Ride Wild(8)

       

And damnit all to hell, but it played with uncomfortable things inside  his chest to see her like that. Things he didn't want played with. Not  ever again.

So he closed his eyes. And woke up two and a half hours later when the  nurse came into the room to check Ben's vitals. The kid hardly stirred,  but Cora was still awake and making small talk with the woman about how  her night was going.

"Your turn to get some sleep," Slider said when they were alone again.

"Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep."

"We had a deal," he said, his voice like gravel. Years of exhaustion did that to a man.

"Later," she said, her expression soft with sleepiness. He forced  himself into a sitting position, his stiff movements making him feel  ancient. "You need it more than I do."

He shook his head and pushed to his feet. "I'm not hogging the bed all night while you sit up in that hard chair."

"Don't be stubborn," she said. "Sleep."

He arched a brow. As much as he wanted to lie back down, he wasn't doing it at her expense. "It's your turn."

"Slider-"

"Cora-"

She sighed. "I'm trying to take care of you, too."

The words were like a sucker punch. Just nearly laid him flat out on the  floor. And he had no idea how to reply. So he said the first thing that  came to his mouth. "We could share the bed. To sleep." As if that  clarification had been necessary. For. Fuck's. Sake.

"As opposed to?" Her brow lifted in a taunting little arch.

He scrubbed at his face. "As opposed to nothing. I just meant-"

"Don't have a coronary, Slider. I was just teasing." She eased her hand out of Ben's grip. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Of course." As she stepped into the little bathroom, he lay down  again and made sure his body hugged the edge. And then he tried to  remember the last time anyone had teased him. Definitely not since Kim's  death. Man, once upon a time, he'd been teased relentlessly. It was how  he'd received his nickname. Slider. He'd been on a ride up on the back  roads of South Mountain with a bunch of other Ravens and taken a turn  too fast. He'd wiped out, his bike just sliding out from underneath of  him right off the road. And he'd walked away without a scratch, earning a  new handle now sewn onto the name patch on his club cut.

For freaking ever, it'd seemed at the time, he hadn't lived that shit  down. And, really, all he could do was take it and laugh. Not that he'd  really minded.

But he'd lost all the easy rapport he'd once shared with his club  brothers. Lost it to his grief and humiliation and shame. Lost it to  caring for two brokenhearted, motherless boys-kids Slider wanted to make  sure never learned the truth about their parents. Lost it when he'd  withdrawn from the world around him rather than hear a million  well-meaning but clueless people try to console him by saying how much  Kim had loved him and how great a couple they'd been.

Damnit all to hell.

Finally, Cora emerged from the bathroom and toed off her sneakers. As  she settled on her side facing him, she let out a little moan that  stirred things that had no business stirring. "My back was getting  tired, so thanks."

He tugged the covers up to his stomach. "Don't thank me when you're the one going above and beyond."

"I'm not doing anything more than anyone else would do for people they  care about," she said, her voice trailing off into a yawn. "I'm just  glad Ben's okay."

The words hung there between them for a long moment, and Slider's brain  swam with possible responses as he stared at the ceiling. She was doing  more than others would do. And in saying they were people she cared  about, did she include him in that?

I'm trying to take care of you, too.

Her earlier words ping-ponged around in his brain, and he allowed himself to believe. On some level, Cora cared about him.

What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Or with the weird satisfaction it unleashed in his chest?

Finally, he manned up to meet her gaze, and turned his head to the side.  "I'm glad you're in our lives, Cora," he said, his heart pounding from  the unusual admission.

But he was too late. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was soft and even. Her pretty mouth was slack.

Probably just as well. No matter how true his statement had been, the  sentiment still raised complications he was in absolutely no shape to  handle.



Cora awakened on the nurse's next visit, but Slider didn't, and she was  glad. The man had looked wrecked-dark circles under his eyes, hair a  raked-through disaster, shoulders hunched from the stress of worrying  about his kid. He needed the sleep.                       
       
           



       

But she was also glad because lying there in the tiny bed with him  allowed her to really look at Slider in a way she didn't often otherwise  take the liberty of doing. Her gaze ran over the longish lengths of his  brown hair, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was as soft as it  looked. Cora studied his face and tried to imagine what he'd look like  clean shaven. She admired the sleeves of black-and-gray ink that ran up  his arms, her gaze fixing for a long time on the intricate cursive K  that filled the three inches on the back of his left wrist.

K for Kim. His dead wife.

How sweet was that? That he wore something permanently on his skin for  the woman he'd loved and lost. What wouldn't she give for someone to  feel so deeply about her? Just once.

The rest of his art included realistic depictions of flowers and a  wolf's face, along with interlaced tribal markings and geometric designs  that tied it all together. A burst of sun rays extended out from the  round bulk of one of his shoulders.

Cora's gaze dropped lower. Slider was entirely covered, of course. Not  just by his clothes, but by the thin hospital blanket, too. But none of  that could keep her from replaying in her mind's eye what she'd seen  that morning in the man's bedroom.

It was one thing to have witnessed him asleep in his bed, nude from the  waist up, a huge tattoo across his back-the Raven Riders name and logo.  His back and shoulders were all raw muscle, sinew, and bone. The guy  didn't eat much, but he worked hard, and the result was a frame that was  at once too lean and well-muscled.

And then . . .

And then he'd flown out of the bed naked as the day he was born, giving  her an eyeful of his front before letting her look long and hard at his  back as he'd dressed. And, wow, the Ravens tattoo had been even more  impressive seeing him wear it and nothing else.

Of course, Cora felt like the world's biggest degenerate for having  enjoyed even a single second of the view, given why he'd scrambled out  of bed that way. But, damn, some things could not be unseen.

And Slider Evans completely naked was one of them.

Because every part of him had been more impressive than the last. He had  the rangy, dangerous physique of a street fighter. A way-too-intriguing  line of dark hair that ran from his chest to his groin. The  hard-looking ass of a Renaissance sculpture. And a cock that, mostly  soft, had hung surprisingly long against his thigh.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Not because the thought of his sex bothered her, but because it attracted her.

And that was confusing. To begin with, she was never sure what to make  of this man who rarely said much and, when he did, it was often little  more than a grunt or a handful of grumbled words. But more than that,  the last time she'd had sex, she hadn't wanted it.

It wasn't sex, Cora, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. Right.  Okay. Fine. It wasn't. It'd been . . . rape. But since the scumbag  who'd done it could never do it again, there was no sense dwelling on  it, was there? She was fine. She'd gotten away. She'd survived. Just  like she always did.

She heaved a big breath and opened her eyes.

And found Slider watching her. That pale green stare locked on tight.

Cora couldn't look away. Didn't want to, even as her pulse kicked up and  the sheer force of his gaze narrowed the room-hell, the world-to the  eighteen inches that separated them. Her lips parted, a shiver raced  over her skin, and her nipples hardened. Because Slider was suddenly  looking at her like he was starving. And she might be the meal he'd been  dreaming of all this time.

Or she was rocking some seriously desperate wishful thinking.

But she didn't think so. Not when he reached across that gap between  them. Softly, slowly, his hand cupped the side of her face, his fingers  slid into her hair, his thumb stroked her skin, just skimming over the  corner of her mouth. Once, twice, three times.

Cora didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't look away. She feared the  second she did, whatever spell was weaving between them would break. She  didn't know what this was or what he was doing or what he even wanted,  but she wanted the chance to find out. Plenty of men had looked at her  with lust in their eyes during her almost twenty-four years, but no man  had ever looked at her with such tormented longing.