Collared (Going to the Dogs) (9 page)

Caleb pointed at his shield. “Cop.” He balled up his hand. “Fist.” He pointed at Reginald “Face.”

“Ooh, she said you were a feisty one.”

“Look, I’m gonna break your face, if you—”

“You’re not going to break anyone’s face, Caleb. You can barely move.”

The sound of her voice settled inside him like the warmth of hard liquor going down smooth.

He spun around and swore as every muscle in his body protested while every cell in his body heated.

She looked fucking amazing, and so put together, and it had only been an hour since he’d seen her.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

But she wasn’t listening to him. Her gaze was on his body and he thought for a moment she was ogling him, but her distressed expression made him look down. It was the huge mottled bruise on his shoulder that ran down his ribcage and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans that held her attention.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered. Then she looked up at him with those gorgeous blue eyes full of guilt. His perspective shifted. Guilt? The little rich girl was feeling something. For him. He hadn’t expected this from her, and his resolve to keep his hands off her slipped a bit. He didn’t even want to think about what her body would look like if that chair had hit her instead. The soft way she looked at him made him weak inside and if he wasn’t in so much pain, he’d kick Reginald out and take all her tenderness deep inside him while he went deep inside her.

“Reginald, set the table up in his bedroom. That way it’ll be easier for him to make it to the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am. Oh, about the oil…?”

Caleb was about to swear, protest and throw both of them outta his apartment. But she placed a hand on his bare chest and the words got strangled in his throat. He looked down at her, his focus going to her mouth. He remembered how it had been to kiss her, her mouth so fucking soft.

“Unscented,” she said.

“Harper.”

“Don’t argue with me, Caleb. He’s got amazing hands and he’ll alleviate so much of your muscle soreness that you won’t be as stiff in the morning.”

She slipped her hands around his back and under his shoulder. He resisted.

“Please.”

The pleading in her eyes did him in. Really, who could ever refuse this woman anything? Now he understood why she was so spoiled. She was even more provocative like this, and he absolutely did not need to see her this way. When had that regal princess softened into this caring, concerned woman? He felt a bit disoriented, trying to square his view of her with the way she was acting now.

He was still going to be stiff in the morning, but it would have nothing to do with aches and pains.

He could walk, but he liked having her nestled up close to him like this. Getting her sympathy wasn’t so bad. Who knew the princess could even feel guilt, let alone sympathy for him? He let her ease him into the bedroom.

“This must be Quinn,” she said as the dog watched Caleb walk away.

“Release,” Caleb said and Quinn trotted over, smelling around Harper. By the time they entered his bedroom, Reginald had the table set up.

“Do you need help getting out of your jeans?”

Caleb glared at him and Harper put a hand on his chest again. He wished she’d stop doing that. It was distracting him from his swearing and intimidation. “I’ll do it.”

Before he could tell her he was capable of taking off his own pants, she’d grasped his waistband, the warmth of her fingers brushing against his stomach and making him jerk. But she ignored him, exhaling a little puff of air. It made him feel better that she was affected too.

She rasped the zipper down, as his breathing went a little rough. He tried to take over, but then his shoulder protested loudly.

He threw his head back in pain, gritted his teeth and stood there until it passed.

“Caleb, please, let me do it.”

He nodded.

“Do you have any medication for the pain?”

“Yeah, I have Vicodin in the medicine cabinet.”

She came back into the room with the tablets and water. He accepted them, his gaze meeting her eyes. She tilted her head and smiled at him.

“Work his shoulder while he’s sitting up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She leaned down and that unique scent floated around him.

“Once the medication kicks in, then he should be able to lie down.”

Reginald nodded.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Reginald started working on his shoulder. Caleb had never had a massage, and certainly had never had a man touch him. It was strange at first, but the man’s skilled hands knew what they were doing.

The Vicodin made him woozy and the pain subsided by degrees. They helped him to stretch out face down, and he tried to keep his eyes open, but drifted into sleep.

#

Harper shook Caleb very carefully, and he opened his eyes. “Can you move to the bed? We’ll help you.”

