“Did I?” Her lids parted and she peered at me through her thick lashes. “Good thing there’s two of you then, huh?”
I said nothing, nor did she seem bothered for an answer when her fingers drifted down to my belt. Neither of us looked away from the other, a silent challenge to see who would blink first.
“The windows are open,” I pointed out, just in case it had slipped her mind.
An eyebrow lifted. “I didn’t take you for the shy type.”
I gave a grunt, mostly due to the liberation of my cock in her hand. “I couldn’t give a fuck, but I’d rather if your pussy didn’t go viral for the entire world to see.”
There was nothing seductive about her smile, but it had all the power of sucker punching me in the gut.
“We could go back to my place,” she volunteered. “Or yours?”
I shook my head. “I’m … working.” My gaze lowered to the cock she was stroking lightly. “How long will it take you to close?”
She shrugged. “Five minutes?”
I forgot what I was going to say when she lowered her head and delicately sucked on my head. Her tongue circled the top, cleaning the clear fluid collecting along the opening.
“Come into the back with me,” she breathed, my cock resting on her full, bottom lip. Her lashes lifted and I found myself falling under her spell. “I want to taste you again.”
Who the fuck was this girl? Where had she been all my life and why was she suddenly in it when I couldn’t have her?
“Can’t,” I groaned, not missing the faint whine in the single statement. “I need to get back.”
Ernie was going to get the beating of his life over this. If he wasn’t such a little weasel, I would already have Mia in the kitchen, on the first flat surface I came across. Instead, I had to dislodge my aching cock from her eager fingers and take a step back.
“You have three to close this place up,” I told her.
With a grin, she hopped off the stool and hurried to where she’d left her clipboard. It was snatched up along with her pencil and she set to work closing the diner. I tucked myself away and wandered over to the glass door.
“Was someone going to pick you up?” I asked over my shoulder.
“No, why?”
I studied the wet, empty street outside. The rain had slowed to a few drops dripping off lampposts and awnings, but there was no denying it would start up again. It had been a game of off and on all day.
“How are you getting home?”
I caught her smile through the glass. “I’ve walked home a million times. It’s fine. I just keep my head down and walk fast.”
I hated that.
There was probably nothing less I hated than the thought of her hurrying home, terrified of every shadow, every sound. I hated the thought of that luck changing, of some asshole catching sight of her and trying something. I would go in for murder and it wouldn’t be a clean murder. I would disembowel the fucker. I would rip him to pieces and spread those pieces across the fucking city.
“Nero?”
I sucked in a breath, willing the bloodlust down before I inadvertently punched a hole into the window.
“Yeah?”
She was tugging on her coat when I felt calm enough to face her. She peered at me while buttoning the light fabric up.
“You okay?”
I lifted and dropped a shoulder in response. “Fine. You ready?”
She nodded, reaching for her bag off the counter, along with her umbrella. The bag was hooked over her shoulder and she stuffed the umbrella inside it.
When she started towards me, I reached for the lock on the door.
“Oh! Wait.” Mia grabbed my hand to stop me.
The contact was an unexpected pressure around a hand that still refused to close properly. The grip of her fingers sent a fresh wave of agony slicing up my arm and a numbing sensation down my fingers. I growled without thinking and yanked away.
“Nero?” Mia was staring at me, brown eyes enormous with concern. “Did I hurt you?”
I tried to shove my hand into my pocket, but the lack of sensation in my fingertips made it difficult to find the opening without agitating the flesh further.
“No,” I bit out through clenched teeth. “Just hurt my hand the other day. It’s fine.”
But she wasn’t listening to me. She was pulling my hand to her, gingerly pushing back the sleeve of my coat.
She gasped. “Oh my God, your hand!” she cried, head jerking up to meet my eyes. “This is serious.”
“It’s fine,” I said again, trying and failing to pull away. “It’ll heal.”
Mia shook her head. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I said out of reflex. “Hit a wall.”
She frowned, disbelief thinning her lips. “How many times? Please,” she whispered when I opened my mouth to tell her not to worry about it. “Let me take care of it.”
Not giving me a chance to tell her to forget it, she was gone, disappearing into the back. A moment later, she returned with a first aid kit. It was set on the counter alongside her purse.
“Please?” she said again when I didn’t move. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”
It wasn’t the desperation that signed my resignation. It was the tears in her eyes. Lord knew why. I told myself I was immune to the tears of women, but apparently not Mia’s. Seeing the shine in hers made something tighten in my gut.
So, I went to her. I sat when she told me to and I kept my mouth shut while she yanked open the box and began yanking creams and gauzes out.
“You a nurse now?” I teased her, needing to erase the deep lines of worry cutting around her mouth.
Her throat muscles flexed before she spoke. “My aunt is one. Honestly, I don’t know how to fix this.” Her voice caught, shattering something inside me.
“Hey,” I reached for the side of her face with my good hand, “I’m fine. It’s just a hand. I’ve had worse.”
“Worse,” she repeated so low, it was merely a movement of her lips.
Neither of us said another word while she dabbed an alcohol swab over the damaged skin. Being a thirty year old hardened criminal didn’t stop me from wincing at the burn that followed. Mia lifted the digits and lightly blew on the wounds, scattering tiny prickles all the way up my arm. It was followed by a generous smear of Polysporin and wrapped with gauze.
“Better?” she asked once her task was complete.
It wasn’t. My hand still hurt, but with the gauze, it was now impossible to hold my gun. That was the reason I hadn’t wrapped the thing myself.
But she was peering at me with big, hopeful eyes and I didn’t have the heart to tell her as much. Plus, I didn’t think she would understand.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Better. Thanks.”
The smile she gave me wasn’t like the others. It was sad and I didn’t like it, but then she was leaning forward and wrapping me up in her arms, and I couldn’t move. This wasn’t seductive or enticing. This was a hug, an act offered for no other reason than to comfort me. I didn’t know what to do even while my brain screamed at me to shove her away, to tell her that was against the rules.
“Be careful,” she whispered into the side of my neck. “It may just be a hand, but it’s your hand and I don’t like seeing you hurt.” She pulled back to stare into my face, hers containing a little grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Ready?”