Read Online Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) by Marysol James - Free Book Online
Authors: Marysol James
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her in his arms, they felt hollow and useless, like he suddenly didn’t know just what the hell to do with them. They hung at his sides, limp and empty, itching to wrap around her once more. It seemed that if they weren’t holding Shay, then they served no earthly purpose whatsoever.
He rubbed the back of his neck, stared at her slim back some more. Then he went to the kitchen to clean up the mess on the floor, and to make some nuclear-grade coffee. It was going to be one hell of a long night.
**
Almost forty hours hours later, Warren checked the bite on her leg again, and heaved a sigh of relief. It was still red, but the swelling and inflammation were both way down. He touched her hand, her throat, her face, and knew that her body temperature was settling a bit.
It was going to be OK. She was going to be OK.
Exhaustion started to creep over him now, as if by acknowledging that she was alright, he’d given his body permission to start to relax. He fought it, though, since he needed to give her some more antibiotics in less than an hour, and if he fell asleep, he might sleep right on through. No way he was doing that to her. She was depending on him.
She needed him.
He dragged the chair from across the room over next to the bed, plunked down in it. He extended his long legs in front of him, raised his arms overhead, gave a stretch, grimacing at the pull of his overtaxed muscles. He wished hard for a long, hot bath, but he wasn’t about to leave Shay for longer than one minute at a time. Not until he was sure that she was out of the woods. She’d been through enough, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to make it all end for her. He’d made her that promise when he’d seen her slumped and unconscious on the cold stone ground, and he was determined to see it through.
For the rest of his life, Warren was going to remember the nightmare descent from that lonely cave, back to the cabin. What should have been a thirty-minute brisk walk had been a ninety-minute journey from hell.
He’d hauled her up and over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. It hadn’t been ideal, and he’d known it damn good and well: she was fragile and injured, and banging her around against his hard, broad back wouldn’t have helped her much. In an ideal world, he’d have cradled her in his arms against his chest, so gentle and careful. She’d have been able to feel his heartbeat, and he’d have been able to look down and see her face. He’d have been able to talk to her, to reassure and soothe her.
Instead, he’d dragged an unconscious woman down a frozen mountain in the dark, slipping and sliding the whole way, cursing the lack of paths and snagging branches overhead. Shay was a slim woman, but she was a tall woman, too, and although she couldn’t have weighed more than one-hundred-and-thirty pounds, he’d felt every one of them after an hour. He’d lugged fifty-pound bags of grain at the mill for years, done it for eight-hour shifts, six days a week, so he knew he was strong. But carrying a hurt woman down a steep, snowy mountain was a whole different thing.
Warren had gritted his teeth against his screaming, protesting leg muscles, his throbbing abs and lower back, and carried on putting one booted foot in front of the other. He’d taken it steady and calm, watching where he put his foot every single time. The last thing Shay had needed was to be thrown to the ground from his towering height, maybe even getting crushed under his weight as he slipped and fell backwards on top of her.
He’d reached the cabin at last, and as soon as he’d opened the door, he’d rushed her to his bedroom. That had all happened two days ago, but in some ways, it felt like only minutes had passed. Now, he settled his hands on his large thighs, stared at Shay some more as she slept in his bed, all snuggled down in a patch of late-afternoon sun, safe and relaxed.
It was a sight that he could get used to.
She looked so… right in his
He rubbed the back of his neck, stared at her slim back some more. Then he went to the kitchen to clean up the mess on the floor, and to make some nuclear-grade coffee. It was going to be one hell of a long night.
**
Almost forty hours hours later, Warren checked the bite on her leg again, and heaved a sigh of relief. It was still red, but the swelling and inflammation were both way down. He touched her hand, her throat, her face, and knew that her body temperature was settling a bit.
It was going to be OK. She was going to be OK.
Exhaustion started to creep over him now, as if by acknowledging that she was alright, he’d given his body permission to start to relax. He fought it, though, since he needed to give her some more antibiotics in less than an hour, and if he fell asleep, he might sleep right on through. No way he was doing that to her. She was depending on him.
She needed him.
He dragged the chair from across the room over next to the bed, plunked down in it. He extended his long legs in front of him, raised his arms overhead, gave a stretch, grimacing at the pull of his overtaxed muscles. He wished hard for a long, hot bath, but he wasn’t about to leave Shay for longer than one minute at a time. Not until he was sure that she was out of the woods. She’d been through enough, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to make it all end for her. He’d made her that promise when he’d seen her slumped and unconscious on the cold stone ground, and he was determined to see it through.
For the rest of his life, Warren was going to remember the nightmare descent from that lonely cave, back to the cabin. What should have been a thirty-minute brisk walk had been a ninety-minute journey from hell.
He’d hauled her up and over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. It hadn’t been ideal, and he’d known it damn good and well: she was fragile and injured, and banging her around against his hard, broad back wouldn’t have helped her much. In an ideal world, he’d have cradled her in his arms against his chest, so gentle and careful. She’d have been able to feel his heartbeat, and he’d have been able to look down and see her face. He’d have been able to talk to her, to reassure and soothe her.
Instead, he’d dragged an unconscious woman down a frozen mountain in the dark, slipping and sliding the whole way, cursing the lack of paths and snagging branches overhead. Shay was a slim woman, but she was a tall woman, too, and although she couldn’t have weighed more than one-hundred-and-thirty pounds, he’d felt every one of them after an hour. He’d lugged fifty-pound bags of grain at the mill for years, done it for eight-hour shifts, six days a week, so he knew he was strong. But carrying a hurt woman down a steep, snowy mountain was a whole different thing.
Warren had gritted his teeth against his screaming, protesting leg muscles, his throbbing abs and lower back, and carried on putting one booted foot in front of the other. He’d taken it steady and calm, watching where he put his foot every single time. The last thing Shay had needed was to be thrown to the ground from his towering height, maybe even getting crushed under his weight as he slipped and fell backwards on top of her.
He’d reached the cabin at last, and as soon as he’d opened the door, he’d rushed her to his bedroom. That had all happened two days ago, but in some ways, it felt like only minutes had passed. Now, he settled his hands on his large thighs, stared at Shay some more as she slept in his bed, all snuggled down in a patch of late-afternoon sun, safe and relaxed.
It was a sight that he could get used to.
She looked so… right in his
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