He looked up at her with a sleepy, heated gaze that Harper felt in every nook and cranny of her body. She couldn’t help wondering if this is what he would look like after a night of sex.

“Sure,” he said, and when he teetered as he rose, Reginald was there to steady him. They maneuvered him off the table and into bed. As soon as he settled against the pillows, he was out like a light again.

Harper turned to Reginald as he folded up his table and packed away his gear. “Thank you so much for coming out at such short notice.”

“Oh, it was worth it to see…him. You go, girl.”

“Here’s your fee and something a little extra.”

“Harper, you don’t have to do that. I’d do anything for you.”

“You are a doll. I’m always thankful that you had PT training.”

“Comes in handy. Good night.”

She swallowed hard as she gazed down at Caleb. This was her fault. He’d been right. She hadn’t understood how dangerous that bar was, mostly because she’d almost never had any reason to fear anyone. She lived in a Candy Land world. She still thought she could have held her own in there, but she wasn’t going to find out now. She had no intention of going back to McGinty’s.

The bruises on his body were already worse, and she bit her lip. Guilt settled heavy in her abdomen. She hadn’t felt this bad since Poe had cut her out of her life for meddling.

Harper sat down on the edge of the bed, but Caleb was deeply asleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest an indication that the Vicodin was thoroughly dispersed through his system.

She reached out and brushed the back of her hand over his silky beard. He’d looked so tough tonight, and when he’d choked that man, Harper realized that Caleb was from a completely different world. But that only made her want to find out about that world and him all the more.

He was going to have a bruise on his cheek, too. His lip was cut, but she’d completely forgotten that while he’d held her up against the alley wall and consumed her mouth so thoroughly.

Damn, she’d never felt the kind of passion or desire for a man that she felt for Caleb. All these firsts with him were starting to add up to something significant, but her mind swerved away from that and moved on to more mundane details.

She reached over to the bedside table, grabbed her clutch, and pulled out the tube of wild yam. It was an excellent treatment for sore muscles and bruises, and she hoped that it would help him be a lot less sore and stiff in the morning.

Gosh, Caleb was built. His muscles were cut even while he slept. She trembled as she reached out and applied a generous amount of wild yam to his shoulder. Rubbing against his soft, warm skin, her fingers tingled. She scooted closer, wishing that he was awake and not hurting. There was that guilt again, but it was being washed away by her deep gratitude for the way he had protected her.

She stroked her hand down his arm, losing herself in the feel of his skin. He stirred in his sleep when she moved his arm, and he stretched out his gorgeous body, making it much easier to reach his ribcage. Thank God he hadn’t broken a rib. Although the bruise was on the side of his ribcage, as she applied the wild yam her thumb bumped over the ridges of his washboards. She moved her hands down to his waist.

He was wearing boxer briefs, and she could see where his shaft bulged. She was going to have to expose either his groin or his backside to get to his hip, probably the worst bruise on his body. Right where the chair had impacted.

She decided that she could more easily handle seeing his butt rather than his tantalizing sex. Gently she pulled down the boxers, revealing his amazing glutes. The man was a study in the male form. So completely and beautifully built like a Roman conqueror. When she peeled away his skivvies, she gasped, tears of sympathy filling her eyes. It was awful, a terrible mottled black and blue, with even some red indicating broken blood vessels.

She spent a long time gently rubbing in the yam to assure the maximum benefit. Then she decided that ice would be a good idea. She pulled his boxers back up over his hip, then manipulated the thick, hot muscle of his upper thigh as she rubbed in more yam to the edge of the bruise.

She got up and Quinn trailed after her to the kitchen, watching her with soft, worried brown eyes. She patted his head. “It’s okay boy.” Then she saw the empty dog dish. Had Caleb fed him?

She opened his refrigerator and found it pretty much a wasteland of fast food leftovers. “Typical.” But he did have ice packs, one that was big enough for her to jury-rig around his hip.

Once back in the bedroom, she got a towel and found gauze in his medicine cabinet and tied the ice on him, then she reluctantly pulled up the covers. When she reached his shoulder, she saw the rough and still pink round scar on his chest above his heavy pectoral muscle and just shy of his shoulder joint.

