Lie to Me (20 page)

“Tip your head back, Dawson,” Ryder ordered quietly as he pulled on gloves.

The authority rang in his voice, his deft movements and confidence making Dee watch him with grudging respect.  The man might be a total arse but he was also a good paramedic.  Knew his job, worked calmly and efficiently, and didn’t use his knowledge to cause Jason further pain even though he could easily have done so under the guise of tending to his wounds.

She couldn’t help but watch the flex of the muscles in his arms, the long fingers moving almost delicately across the worst injuries, big, capable hands moving assuredly, the way he studied the wounds, assessed quickly, and decided the best dressings to use.

Man had a lot of dressings in his First Aid kit.  Gauze, cotton wool, bottles of liquid and powder, several small pots, vials of Normal Saline, Betadine swabs, tweezers, Primapore and Tegaderm dressings of varying sizes, combines, bandages and other paraphernalia of which she wasn’t sure.  “Do you raid the ambulance to restock?”

“No.”  His answer was short and to the point.

Oh ho, he was still mad at her.

Now that she wasn’t plastered against him, feeling all that yummy heat and strength, she felt on safer territory.  Not that she’d forget how good it felt to be held up against him so protectively and possessively.  Over the years she’d felt his protection, had been yanked behind him and against him during arguments or fights with others as school kids, even held by him while she cried her eyes out over the death of her beloved old dog, but never had he held her with a hint of possessiveness.

Maybe he hadn’t just then, either, maybe it was all wishful thinking.

That thought made her already sore heart give a painful thud, so she switched her attention to Jason.  “What happened?”

“Got done over.”

“You don’t say.”

There was a slight twitch of his lips.

“Who by?” Dee asked.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Do they look as bad?”

He gave a grunt.

“Was it at the pub?”

“No.”

“Party?”

“No.”

“Geez, it’d be less painful to have teeth pulled.”

Jason winced as Ryder dabbed Betadine on the cut above his eye.  “You’re not getting your boyfriend’s tender administrations.”

Ryder didn’t say a word, just kept working.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”  God, was she actually blushing a little?

Unfortunately, Ryder chose that exact second to glance at her, making her blush more.  She
never
blushed.

His gaze was intense, direct, and holy heck, fury still burned within them.  The combination made her swallow and glance away, acutely uncomfortable.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d not been able to meet his eyes, but it was a week of surprises, apparently.  Some good, some bad, and some just plain freakin’ weird.

Never one to like uncertainty, Dee drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and let annoyance at her unsettled emotions take over.  It was a hell of a lot easier than being so damned skittery.

Shooting a challenging glare at Ryder, who just met it with narrowed eyes before returning his attention to the wounds, she drummed her fingers on the table top.  “So, Dawson, you’re having a rough day.”

Jason slid her a look.

“Where’s your brother?  Usually the two of you come as a package deal.”

She could almost see the stiffness flowing through his body, the way he went still with tension, right before he relaxed slightly.

“He’s out,” Jason replied.

“He’s going to be pissed when he sees your face.”

Jason’s smile was tight.

“Your Dad even more so.”

“You’d think.”

It was obvious the man wasn’t going to say anything about the identity of his attacker, so Dee gave up and watched Ryder fix him.  But she couldn’t help but notice the fading bruises on his ribcage, just as she couldn’t help but notice that lean as he was, Jason had muscle.  Long, lean muscles from hard work on the farm.  Good biceps and triceps, muscular torso, even a freakin’ six pack.  Farm work was heavy work, and heavy work built muscle.  She’d never noticed it with him before, but she was sure getting a good look now.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember ever seeing him shirtless.  Man always wore t-shirts, ripped and oil-stained as they were.  Even as a kid he’d never taken his shirts off, and just like when he was a kid, he sported fading bruises.  As a kid he’d gotten them from both his father and whoever he fought with inside and outside the schoolyard.  Hell, Scott and Ryder had both had fights with the Dawson brothers on and off throughout the school years until they’d all matured.

Well, until Ryder and Scott had matured and moved into more adult responsibilities.  The Dawson brothers had continued on to be layabouts and troublemakers.  They worked their father’s farm, lived with their parents in the ramshackle farmhouse that was falling apart, and pretty much kept to themselves except when in the company of their unsavoury mates from the nearest small town eighty kilometres away.

Lost in thought, she was roused from her memories by Ryder gathering up the bag he’d used to put the soiled equipment in along with the bloodied tea towel and throwing it all into the bin followed by his gloves.  Crossing to the small sink, he squirted liquid hand soap from the little container onto his palms.

Standing gingerly, Jason pulled on his t-shirt.  Yep, man had a good body. 

“Dee.”

Her gaze switched to Ryder to find him looking at her.  Good grief, a muscle was actually ticking in his tightly clenched jaw.  Now what was wrong with him? 

He didn’t say anything more, just gave her a piercing look as he ran his hands, first palms then backs, down his pants legs to dry off the worst of the water.  Striding to the table, he repacked the First Aid kit.

“Thanks.”  Jason nodded at her, gave another curt nod to Ryder.  “I’ll be off.”

Dee stood.  “I’ll drive you home.”

“No, you won’t,” Ryder said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ll take him home.”  Grabbing the handle of the First Aid kit, Ryder strode towards the doorway.  “Come on, Dawson.”

Jason gave her another nod and followed stiffly and a little more slowly .

How dare the big-headed sod? Anger spiking at Ryder’s arrogant attitude, she took off after them.

As though he was waiting for her move, Ryder shoved the First Aid kit at Jason, not even waiting to make sure he grabbed it properly before he swung to face her, his gaze narrowed on her even as he ordered, “Take the kit to my car, Dawson.  I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’m coming-” Dee began heatedly.

