Free Seth (Damage Control #3) by Jo Raven Page B

heartbreak.
    No, this is just a setback. I’m fine. I mean, just look how Seth deals with everything happening to him. That’s serious stuff, not a change in career. A career I didn’t even begin. A change in studies direction, that’s all.
    I’ll survive. I’ll be fine.
    “Hey,” a gruff voice says behind me, and I yip, crashing back against the fridge and whacking my hand on it.
    “Shit. Ow.”
    “Christ, you okay?” Seth is staring, dark eyes wide, one hand braced on the wall. He pushes off it, reaches for me and staggers drunkenly. “Fuck.”
    “Seth, no.” I grab him in time and push him back to the wall. “You shouldn’t be up.”
    “Was thirsty,” he mutters, frowning down at me. “Did you hurt yourself?”
    “I’m fine.” His eyes are a warm brown, like cinnamon, and the way I’m pressed to his body I can feel how strong he is, feel the hard muscles in his thighs and chest.
    Shit. I jerk back.
    He lifts a hand to my face, stopping me. “Don’t run.”
    Frozen still, caught once more, I don’t know what to say. Why is he saying that? I don’t want to run.
    Not sure what I want, in fact. How I feel. We’re friends, right? That’s all.
    I pull back until his hand drops away. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
    ***
    When I bring him the water, he has his head turned to the side, a hand shading his eyes. “Light’s too bright,” he murmurs.
    I hand him the glass, then go to turn off the overhead light and switch on his small bedside lamp. “Better?”
    “Yeah.” He sips at the water, and I catch myself studying his hand, large and strong, an old, white scar running from the wrist down his palm. “Listen…” He puts down the glass on the worn bed-side table and I reach out to steady it. Our hands brush, and I flinch at the spark of heat. “You don’t have to be here. You probably feel like you have to, but you don’t, okay?”
    I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Want me to go?”
    “No. That’s not… Fuck.” He leans back on the stacked pillows and closes his eyes. “Not what I meant. I like it.”
    “What then?”
    “You. Here.”
    Warmth travels up my chest, and my heart does a weird little flip. Which is plain weird. “Feeling better?”
    “Sure.” He’s not convincing, though, and he’s quiet for so long I’m pretty sure he’s dropped back to sleep, when he shifts on the bed with a wince. “Tell me something about yourself.”
    I still, muscles tensing. “Something? Like what?”
    “Anything you want.” He gives me a faint smile. “I’m not picky. I’d read, but I’m dizzy.”
    “I could read to you.”
    “Ya know, I read these books ten times over while my leg was in the cast. Besides, I’d rather hear about you. Anything. Your full name. Your favorite color. The last book you read. The places you visited.”
    I shake my head, but an answering smile tugs at my lips. “Okay. I can do that, I guess.”
    My hands shake a little when I put them in my lap, but in the dimness, with no one looking on, I tell him.

Chapter Seven
    Seth
    “My name is Madeline Amelie Torres.” She draws a deep breath. “My dad’s from Texas, my mom’s French from Algeria. I’m…”
    She falls silent, and I crack one eye open, needing to see why. Her hands clench in her lap, and her gaze is distant. Clad in a dark blue dress with a narrow belt cinching her tiny waist, with her dark hair curling around her heart-shaped face and those large, dark eyes she looks like a movie star from the forties. There’s something so delicate about her face I’m afraid I might crush it if I cup her jaw.
    Not that it matters. I won’t be touching her. She’s not free.
    “So… Madeline Amelie Torres,” I drawl. “Ça va?”
    Her gaze snaps up, and her eyes widen. I grin at her startled expression. “You speak French?”
    “Nope. That’s it. And Je t’aime .”
    Her cheeks redden. “Used this last one a lot?”
    I shrug, and my shoulder stops me, shooting a sliver of pain up my neck.