Page 117 of Parrish
“Why?”
“Yeah, I’m also going to need you not to ask any questions.”
A chuckle works its way past my lips but quickly dies as his gaze hardens on me. He’s not playing. This isn’t an episode of a hit drama made for network T.V.
This is real.
This is us.
This is what it is to be married to Jack Parrish.
“You’re serious,” I say.
“Look, I know I dumped a lot of shit on you last night and you probably got some questions.”
“Some questions,” I repeat.
Clenching his jaw, he walks towards the bed and reaches for the bag. I watch him unzip it and remove the clothes inside.
“You can ask all the questions you want once we’re home,” he says, nudging the clothes towards me. Lifting his chin, he points to the bandage on my head. “That’s going to have to go and you’re going to have to call the nurse and tell her you want to sign yourself out.”
“Jack.”
“Not now, Reina,” he snaps, balling his fists. “I need you to be the woman I married.”
That kind of hurts.
“I need you to fucking trust me.”
The way he looks at me, the desperation that shines from his dark eyes, it motivates me and before I can think better of it, I’m throwing my legs over the side of the bed. I sift through the clothes he’s brought and grab a pair of underwear. He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t move at all. He watches me pull the scrap of lace up my legs and continues to stare as I untie the hospital gown. As the thin material drops from my shoulders, he turns his head and for some reason that bothers me.
Clearing his throat, he moves to the other end of the room and peers through the slatted blinds.
“Wolf is outside waiting for Nico to come with the truck,” he starts. “You can ride with him.”
“Why not you?” I ask zipping up the sweatshirt.
“Don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says, stepping away from the window. “You decent?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Did you bring me shoes?”
“Shit,” he grunts, turning to me. “They’re not in the bag?”
I check the bag again and shake my head.
“I had to be brought in here wearing shoes, no? I’ll just wear those,” I say as I reach for the bandage on my head. My fingers feel around for the edge of the gauze. They still though when Jack’s hands cover mine.
“Don’t,” he says huskily. “Cobra’s girl is a nurse. We’ll have her take it off that way if she needs to clean the wound or whatever, it’s taken care of.”
“Okay.”
His hands drop away from the bandage, but he doesn’t move. Lifting his knuckles to my cheek, he gently brushes my skin. The scent of him wafts past my nose. A delicious mixture of leather, cologne, and mint. My hands move to his chest and I watch his nostrils flare at my touch.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“This is another one of those times, isn’t it?”
