The Boss Vol. 5

By: Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott



But here and now, the look in his eyes was more than sex and possession. It was there, of course—I wasn’t sure it would ever be completely gone. Madness seemed to follow us into the dark. I loved it. I craved it as much as I craved the man.

I’d never felt more alive than when I was in Blake’s arms. Or pinned underneath him.

And this whole line of thought wasn’t helping me.

Maybe I needed that bit of uncivilized Blake to feel alive, too. Being alone in that cave and facing a life devoid of Blake had been even more terrifying than a lack of answers.

I pulled him even closer. His mouth came down on mine in relentless possession instead of the sweetness of earlier.

A throat clearing—loudly—broke us apart.

Blake sat back in his chair and swiped his bottom lip with his thumb.

The nurse bustled in with her cart. She went right for my IV and swapped out a bag. “Visiting hours are over, Mr. Carson. I also need to get Ms. Copeland up and moving for a few minutes, then down for the night.” She rattled a little plastic cup in front of me.

“What’s that?”

“Just Ibuprofen,” she said crisply.

I tossed them in my mouth and accepted the small cup of water.

“You can come back tomorrow, Mr. Carson.”

Blake stood up. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“Tomorrow,” the nurse said again.

He slid his fingers through the tangle of my hair. “Forty minutes, and not a minute more.” Then he strode out.

“I’ll have to have him forcibly removed.”

I laughed as the nurse flipped back my blankets.

“And why is that funny?” she asked.

Oh, if she only knew. “Good luck with that one.”

She unstrapped my leg from the immobilizer. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

Now that Blake was no longer in the room, I could focus on other things. As I swung my feet to the floor, it was actually sort of an imperative. “Yes, please.”

She pushed a wheelchair over to the bed. “At least you have manners, unlike your young man.”

I pressed my lips together to stop the grin. “My grandmother wouldn’t have it any other way.”

By the time I’d gotten up and taken care of business, and finally gotten back into my bed, it was a good while later. My drugs had long since worn off and the Ibuprofen was as effective as an aspirin for a hangover.

“Do you want to try just a splint to sleep?”

“If that means I can sleep on my side, then I’m all about it.”

The nurse smiled. “I think we can make that happen.”

By the time we got me situated, I was sore enough to beg for another of those lovely shots the doctor had given me.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She gave me another pillow to prop me on my right side with my left elevated. Suddenly she stiffened. “Mr. Carson—”

I touched her hand. “He’ll only start yelling, then there will be supervisors and doctors called. It’s not worth the hassle, is it?”

I was facing away from the door, so I couldn’t see his face, but I could imagine he had his Arctic Bitch Face on.

She sighed. “You need to let her rest.”

“I’ll see that she rests.”

The nurse shook her head. “I hope he’s worth it,” she muttered as she pushed her cart across the room.

Blake dragged a reclining chair from the corner and situated it on the right side of my bed. He waited for the nurse to leave, then lined it up to run parallel to my bed. He sat down. “Sleep, Grace.”

I was tired and sore enough that I didn’t care if it made me look weak. I pulled his arm down onto the bed and hugged it close to my body and closed my eyes.

Sometime in the night I caught him reading something.

Annabelle’s diary?

I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to be sure.





Chapter Six





When I woke, Blake was gone, and Jack was sitting on the couch along the wall. He was twirling a pen between his fingers, the newspaper on his knee.

“Since when do you do the crossword puzzle?”

Jack grinned at me. “Mornin’, Gracie.” He dropped both on the end table. Curious, I peered down and all the answers were filled in save for one. “They still make you turn off your phone at the hospital. Who knew?” He shrugged. “I got bored.”

“Impressive.”

“Hardly. Now if it was the Sunday New York Times, I’d be gloating. Vi can do that one. In pen.”

“Kickass chick.”

“Damn right.” Jack stood up, then grabbed a small duffel bag off the couch. “How ya doin’?”

“I’ll survive.” I nodded to the bag. “If there’s a toothbrush in there, I’ll kiss you.”

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