The pale blue of his eyes—eyes that are staring intently into mine—is so beautiful it reminds me of a summer sky right before sunset, with long, dark lashes framing those puppies. With a straight nose and thick chestnut hair that has a hint of a wave to it, he is perfection.
Then there’s the rest of him. Tall—that I already knew from earlier—with thick, broad shoulders and large, well-defined arms. He even has a few colorful tattoos that pop out from beneath his tee. I have no doubt the rest of him is just as impressive.
I hit a rock star with my car and he’s the closest image to sex on legs I could have ever conjured up in my wildest dreams.
Only this isn’t a dream.
It’s a fucking nightmare.
“How bad?” And I’m not asking about myself since I just heard the tell-all between him and the nurse. “What’s the damage to your car?”
Mine is totaled. I saw that much when I stepped out of it. It would cost more to fix than it’s worth which means I’m stuck with taking public transportation to work.
And then I awkwardly laugh. Out loud, I think because his eyebrows knit together in confusion at the random bitter sound. I glance down. My entire left arm from my elbow to the tips of my fingers are covered in white plaster. White. Not even a cool color.
But that’s not even close to the larger concern of the moment. Work.
How the hell can I work with a busted arm and hand?
I can’t waitress like this. I don’t think I can type either, given that the cast covers my entire left hand. Not my dominant hand, but does it matter? I’m a temp. So easily replaced.
“My car is fine. Don’t worry about my car.”
I shake my head at his gorgeous face. “Just tell me.”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t look too closely. You passed out in my arms and I didn’t think twice about it. I just scooped you up, grabbed your purse and shoes from your car, and drove you here. I called the police and told them about the accident. About what I did with you. Your car was towed to a lot somewhere.”
I grimace, looking away, my stomach dropping to the bottom of my toes. I hear him swallow hard and something about that has me reluctantly turning back to him.
“I told the police it was my fault.”
I sputter out some sort of deranged noise at that. “What?” I try to sit up, but he quickly pushes me back down, pinning me with an admonishing glare. “Why? Why the hell would you do that?”
“Because you said you couldn’t afford it. And I can. My insurance won’t drop me or increase my premiums. My insurance will pay for your car to be fixed or more likely just cut you a check for whatever it’s worth.”
Which is next to nothing, but still.
I blink at him. Stunned out of my goddamn mind. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You can. It’s done. It’s on record already. The police came and spoke to me while you were unconscious. Your statement is insignificant now that I’ve claimed blame.”
“No…” I trail off, feeling like I must be hallucinating. No one does that. Especially for someone they don’t know. Especially for someone who evidently took an illegal right and caused a major accident.
And why is he staring at me like that?
Like he doesn’t want to but can’t help it. That stare.
I shift my sore, aching body up on the gurney, glancing down as I do, only to discover I’m wearing nothing but a blue and white gown and a flimsy white blanket that barely covers my lower half.
I should be embarrassed to be in this state. I mean, I know my nipples are hard. It’s damn cold in here and I can feel them popping out and saying hello. But I’m just too… angry with him to acknowledge just how vulnerable I am.
“I didn’t ask you to do that. I’m not a charity case. I can take care of myself.”
I know I should be more grateful to him. And I am. I truly am. But him taking blame and paying for everything makes me feel weaker and more pathetic than I already do. But honestly, how could he have known other than the look of my old car that I can’t afford to pay for any of this? All I said was that I couldn’t afford an ambulance. That was it.
“I don’t like being in debt to people,” I continue when he doesn’t respond. That’s an understatement. I downright loathe it.
“You’re not in debt to me.”
I hiss between my clenched teeth. He’s too matter of fact about this. It’s only infuriating me further. “But—”
He cuts me off. “There is no but. You, Maia Alice Angelo, were not at fault. You will have no hospital bills to pay. You will be compensated for your car. That’s all there is to it.”
Tears burn my eyes like someone doused them in acid, but I tamp my emotions down, refusing to lose this last shred of my dignity.
I open my mouth only to close it immediately because there is no way I can speak without sobbing. I’m hurt, half-naked, stuck in a hospital bed with a head injury, a broken arm and fingers, and a wrecked car.
Now this rock star is claiming full responsibility when he is absolutely not at fault. I’m perplexed he would go to these extremes. I’m flabbergasted he would put the blame on himself and pay for everything.
But I’m also leery.
And scared.
I’m really scared about what happens next for me.
By tomorrow—or wait today, I don’t even know what day it is—I will be gainfully unemployed. Unhireable for at least four to six weeks as the nurse said for my arm to heal. I can’t lift a tray of food. I can’t type over ninety words a minute.
I am expendable.
I clear my throat and when I think I have control over my voice, I whisper, “Why?” It’s all I’ve got left. “Why did you do all this for me?”
Something dark and broken flashes across his features before it’s just as quickly gone. He sits back, putting distance between us. “Because you needed me to.”
He says that like that’s really all there is to it. But it can’t be that simple. Nothing is. No one does anything for free in this world. Everyone expects something in return. And Keith Dawson is no different, no matter what he says. There has to be something he’s after.
3
Maia
* * *
“I don’t fuck men for money.”
He laughs. I don’t.
“That’s not what I’m after. That’s not why I helped you. If I wanted sex, I could get that from a dozen women in this city who don’t have stitches in their head and a busted-up arm. Hell, I could go out to the nurses’ station and end up laid within ten minutes.”
I scowl and he chuckles, smiling wide with perfect white teeth and a dimple I hadn’t noticed before in his right cheek. Looking at him now, I believe everything he just said to be true.
“That’s super classy. A real turn-on. I can see how you get so many women so easily,” I deadpan, letting him know I’m not at all impressed by that.
He hasn’t stopped grinning. His eyes haven’t left my face. Not once. “I’m not saying this to sound like an arrogant dick. It’s a stupid fact of my job, okay? But it is what it is and that’s not what I want from you.”