He looked himself over again, one corner of his mouth lifting into that charming half grin of his, the one that sent butterflies somersaulting through my stomach.
“I could’ve been a ninja,” he said.
“Yes, you could have, and the Japanese nation would have been proud to have you. Now, come on.” I tugged at his arm and he followed me back to my apartment. “You can go around covered in blood for only so long before someone calls the police and has you committed.”
When I dropped my hand, he took it into his own, laced his fingers with mine, and followed me back up the stairs hand in hand. The contact was sweet and sexy and gave jolts of delight with every step I took. Damn him.
But it wasn’t until we got into my apartment that I saw the extent of his injuries. He was literally covered in blood.
I closed the door behind him in horror. “Is all that yours?”
He took inventory of my apartment, then turned back to me with a shrug. “I don’t think so.”
“And you’re burned.” I rushed forward to inspect the back of his shirt.
“One of them tried to light me on fire.”
“A demon?” I asked, cringing when my voice came out as more of a squeak that only dogs could pick up.
He nodded. “They’re crazy. What’s with the boxes?” He nodded toward the mountain of boxes, the only ones left in the whole apartment. Cookie had cleaned me out except for those in Area 51. I could now see Mr. Wong, thank goodness, his gray presence oddly comforting.
I tossed my bag onto the breakfast bar. “That is a black hole. Don’t go near it. It’s Gemma’s idea of therapy. She thinks I have a mild form of PTSD.”
He’d turned and was checking out my fake dying plants. “You do.”
“Yeah, well you have issues, too, mister.” I could just see the side of his face.
He flashed a nuclear grin. “I never said I didn’t. Can I use your shower?”
While I wanted to say, Only if I’m in it, what I said was, “Sure, but I have to warn you, you might have company in the form of a huge, thirsty Rottweiler.” Then I cleared my throat to cover the surge of pleasure that rushed through me at the thought of Reyes Farrow na**d in my bathroom. Or na**d in any room, for that matter. “Oh, and I’m all out of duct tape, if you’re looking to patch yourself up afterwards. I might have some Scotch tape, though, if you’re desperate.”
He raised his duffel bag. “I’ll manage.”
When he closed himself in my bathroom, I let out a long breath and headed for Mr. Coffee. Either Albuquerque had a population explosion chock-full of exquisitely hot men, or I was just really hormonal.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Reyes opened the door to the bathroom in a pair of jeans with a towel draped over his shoulders. And damn, what beautiful shoulders they were. He had replaced the old duct tape with a fresh application around his abdomen, but he was covered in old wounds, wounds that were healing quickly but still left dark purple streaks across his torso, shoulders, and the side of his neck. He took the ends of the towel and scrubbed at his head, then leaned against the doorjamb. “How is that therapy?”
I had yet to tear my eyes off him. When I did, I realized he was examining the boxes again. “Oh,” I said, stirring a second cup of coffee and walking over to him. “Gemma wants someone to take one box off every day until I can do it myself. It’s ridiculous. She says it will help me heal.”
He stole my coffee, took a sip, then handed it back. “She’s right.”
As I gaped at him, appalled that he would side with my sister over me, he tossed the towel onto the sink and pulled on a plain dark gray T-shirt. I headed for my sofa, which might or might not go by the name of Malibu Barbie, but turned back to him before I reached it.
“Where did you get that?” I asked him, indicating the shirt with a nod. I wanted to know where he got everything. Where did he get his jeans and his shoes and the duct tape that he used to hold himself together? Where did he get food and water, and what had happened when they released him from prison? Was his BFF Amador there to pick him up? Amador was Reyes’s only friend. I knew they were very close. Closer than Reyes and I would ever be, most likely. Surely Amador wouldn’t have left him hanging. Or maybe that had been Reyes’s wish, to be left alone, to fend for himself as he’d done his whole life. I sure hadn’t been there for him. I’d been licking my wounds in my girl cave.
He tugged the shirt down, then headed my way—only he didn’t stop when he reached me. I held the coffee cup out to the side as he walked into me and kept walking, guiding me back, his lean body comfortable against mine.
“It’s a loaner,” he said.
“From Amador?” My voice was nothing more than a husky whisper.
He wrapped an arm around me and continued back. His inky lashes, spiked with water, made his eyes glisten even more. My apartment was hardly roomy, so we couldn’t possibly go much farther. But we kept walking until I bumped into something. I froze when I realized what. Area 51. We were standing in the midst of Area 51.
I pushed against him, but he didn’t budge a centimeter.
His playful expression turned serious. “Sit down.”
I reached to put the coffee cup on a box, but missed, my shaking hand fumbling until the cup dropped faster than I could manage to catch it. Just as it was about to hit the carpet, Reyes scooped it up. Hot coffee splashed out and over his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice.