seen . “Did the police come up with prints or any other evidence?”
“No. Whoever grabbed you was wearing gloves.There was some blood spatter near the sink. I’m guessing he got into the house while you were putting your groceries away. You saw movement or maybe his reflection in the window, turned and he hit you.”
“So none of the blood was his.”
“No.”
Her abject despair must’ve shown on her face, because he seemed to want to cheer her up. “I brought your luggage, too. I thought you might like to get out of that hospital gown.”
She felt exposed in the loose-fitting, tied-at-the-back gown, especially since she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. But what she’d brought to sleep in was probably even less modest. She’d planned on being alone. “I usually wear a tank top and a pair of panties.”
Their eyes locked and enough electricity to light up Manhattan seemed to charge through the room. But a moment later, Sheridan wondered if she’d been the only one to experience it.
“However you’re most comfortable is fine by me,” he said.
Was he pretending she didn’t tempt him, regardless of what she wore? “Can you step out for a minute?” she asked. “I have to use the bathroom.” He’d helped her before, but she was more lucid now and had added motivation to do it on her own.
He didn’t go. He slid the tray aside so she wouldn’t knock against it as she passed. Then he reached for the covers.
She quickly pulled down her flimsy hospital gown before his efficient movements exposed her bottom.
“Ready?” He started to slide a hand around her back, but she stiffened and did her best to move away. She wanted to stand on her own, but he ignored her resistance and swept her into his arms. Then he sat her on the toilet, making her feel about as powerful as a child.
Hating her own weakness and pain, Sheridan waited for the door to close, at which point she had some privacy. Still, she knew Cain was just on the other side, waiting for her to finish.
Why had she come home with him? What had she been thinking?
It was the drugs, she decided. They’d affected her brain. And the fear. She felt safer with Cain than someone like Ned, who was less intelligent, less aware, less capable and a whole lot less caring about the people around him.
When she was done, she used the walls and the sink to keep from falling and washed her hands. But once Cain heard the toilet flush and the faucet turn on, he opened the door and scowled when he saw her dragging herself around by the fixtures. “You could black out and hit your head. You know that, right?”
She pushed him away when he touched her. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t force her to accept his help, but he stayed close, watching her struggle with every step, inching along, clutching the walls and the furniture. She probably showed him an excellent view of her bare butt when she climbed into bed, but she didn’t care. She’d made the trek on her own. That in itself was a victory—until the pain hit fresh and throbbing, punishing her for pushing herself too hard.
Wincing against a sudden wave of nausea, she closed her eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
When she couldn’t answer, he pressed a hand to her forehead, but she turned her face away.
“What’s wrong?”
She smothered a groan and wiped her top lip, which was beaded with sweat. “Nothing.” She shouldn’t be sweating; it wasn’t even hot in the room.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“What do you think? Everything’s wrong,” she snapped. “I need to move to a motel, where I can take care of myself.”
She opened her eyes to see how he was taking this news and found him studying her with a frown. “You can’t take care of yourself. Not yet.”
He was right. It was stupid to argue. But acknowledging her inability nearly made her cry. She was so miserable and helpless. Someone had done this to her on purpose. Why? It made no sense. She hadn’t been in town long
“No. Whoever grabbed you was wearing gloves.There was some blood spatter near the sink. I’m guessing he got into the house while you were putting your groceries away. You saw movement or maybe his reflection in the window, turned and he hit you.”
“So none of the blood was his.”
“No.”
Her abject despair must’ve shown on her face, because he seemed to want to cheer her up. “I brought your luggage, too. I thought you might like to get out of that hospital gown.”
She felt exposed in the loose-fitting, tied-at-the-back gown, especially since she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. But what she’d brought to sleep in was probably even less modest. She’d planned on being alone. “I usually wear a tank top and a pair of panties.”
Their eyes locked and enough electricity to light up Manhattan seemed to charge through the room. But a moment later, Sheridan wondered if she’d been the only one to experience it.
“However you’re most comfortable is fine by me,” he said.
Was he pretending she didn’t tempt him, regardless of what she wore? “Can you step out for a minute?” she asked. “I have to use the bathroom.” He’d helped her before, but she was more lucid now and had added motivation to do it on her own.
He didn’t go. He slid the tray aside so she wouldn’t knock against it as she passed. Then he reached for the covers.
She quickly pulled down her flimsy hospital gown before his efficient movements exposed her bottom.
“Ready?” He started to slide a hand around her back, but she stiffened and did her best to move away. She wanted to stand on her own, but he ignored her resistance and swept her into his arms. Then he sat her on the toilet, making her feel about as powerful as a child.
Hating her own weakness and pain, Sheridan waited for the door to close, at which point she had some privacy. Still, she knew Cain was just on the other side, waiting for her to finish.
Why had she come home with him? What had she been thinking?
It was the drugs, she decided. They’d affected her brain. And the fear. She felt safer with Cain than someone like Ned, who was less intelligent, less aware, less capable and a whole lot less caring about the people around him.
When she was done, she used the walls and the sink to keep from falling and washed her hands. But once Cain heard the toilet flush and the faucet turn on, he opened the door and scowled when he saw her dragging herself around by the fixtures. “You could black out and hit your head. You know that, right?”
She pushed him away when he touched her. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t force her to accept his help, but he stayed close, watching her struggle with every step, inching along, clutching the walls and the furniture. She probably showed him an excellent view of her bare butt when she climbed into bed, but she didn’t care. She’d made the trek on her own. That in itself was a victory—until the pain hit fresh and throbbing, punishing her for pushing herself too hard.
Wincing against a sudden wave of nausea, she closed her eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
When she couldn’t answer, he pressed a hand to her forehead, but she turned her face away.
“What’s wrong?”
She smothered a groan and wiped her top lip, which was beaded with sweat. “Nothing.” She shouldn’t be sweating; it wasn’t even hot in the room.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“What do you think? Everything’s wrong,” she snapped. “I need to move to a motel, where I can take care of myself.”
She opened her eyes to see how he was taking this news and found him studying her with a frown. “You can’t take care of yourself. Not yet.”
He was right. It was stupid to argue. But acknowledging her inability nearly made her cry. She was so miserable and helpless. Someone had done this to her on purpose. Why? It made no sense. She hadn’t been in town long
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