“The hell you are.”  He barred the doorway with his body.

There was definitely no shoving past him, or even shoving him back.  Legs braced apart, arms folded, tall and broad shouldered, he was unmoveable.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Ryder.”  Angrily, she slammed her hands on her hips.

“I’m telling you right now.”  His eyes glittered, but it wasn’t with passion.  No, it was with the same fury that apparently had not vanished but had simply been tamped down.

“Get stuffed,” she shot back.

“You.”  He shoved his forefinger at her, the tip inches from her nose.  “Will stay here.”

“You don’t have the right to tell me what to do!”

“You will stay here.”  Finger still in front of her nose and definitely in no mood to tolerate any insubordination, Ryder bent down close, his voice deep, a little rough.  “I’m taking Dawson home.  I’m coming back.”  He bent closer, so close that there was less than ten inches between their faces.  “You will be waiting right here.  Do you understand?”

God, he was sexy when he got dominating.  He was also an annoying jerk.

She smacked his hand aside.  “Up yours, Ryder.”

In a movement so fast it caught her by surprise, his hand snaked around to clamp around her nape, carefully but firmly holding her in place as he glared down at her.  His eyes sparked with barely concealed rage, his jaw was clenched tight, and the threat in the air had the breath escaping from her lungs in a whoosh.  The fact his body heat was seeping into her, his clean, male scent playing havoc with her brain, didn’t help.

“You will wait for me here,” he growled from between gritted teeth.  “If you aren’t, I will hunt you down and find you and I swear to God, woman, I don’t care where you are or who is around, I will spank your arse black and blue.  Do you hear me?”

Her mouth fell open in shock.  Jesus!  Had he really just threatened her with a
spanking
?

Had she really just had a deliciously naughty thrill chase down her spine?

So shocked at this never before seen side of him, she could only gape up at him speechlessly.

With a last, intense scrutiny of her face, he gave a curt nod of satisfaction and straightened, swinging on his heel and walking out the little back room to jerk open the door, ordering just before he pulled it shut behind him, “Lock the door.”

The sound of it clicking shut woke her from her stupor.  Had he really just - and then he’d left?  Expecting her
obedience
?  How bloody dare he?

Dee yanked open the door to see his car reversing into the lot from the footpath in front of her back door.  “Ryder!”

He looked at her out of the side window.

“Did you just bloody
threaten
me?”

“No threat.  A promise.”  With that, he put the car into gear but instead of just driving away, he let it idle and watched her.

She couldn’t see Jason in the gloom of the cabin, but she could feel the weight of his gaze.  Not to mention Ryder’s level, hard regard.

Furious, she slammed the door shut and locked it.  If the bloody man thought he was going to get back in, he had another think coming.  She wasn’t opening the door for anyone.

Striding back into the kitchenette she looked around, not quite believing what had just transpired.  Cripes, Ryder had been so angry, so furious, and he’d never,
never
, threatened her.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true, he’d threatened her with nameless things before, veiled hints, but he’d never actually told her what he’d do.  Threatened?  No, promised.  But it was still a threat, wasn’t it?

Staring at the table, she felt a flutter deep in the pit of her stomach.  Oh boy, just the thought of Ryder hunting her down and finding her, then - cripes, did her bum cheeks actually tingle?  It matched the spiralling sensation in her stomach, a wicked little string of emotion that strung taut and vibrated.

Holy cow, was she really feeling a flutter of sinful delight along with a healthy dose of fear?  How sick was she?

Or was it because she finally had Ryder’s complete attention?  His undivided fury?

Flicking off the lights with a hand that trembled a little, she hurried up the stairs and onto the landing, her hand by habit trailing across the top of her grandmother’s sideboard as she moved into the little lounge room.  Dropping onto the sofa, she waited for her wildly beating heart and shaking hands to steady.  As the minutes ticked past and she concentrated on deep, even breathing, she started to think more clearly.

Okay, Ryder was mad for whatever reason but he was harmless, the town Casanova, her childhood friend who’d laughed, teased and chatted with her.  They argued, got angry at each other, and made up.  Her heart yearned for him but she’d never knuckled under to his bidding.  Ever.  If he’d shown any inclination or interest in her as someone more than a friend…no, not even then.

With a sigh, Dee leaned her head back against the sofa.  No, she wouldn’t have just fallen lightly into his bed like every other woman he’d wooed with a single wink and roguish smile.  She wanted more, needed more, and she’d known that since the night he kissed her while lying drunk on his bed as a horny, party-loving teenager.

Romantic it wasn’t, but it had sealed her fate.  One kiss from a drunken teenager, one kiss that was surprisingly firm if a little off-kilter, and her heart had fallen right into his hands.  He’d never known, never remembered, and she’d told no one, not even Del.

Was it any surprise that any thought of him laying a hand on her was enough to kick her nerves into overdrive?  His kiss had scorched the soles of her feet, and the thought of his hand on her backside, well, that had her nerves jitter-bugging in delighted horror.  Or horrified delight.  Maybe just horror.  No, not just horror, there was a definite little perverted side of her that squealed a little with glee.

Yanking the tie from her ponytail, she strode to the little bathroom and brushed her hair, looking at her reflection as she redid the ponytail and resecured it with the hair elastic.  Her cheeks were flushed and, oh boy, her eyes were shining.

Jesus, she was sick.  Maybe she was coming down with the flu, had the fever or something, imagining things.  She felt her forehead.  Yeah, she was sure she did feel a little warm.  Probably had some weirdo dream and woke up on the sofa.