Fever by Maya Banks Page A

deal. Come into the living room. We’ll do it there.”
    He reached out his hand to cup her elbow and then he guided her out of the bathroom, back through
    his bedroom and then into the sprawling living room.
    He had a truly spectacular view of the city with panoramic windows.
    “Slip out of your jeans,” he said. “Then get comfortable on the couch. Dinner is just about ready.
    By the time I get you all fixed up, we can eat.”
    Knowing it was useless to argue, she unfastened the pants and let them fall down her legs.
    “I know they’re too big,” Jace said as she kicked them away. He reached for her hand and pulled
    her down to sit next to him. “We’ll go tomorrow and get what you need. The very first thing you’re
    getting is a damn coat. It’s freezing out there and you’ve been running all over this damn city without
    proper clothing. That shit stops now.”
    There was steel in his tone and yet some of the deeply entrenched cold began to dissipate at the
    edge of concern in his voice. He spoke like a man who genuinely cared about her well-being.
    She mentally shook herself because that kind of fantasy was dangerous territory. She’d learned the
    hard way that she could rely on absolutely no one but herself to take care of her. And even she had let
    herself down. Just like all the others.
    He leaned toward the coffee table, where a small first-aid kit rested. There was a long moment of
    silence while he applied ointment to each and every scrape and then affixed gauze and tape on the
    large ones and put large Band-Aids on the smaller cuts.
    Before she realized his intent, he pushed her back on the couch and lifted her T-shirt.
    “I don’t have any cuts there!” she cried when his hand skimmed over her belly.
    His expression was murderous as he lifted his gaze to hers. “No, but you have bruises. What the
    fuck happened out there, Bethany? Who did this to you?”
    He sounded so pissed that she flinched from the anger in his voice. It was instinctive to withdraw.
    Self-preservation.
    A low hiss escaped his tight lips. “Goddamn it, Bethany, I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt
    you. But I want to know what son of a bitch did .”
    “Y-you s-sound so a-angry.”
    “Hell yes. I’m furious! But not at you, baby.” His voice softened as he called her baby , and
    something inside her went soft as well. “I’m pissed at the bastard who put his hands on you. And
    you’re going to tell me exactly how this happened.”
    She went pale and her eyes widened.
    Then, when she hadn’t thought he could do anything else to surprise her, he leaned over her and
    lowered his head to her ribs. He pressed a kiss to each and every bruise, his mouth so tender she
    barely felt the pressure.
    Dear God, how was she ever going to resist this man?
    “Do you need something for pain?” he asked.
    “I’m okay,” she whispered. “Just hungry.”
    He immediately lifted his head, his mouth tightening once more. “How long has it been since you
    ate? And don’t lie to me.”
    She swallowed hard, but she didn’t lie. “Three days.”
    “Son of a bitch!”
    His jaw bulged and he turned away as if collecting himself before he faced her again. When he did
    return his gaze, there was fire in his eyes and he still looked as if he’d explode at any second.
    “You have to give me a minute,” he muttered.
    He visibly inhaled and exhaled through his nose before finally rising from the couch. He put his
    hand down, palm up, waiting for her to take it and get up too. When she let him help her stand, he
    reached down to snag her jeans. Then he guided her hand to his arm and told her to hang on while she
    put her feet through the pants legs.
    After he fastened the fly, he took her hand and guided her into the kitchen. The entire apartment was
    an open concept with one room flowing into the next. The dining room, or rather dining area, was in
    front of the kitchen and off the living room to the side. There was an island-bar