At his words, Nicole’s defiance seemed to crumble.
Pain still racked her body. She knew better than to rile up this madman.
Jarrod’s phone pierced the tension with its ring.
Without hesitation, he answered, “Honey.”
Amidst her haze of discomfort, Nicole discerned the caller’s identity.
It was Jamie.
Then, Jarrod’s voice took on an unusual softness as he said, “I’1L be there in no time. Just stay put.”
Once the call ended, Jarrod addressed Nicole, who was still hooked to her IV, “Alec will take you back.”
Nicole turned away, too entangled in her emotions to reply.
Jarrod’s eyes remained cool, unaffected by her silence.
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“Don’t pretend to be jealous. Your acting disgusts me, he sneered, then strode out without a second glance.
Alone, Nicole exhaled in relief.
She reveled in the thought that Jamie’s needs might keep Jarrod away tonight, granting her a rare peace.
She drifted into a light doze only to be startled awake by a cold sensation on her legs.
“Who’s there?”
Her ankle was suddenly seized, and she locked eyes with Roscoe’s attractive face, his actions clear.
A wave of shyness washed over her flushed features.
In his usual deep tone, Roscoe murmured, “Let me tend to your wounds, Nicole.”
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Roscoe grasped Nicole’s ankle gently, yet his touch was steady and did not interfere with his task.
Clad in disposable plastic gloves, Roscoe applied an ointment that brought a cooling relief and numbed the pain.
The sensation was so comforting that Nicole found her toes involuntarily curling, her pulse thudding audibly in her ears.
Roscoe’s expression remained detached throughout the procedure.
Once he finished with the ointment, he discarded his gloves in the trash bin, along with the porridge Jarrod had brought, without a second glance.
He exited briefly, returning with a thermos in hand, and proceeded to elevate the bed.