The Charming Storm Chaser - Page 10

“That’s going to leave a mark,” Kane jokes.

I know he’s talking about truck’s impact with the guardrail, but the same could be said of my face. Reaching up, I touch my cheek.

It’s wet. Too sticky to be tears. Must be blood.

“We’ve got to get away from this damn creek!” Kane jerks the truck back onto the road, struggling to keep control as wind and rain assaults us from all sides.

I open my mouth to tell him that I’m bleeding, but thunderclaps boom overhead, loud and bone-rattling.

After a few minutes, Kane pulls to the side of the road. “I think we’re okay to stop here to let the storm die down a bit. We’re a safe distance from the creek now.”

Tears of pain sting my eyes. I open my mouth to answer him, but only a whimper escapes.

“Cami? Are you okay?” Kane’s voice is panicked as he fumbles to turn on the dome light. A dull, yellow glow fills the truck. His mouth falls open when he sees my face.

That bad, eh?

“Shit,” he says, fumbling in the glove compartment. A moment later, he’s climbed into the backseat with me, holding a First Aid kit. He unhooks the camera from the space where it’s tethered—to protect my arms from getting tired but failing to protect my face—and sets it gently aside.

He cups my face in his hands, tilting it toward the light so he can inspect the wound. “It’s just a small cut,” he says, his voice filled with relief. “You may have a black eye in the morning, too. But I don’t think it’s serious. Still, we should probably get you to a hospital, just to get you checked out.” He rips open a packet and uses the wipe inside to clean his hands. The medicinal odor of alcohol reaches my nose.

He rips opens another packet and removes an identical wipe. “This may sting a bit. I’m sorry, but I need to clean the wound.”

When the alcohol wipe touches the cut, I cry out in pain.

“I’m sorry,” Kane says. “The worst is over now.” He reaches for a tube of Neosporin and squeezes a pea-sized amount onto his finger before rubbing it on my face. Then he covers it with a bandage.

Now that the initial shock has passed, I think I may be able to form words again. I try with one: “Thanks.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “For everything. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you earlier. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I murmur. “I won’t record you without your permission again.”

He cradles me against his chest and plants a soft kiss on my temple. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Outside, the storm rages on, but inside, I feel safe and protected in Kane’s arms.

Chapter 9

Kane

As we wait for the storm to blow over, I silently curse whoever decided it was a good idea to tether her camera to the ceiling right at her face level. It was probably the jackass producer, the idiot. In storm chasing, we have to slam on brakes, skid around curves, and make hasty get-aways. There can’t be a fucking camera there to smash the camerawoman’s face in.

The injury is minor, and I have no doubt that she will be fine, but with each second that passes, my blood runs hotter in my veins. As soon as the storm passes, I’ll take her to the nearest hospital, just to be on the safe side—and to make sure she has a strong case when she files her worker’s comp claim.

God dammit. She could have been seriously injured!

“Kane?” she says hesitantly. “You’re shaking.”

I take a deep breath and try to calm down, but my body continues to tremble with rage. I’ve only known her for a few days, but I feel a fierce, primal need to protect her with every fiber of my being. As soon as I saw the blood on her face, it was like a switch flipped. From now until the day I die, I’ll spend my life taking care of her and making her happy—if she’ll let me.

If she won’t let me, well, I have enough money in the bank to take care of her from a distance. Anonymously. Like Lil and I do with the storm shelters.

Jesus, please don’t let it come to that. Let her be mine, fully, forever.

I inhale sharply. “Cami…”

She strokes my face with her palm, and in an instant, my body reacts to her. My blood still runs hot—but with need, not with anger.