Page 62 of Intent to Kill
“Piss off, it’s deep…look at it!”
“It is deep,” he smiled again, then frowned as he wiped dried blood from her skin. “It looks really bad, actually.”
“Not as bad as your face,” she said.
He chuckled.
“I’m serious,” she said. “You’ve got really black bruises. Here.” She pressed her index finger to his temple. “Here.” She brushed along his jawline. “And here,” she said, holding his gaze as she brushed her thumb over his lip. When did she up and lose all her sanity? She blamed the man carefully doting at her wound for her loss of brain cells.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out in the background, likely from the back terrace, far away and not leaving them in immediate danger. Though it was enough to tear their attention from each other. Mercedes dropped her hand from his face.
“Blake?” Adam asked, frowning toward the gunshot sound.
“He’s not home,” Mercedes said.
Adam thoroughly cleaned her wound and pressed a fresh bandage over her skin. His thumb ran circles over her bare shoulder, and she suppressed the urge to shiver at the pleasant tingles spreading over her.
Before Adam, she didn’t believe in it. That feeling that one person could actually make your skin sing and your soul breathe. After Adam left, she stopped believing in such novelties. So what was this feeling? She frowned down at her wound, traitorous skin celebrating with every skim of his finger.
When she looked up their eyes connected.
Agreeing to be friends was already proving to be a horrible mistake. If she didn’t have hatred for him, then her feelings swerved dangerously into other territories. Ones that she had no control over.
At that moment, the lock at the door wriggled and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Fucking locks on the doors.” It was Dorian’s voice.
“Fuck,” she said, looking at the window like it had the potential to save her life. But Dorian was already opening the door, and they were on the opposite side of the room.
Adam bolted for the walk-in closet, but she grabbed his shoulder to yank him back. “No, linen closet.”
She pulled open a small closet, shoved him inside and then followed, closing it softly when Dorian slipped into the room.
Then silently cursed herself.
If she ended up in one more fucking closet with Adam Vandemilio she was going to lose her sanity.
“You’re awfully calm.” T.B.’s voice.
“You’re awfully fucking twitchy,” Dorian said.
“You’re not worried about the heat this might draw on–”
“Enough!” Footsteps creaked until it sounded like he was right outside the door. “Fucking stolen drugs, fucking prostitutes, in two hours it won’t matter. Shut. Up.”
Mercedes looked to Adam, a panicked expression on his face that she was sure was mirrored in her own.
“And get the fuck out so I can shower.”
When the shower started and both the bathroom and bedroom door clicked closed, she dared venture out. Tiptoeing to the window, she paused to open it for Adam. He went through, perching on the ledge to hold out his hand in silent invitation, a tic in his jaw telling her he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
She sighed and took his hand, following him down the trellis.
* * *
Adam managed to keep his cool for the car ride back to his hotel and not a moment longer. Once he arrived all bets were off, his temper loose and unruly like a wiggly water hose with the pressure turned all the way up.
Adam smashed the door of his hotel open and rushed in, pulling drawers open and throwing paperwork everywhere.
