Sin on the Run by Lucy Farago

loopy.”
    â€œYeah, I wished I’d gotten him on my phone. The guys back at the lab would have gotten a kick out of seeing him like that.” He laughed.
    She frowned, wondering why a man in pain would be humorous. “Seeing someone hurt is funny?”
    â€œYou too? Ah, hell, I thought you’d be different. Pretty boy is like honey to bears.” He shook his head. “Lucky bastard. I meant him being stoned, not hurt. We take care of our own, in case you missed the memo,” he teased.
    â€œSorry, but why would it be funny?”
    â€œLet me put it this way. I once saw him polish off a bottle of Crown without so much as a slur.”
    â€œImpressive.” Not to her, of course. “I don’t drink.”
    â€œGood girl. Now how about that walk?”
    â€œNo thanks, I want to be here in case he wakes up.” She was using her scariest tactics to get Blake to take his pills. The hangover effect he was experiencing would take the rest of the day to clear his system. Abandoning him to take a walk didn’t seem right. She told herself not to care whether it felt right or wrong, but again, she didn’t listen.
    * * *
    It was four hours before Blake stirred. She’d gone into his room several times, each time being careful not to wake him. On the third visit, she was about to shut the door behind her when she heard, “Are you bored?”
    She turned to see him struggling to sit up. When she moved to help, he held up a hand.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she asked.
    â€œYou’ve been in here three times. I’d like to think it was because you cared. But since I got you into this sorry mess, I’m thinking you can’t wait to see the last of me.”
    â€œI’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you.” She chose to ignore his comment.
    â€œSeeing you is the highlight of my day.” He dropped his feet to the floor and stood.
    She watched carefully, vigilant should he fall. “Sounds like you’re the one who’s bored.”
    â€œI am,” he said, deflating the little part of her ego he’d just stroked. “But what better way to keep myself occupied than watch a beautiful woman walk into my bedroom?”
    â€œYou think I’m beautiful?” He was everything you could think of on a stick. Him saying she was beautiful was outrageous. Men paid her compliments all the time. But when you’d given them a hard on, it wasn’t much of a compliment.
    â€œThere is none more beautiful than you, Rhonda.” He sat where they’d played cards this morning. “Outside,” he continued, “and inside. I know you have this whole tough thing going on.” He waved his hand in the air. “And it’s sexy as hell, a strong woman who tells you to shove it up yer arse with a smile that makes you wish you could take her to bed. But you’ve a gentle soul. A kind soul. One I think you’d rather not have. Would it be too personal a question for me to ask why?”
    He motioned to the chair across from him.
    She obliged. “I don’t understand the question.” Who didn’t want their soul?
    He leaned over the small table. “It’s like this. You see a bird with a broken wing and you take it home. Helping is a pain in the arse, but your heart won’t let you leave the injured birdie.
    â€œYou wish you could. Walk away, that is, but you can’t. You’re compelled to help. I’m that broken bird. And you wish like hell you could simply walk away, but even if you could, you can’t.”
    â€œInteresting premise, except I can’t go anywhere. And if I could, why would I leave an injured man to fend for himself when I have some, if not all of the training to help? I’d have to be very cold-hearted. Who would want to be that kind of person?” His assumption was hitting too close to home. It wasn’t as simple as wanting to shut off that part of her that