My brain shuts down as I fist his hair with one hand and slide the crotch of my panties to the side with my other hand. To hell with death. I refuse to die until I’ve truly lived. I lean into his body, searching for the ultimate connection.
“Fuck … I can’t.” He steps back, like he’s suddenly afraid of me.
Before I can get my feet beneath me, my hand slips on the edge of the metal bench and my ass lands on the hard dirt floor. “Ouch!” I hug my arm to my chest. It scraped along something sharp on my way to the ground.
“Shit! Ellen …” Flint pulls up his pants.
The long cut on my arm bleeds through the sleeve of my white shirt.
“Let me see.” He squats down and pulls my arm away from me.
Crimson continues to spread.
I seethe as he unbuttons the cuff of my sleeve and eases it up, revealing the deep cut on my forearm.
“Fuck …” He grumbles. “You’re going to need stitches.”
Biting my lip to fight back my reaction to the pain, I nod.
Standing, he rakes his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” I grimace, leaning a little to the side to ease the pressure on my bruised ass.
He doesn’t answer. Five or so minutes later he returns with help. I figured he’d load me in his car and take me to urgent care. I’m a little surprised by his choice.
Abigail fails to completely hide her surprise as her gaze lands on me for a few seconds before giving a disapproving scowl to Flint. Had I known he was going to bring back company, I would have made some effort to pull my skirt back down over my ass, or button what few buttons are left to my shirt, or remove my ripped nylon leggings.
She lowers to her haunches. “Ellen, are you okay—”
“We agreed no questions.” Flint’s jaw clenches.
Abigail shoots him another warning look. He sighs and glances away.
“My arm is cut.” I ease it from my chest to show her.
She looks at it briefly before meeting my eyes with concern. “Did he…” biting her lips together, her inspecting gaze studies my ripped clothes “…hurt you?”
The pain from the cut takes a backseat to the knot in my stomach as it hits me that she’s questioning if he sexually assaulted me.
Flint takes a small step back, the pain on his face intensifying into something between confusion and regret.
“No.” I shake my head, willing him to look at me, but he doesn’t.
Abigail grabs the first aid kit she carried in with her and tends to my arm. “Let’s run to the hospital and get this stitched up for you and make sure you don’t have any other injuries.” She gives Flint another look.
He keeps his eyes turned to the ground.
With gauze pressed to my wound, Abigail helps me to my feet, pulls my skirt down over my hips, and buttons the three buttons left on my shirt.
“Dr. Hamilton?”
Her jaw clenches as she realizes my shirt won’t cover much with only three buttons left.
“Abigail?” I say a little louder.
She snaps her head up.
“This is embarrassing, not tragic. Okay?”
The worry glued to her forehead tells me she’s not following.
“I left your party because I saw Flint in his garden. I didn’t know he was your neighbor.”
She nods slowly, but I still don’t think she’s following.
I sigh. “Sex. Consensual sex, Abigail. Or at least …” I meet Flint’s gaze as he allows his eyes to focus on me instead of whatever the hell is so interesting about the dirt floor. “It was headed in that direction.”
Why does he look so pained? I’m the one bleeding. I’m the one feeling rejected.
“How do you know Flint?”
I can’t hold back my grin. “He’s my landlord.”
“Sex in a Suit?” She whips her head back toward him.
Flint’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead.
I chuckle. Alone. Why am I the only one who sees the humor in this? “I’m going with Seduction in a Suit from now on. He fumbled the ball at the last second, which is a little surprising given his college football experience.”
Again, I’m the only one searching for a shred of humor in this most embarrassing situation.
“Keep pressure on the gauze. I’m going to get a sweatshirt for you and let Martin know I have to leave.”
“You have guests. Don’t be silly. There are other doctors at the hospital who can stitch me up. Besides, my guess is you’ve been drinking.”
Her lips twist as her gaze shifts from me to Flint several times. “Drive her. Stay with her. Don’t lie to the doctor who examines her. And please consider using a bed next time.”
He flinches. I don’t think there will be a next time.
“I’ll be back with a sweatshirt.”
“I’ll get her one of mine.” Flint finally finds words.
Abigail nods. Rolls her eyes. Shakes her head. Then leaves.
“Let’s go.” He catches the door behind her and holds it open for me.
“Do you really own a sweatshirt? I feel like you’re more of a white tee and V-neck sweater kind of guy.”
No response. No surprise.
*
I was wrong. He has a Nebraska hoodie, and it smells like his rich woodsy scent. I might not give it back.
“I need a favor,” I say when he opens the car door for me at the entrance to the ER. It’s the first words that have been spoken since we left his house. “Help me remove my leggings. The cut on my arm and bruised ass will be easy to explain. The ripped crotch to these will not be quite as easy to pass off as consensual sex.”
Flint makes frowns look sexy. That’s a special talent, but it’s not going to help me out of these leggings.
I shake my head. “Never mind, Mr. Helpful.” Holding my injured arm to my chest, I try to snake my other arm up my skirt to grab the waist of my leggings.
“Just …” He sighs, bending his long torso into the car over mine. “Move your arm.”
I suck in a breath as his hands slide up my skirt.
He gives me a different kind of frown. How many does he have?
“Sorry.” My teeth dig into my bottom lip. Despite my arm and bruised ass, his close proximity and hands sliding up my thighs turn me on.
It’s possible I’ve imagined him easing nylons off my legs, but in that fantasy we weren’t parked in a car at the entrance to the emergency room.
When he gets them to my knees, he slides off my boots, pulls them the rest of the way off, and slips my boots back on my bare feet. “Jesus …” He shakes his head. “You’re bleeding and humming?”
I hum to keep my mind off the way his hands feel along my skin.
I hum to forget the first man who laid his hands on me. I hum to forget the pain that comes with knowing he will never touch me again.
Flint waits in the waiting room for me while the doctor stitches my arm, examines my bruised ass and hip, and updates my tetanus. I tell the young intern that I slipped off a dirty metal bench in a greenhouse onto a hard dirt floor. The truth.
“Five stitches.” I hold up my bandaged arm.
“Ellen …” Another original Flint frown.
I nod toward the exit. “Let’s go. Life’s too short for tripping over unnecessary apologies.”