She paused and rubbed her thumb over it. This must be why he’d been on medical leave. He’d been shot. He heart jumped into her throat at the thought of Caleb suffering such a serious injury.

She closed her eyes as he shifted in her mind from a man who could give her out-of-control-sex to a man who performed a dangerous job for not much pay and at great personal risk. The insight was jarring. She knew that she lived in a fairy tale world. The ugliness of life had never really touched her, except for once, three years ago, but as usual, her mind shied away from the reminder.

She bent down and touched his face, her hand going into his thick black hair. “Caleb?”

He stirred and it took him a few moments to open his eyes.

He gave her another sleepy smile, and she was concerned that he might think he was dreaming. “Are you awake?” she asked.

“Geezus, woman, you even bother me in my dreams. Why don’t you climb in here, and I’ll show you if I’m awake or not.”

She smiled, he was always so gruff, but she liked it. He was in no shape to make love to her, and she certainly wanted him alert and fully aware of every single tingle and jolt of pleasure she gave him.

“Down, boy,” she said and he chuckled softly.

“Did you feed your dog?”

“Dog?”

“Quinn? Did you feed him?”

“Doggie,” he sighed. “Nice doggie. Good boy.”

Oh, dear. She decided that she’d better feed Quinn. Even if he’d already eaten, another helping couldn’t hurt just this once.

“Caleb.”

“Huh?”

She knew it was a cop-out to say this when he was mostly asleep and out of it. But her emotions were rawer than they’d ever been, except for the time she almost lost Poe, her mother had died and when Aiden had been wounded. “Thank you for saving me tonight.”

“Crazy woman.”

She smiled and leaned down to press her lips to his silky cheek. Then she smoothed her hand over his face, loving the feel of his beard and his skin.

“Damn fool beauty,” he murmured.

Harper pulled the sheet up over his exposed shoulder, but couldn’t resist one more brush of her fingers over his face. She moved backwards until she hit the doorjamb, then turned off the light.

Caleb drifted awake slowly, the Vicodin aftermath making him feel heavy and groggy. He hated taking the medication, but it was a necessary evil right now. He moved his shoulder and, surprisingly, it didn’t protest too much.

He tested the rest of his body, and although his hip was still sore, the rest of the dull pain was manageable.

Then he noticed a faint but pleasant scent he couldn’t identify. When he moved, something soft and liquid sloshed on his hip. He pushed the sheet aside to find a melted ice pack.

Harper.

The thickness in his head cleared. That’s right. Last night, Harper. Reginald. Caleb cracked a wry smile at
that
misunderstanding. He had to give the guy credit. He felt pretty good for someone who’d been slammed with a chair.

He whistled for Quinn to take him out for a walk. It would also loosen up his muscles. But Quinn didn’t appear. Caleb pushed off the edge of the bed, bracing for the pain from his hip. Huh. It wasn’t bad. He limped a little as he walked out into the living room, but no Quinn.

Where the hell was his dog?!

In fifteen minutes he was banging on Harper’s door. When the pretty, dark-haired housekeeper opened it, her eyes went a little wide. He tried to control his anxiety. “Harper?”

“She’s at the pool, sir.”

“What pool?”

“
The
pool,” she said more slowly, as if he was a moron and couldn’t understand her.

“Where? What’s the address?”

She looked at him, shaking her head. “¿Qué?”

“Where is the pool located?”

“Oh,
sí
, downstairs.”

“Oh, inside. Here.” Of course, she had a pool in her penthouse. Now he did feel like an idiot. “Take me there.”

Who the hell was he fooling here? He was too blue collar for it to even occur to him that she would have an indoor pool. It brought home just how far out in left field he was. Her dating pool was Park Avenue in Manhattan and his was a pool hall in the Bronx. This wouldn’t work. And after what she’d done for him last night, he was well aware that Harper was more than a one-night-stand kind of woman. She was silk and satin, champagne and caviar.

He was much too rough around the edges.