So. Long(98)
He pulls me to him, holding me tightly to his naked chest with all that muscle under my cheek. “Yes, my head’s throbbing like a bitch, but keep holding me right here against your chest and all that masculine scent. I’m certain I’ll feel better in a few hours.”
His voice rumbles through my head, vibrating in his chest. “Yeah, okay. Now I know you need to go see a doctor. I’ll hold you anywhere you want after they fix you up.”
I pull back. “Tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”
His cocky grin confirms that I did just that.
He pushes his shirt more firmly into place, half of it hanging over my face. “Here, you hold it. I’ll drive. Don’t worry; I’ll let you rub my chest later.”
Jackson stands at the emergency care place and taps the front desk, his tone stern. “I can appreciate that she’s not the only patient, but she’s bleeding. Can we please get her something to stem the flow other than my sweaty shirt?”
I sit in a molded plastic chair, enjoying the entertainment. My head doesn’t hurt too much. It stings like fire, but the headache isn’t terrible. There does seem to be a lot of blood, but I think that’s the norm for a head wound. The girls behind the counter seem determined to keep me in the waiting area as long as possible, probably so they can continue to drool over Jackson’s naked torso. Can’t say that I blame them.
When he turns back to me, the girl he spoke to uses her phone to take a photo of him.
Jack pushes his fingers through his hair, falling into the seat next to mine. His fingers lace with mine, and he pulls my hand to his mouth, kissing each of my knuckles.
He abruptly stands and drags me out of my seat. “Fuck this. I’m taking you to my house.”
SEVEN
Jackson keeps one hand on the wheel and one entwined with mine. “I’ll call Doc. He’ll come out and fix you.”
He’s said some variation of that sentence at least three times since he bundled me into his car.
I flip the visor down and pull his shirt away from my head. “I have no idea what kinds of prices doctors who make house calls charge. I really don’t think it’s that bad. I can probably put a butterfly bandage over it and it’ll be fine.”
“That’s your face. No. You need to have it looked at. What if they need to do some kind of plastic surgery to keep it from scarring?” He squeezes my hand, massaging the back of it with his thumb. “No. Don’t worry about the money. I got it. It’s not a problem.”
“Plastic surgery?” I push the bloody hair out of the way. “No. It’s not that big. And it’s right in the hairline. A scar probably won’t show.”
“Humor me, will you?”
Humor him? It’s my head we’re talking about.
The wound is about an inch long, but it might be bigger. Damn. Freaking plastic surgery? That’s going to cost about a million dollars I’ll never have.
He pulls into the driveway of a modern, multi-level home. My stomach quivers as my gaze moves from the seemingly freshly stained wooden doors of his garage to Jackson, and back again.
Good gracious. This house. Jackson Tremaine. What am I even doing with him, much less at his home? He’s so far out of my league it isn’t funny.
At the door, Jackson stops. “Bull is harmless, but big.”
“Bull?”
He opens the door, but before he can step inside, a freaking gigantic dog tumbles outside. Jack takes hold of the thing’s collar before it can run me over.
I take two steps backward. “He’s—he’s the size of a small car.”
The monster has old-man jowls. A string of slobber hangs from one corner of his mouth.
Jack scratches the beast behind his ears. “Yeah, he’s a rescue dog, so there’s some debate on exactly what breeds make up his family tree. But, we’re fairly sure he’s got some bull mastiff.”
“Thus the name Bull.” I tentatively hold out my palm to let him sniff.
He doesn’t smell my hand; he licks it with his soft, slimy tongue. Ew.
“Down, boy. Wait to kiss the girls after you get to know them for more than thirty seconds.” He ruffles the fur on top of the dog’s head.
Once inside, he lets the dog loose. I hold still while it smells my shoes, my legs…my crotch. “Oh, no you don’t.”
I push the dog’s cold nose away from my lady parts, my fingers sinking into his velvety, whiskered cheeks—do dogs have cheeks?
Jackson grabs his collar and pulls him back. “Now, Bull. You know better than that. I’m the only one who gets to do that in this house.”
Heat sneaks up my chest and onto my cheeks at the image that brings to my mind—Jackson with his face at the apex of my thighs.