combed her fingers through her damp, naturally wavy hair.

  He shook his head. “Someone has to keep watch.”

  “I usually stay up for a few hours after I get home. I’ll take first watch.” I’ll take first watch? How dumb is that? Mia shook her head at herself. “I’ll wake you when I get sleepy.”

  He got a slow, sexy grin. “Thanks.” He sat up and swiveled his body, putting his bare foot down to the floor. The beach towel pulled open, and Mia got a real nice glimpse of thick, corded thigh. She was still processing that when he stood up and walked past her. Her eyes widened at sight of the nice flare of flank and butt. “Uh—”

  “What?” He stopped and turned. The bulge behind the beach towel was about at her eye level. That close, it looked a little bigger than it had before.

  Mia looked up quickly, up the long, long length of his abs and chest and pecs. God, what shoulders! When her gaze collided with his electric eyes, she felt a spear of heat sear right down to her toes. “Your gun—” Mia swallowed and tried again. She flapped a hand. “Your gun. You should—should take it with you.”

  He shook his head. “I must be more tired than I thought. Thanks.” He brushed past her again and bent over. Mia closed her eyes then snapped them open again just as he straightened with the gun in his hand. He padded past her a second time, and her head acted like one of those bobblehead toys. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his hard-as-steel ass. He didn’t look back as he walked down the hallway to her bedroom. Mia bent way over the chair arm, craning her neck. Wait. My bedroom! Mia snapped upright, nearly giving herself whiplash. Visions of tangled sheets and hot sex careened madly through her head. She snorted at herself. Like, ri-ight. “Get a grip!”

  Mia didn’t remember hitting the TV remote. She didn’t really remember what she watched. When she started yawning, she turned off the TV. Then she crept down the hallway to her bedroom.

  As she eased the bedroom door open, she wondered what he would do. Actually, she wondered if he would shoot her, but that was really just a tiny thought in the back of her mind. She was too busy hyperventilating, in lust, as she tiptoed over to her bed. “Hey, soldier boy.”

  She got no response. She just heard a heavy snore. Well, damn. Disappointment didn’t begin to cover it. In the dark, she walked to the bathroom and fumbled inside the open door to flip on the overhead. A bar of yellow light fell across the bed. She crossed back across the floor to look down at the man lying under the bedclothes on her bed.

  He looked dead to the world. There were dark circles under his closed eyes, and now that his face was relaxed, she could see lines of fatigue that she hadn’t noticed earlier. All of her lustful inclinations poofed out of existence.

  Mia picked up his wrist, her fingers pressed on his pulse. Under her fingertips, she could feel the rapidity of his heartbeat. She frowned down at him. She was a little concerned. He had lost some blood, no doubt about it. His shirt and undershirt had been stiff with it. She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. She could feel the hectic heat of fever. “This is so not good.”

  She gnawed on her lip, thinking about her options. He hadn’t wanted to go to a hospital. There had to be a doozey of a reason for that. Again, the words “psycho” and “escaped convict” sprang to mind. She shook her head, telling herself again to get a grip. She had no reason to think he was either one. Not really, anyway.

  We
ll, I’ll watch him. If he gets too bad, I’ll call EMS.

  If that happened, there would, of course, be awkward questions that she couldn’t answer. But she guessed that would be better than trying to dump a dead body. It wasn’t like she could call 1-800-BODY2GO.

  Mia checked the bandage on his upper arm, but she didn’t see any seepage. That’s a good thing, at least. She gently laid down his arm and smoothed the bedclothes up over his broad chest. Somehow, touching him that way—to make him more comfortable—made her feel a little tender toward him.

  Mia turned off the bathroom light and returned to the living room, leaving the bedroom door open so that she could hear him if he wakened. She’d sleep on the sofa and get up again in an hour or so to check on her crazy-good-looking but nutty patient.

  Lying down on the lumpy sofa, she punched one of the cushions into an indented pillow for her head. She pulled a woolly afghan over herself and wriggled around until she was more or less comfortable. She knew she wouldn’t get much sleep, so she would be tired when she went back in to work. She told herself it wouldn’t bother her too much. She was used to long hours. What she didn’t want to think about was what she might have to do if her patient got really, really worse.

  He got worse. He was hot and restless.

  Mia popped a thermometer into his mouth, one of the instant LED kinds, and read it. His temperature wasn’t that bad, but she still didn’t like how restless he was. I can’t just go in to work and leave him.

  She decided to call in sick. She was never sick, so she had a lot of sick leave saved up. Mia didn’t think she was very convincing, but her supervisor bought it.

  Her patient slept for a long time. When he woke up, it was like instant on. His eyes just popped open, and he was looking up at her. Actually, he was frowning at her. Mia smiled back. It was important to project a positive attitude. “How do you feel?”

  He moved around, gingerly flexing his body and stretching his legs back and forth under the covers. Mia watched with interest. His voice sounded gravelly. “I’m okay. What time is it?”