Trust Me (Cover Me Book 2) by L.A. Witt

Author:L.A. Witt [Witt, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lori A. Witt
Published: 2014-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

~ * ~

When I swam into consciousness, hours must have passed, because darkness had fallen. James was against me, his arm slung over my side.

I thought he was still asleep until he whispered, “You doing okay?” His voice sounded strange. Distant.

“Yeah.” I wasn’t sure if I was doing okay or not. It wasn’t the heavy numbness that had been draped over me at and after the funeral. It was just a surreal sense of…apathy. Like I didn’t feel anything because there was nothing to feel.

He kissed my shoulder and ran his hand up and down my side. “I could rub your back if that’ll help.”

I smiled and looked at him over my shoulder. “You know I’ll never turn that down.”

“Didn’t think so.”

I rolled onto my stomach and he sat over me. From the first touch, he almost put me back to sleep, but somehow I stayed awake. There was no tension to work out of the muscles, no jitteriness to sooth into calm, but the warmth of his palms on my skin was far from unpleasant.

His hands slid easily over my skin, slipping across the warm lotion or oil or whatever he’d put on. I didn’t recall hearing him open a drawer or a bottle. Where the oil came from, I didn’t know, but it felt good.

The air smelled odd. Pungent. Almost… brassy. Familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It must have been whatever was on James’s hands. Some voice in the back of my mind said I know this one, I know I do, but the answer stayed out of my grasp. Even while his amazing hands lulled me deeper into that apathetic state of calm, curiosity nagged and nagged about what I smelled and what was on his hands. I had to know what it was. I had to. Every breath of it made me tense up in spite of his touch.

“What kind of massage oil is that, anyway?” I asked.

“No oil. Just using what I already had on my hands.”

“What you…” I furrowed my brow and craned my neck. “What do you mean?”

One hand lifted off my back, and he held it where I could see it.

Blood.

Copious, crimson blood sliding off his fingertips and pooling on the sheet beside me. Everywhere it touched me, everywhere he’d rubbed it onto my skin, suddenly burned, and when I pushed myself up in a panic, my hands left red smears on the sheets.

I turned my hands over, and they were as bloody as his.

“What the—”

“Shh.” He pushed my shoulders back down, pinning me to the bed. “I’m not done yet.”

Panic surged through my veins. I clenched my fists around the sheets, squeezing more blood from between my fingers, and he wouldn’t let me get up. I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t get away from all the blood—

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