Floored by Ainslie Paton

morning. Meet here at eight. Breakfast, then we’ll stop at the bank for you before we head out.”
    She nodded. This would give her time to think. She watched him scoop a couple of his bags off the ground. When he turned to go, she could see his sleeve was soaked with blood and it dripped from his elbow.
    “Your arm.”
    He screwed his head around to look down. “Oh bugger.” He looked up. “Ah, how do you feel about helping me re-bandage it?”
    She lifted the first-aid kit from the boot and slammed the lid down. She collected her own bags and followed him into his room. Assuming she didn’t decide to bolt, there was another rule she needed to add to the list. No visiting each other’s rooms, unless someone was bleeding to death. She left the door open.
    “You need a doctor.”
    He dumped his bags and took his vest off. He pulled the t-shirt over his head awkwardly. Somehow he’d managed to fix a crude bandage over the wound, but the white gauze and tape were soaked.
    He stood there in his bloodstained jeans, boots planted in the thin carpet, arms open at his sides, and his chin tucked down. Rivulets of blood made their way down his forearm. He looked like the survivor of some apocalyptic fight scene, and she couldn’t stop staring at him. His body was thick with muscle, rippling with power. A massive Gothic iron cross tattoo speared across both pecs and bisected his chest, cutting down his sternum, over his flat belly and disappearing under the waistband of his pants.
    He looked both brutal and beautiful.
    A trickle of blood reached his hand and rolled towards his finger. It would drip on the carpet. It broke the hex he’d put on her. She shifted; put her shopping bags and satchel on the floor and stepped into the tiny bathroom, feeling around on the wall for a light switch. When its neon glow stuttered on, she grabbed a towel off a stack on a shelf above the bath. When she came out, he held his hand out to take it from her.
    He wiped at the blood trail and the towel soaked the red. “Management will be happy with me.”
    “You should sit.”
    He grunted. “If you wouldn’t mind helping with a fresh bandage? There’s stuff in the chemist bag.” He gestured to the clump of bags with his chin.
    The room had a small round dining table. She lifted the first-aid kit to it and went in search of his chemist bag.
    “Would you mind if I had a wash first? It’d be smart to get clean.”
    He was standing there looking down at himself as if he’d suddenly noticed the state he was in. There was no way she was hanging around in his room while he got naked and took a shower.
    There was no way she was hanging around, full stop. This was over now.
    “Why don’t you find your room and come back in fifteen?”
    That would work. She could step outside; wait till she heard the shower water running, get in the car and bolt.
    “Fine.”
    They moved together. He went to the bathroom and she grabbed her satchel and stepped outside, shutting the door firmly behind her, pressing against it in relief. She nearly fell back into the room when he opened it, righting herself and spinning to face him.
    “Hey, Driver, I know you had a rough day. It will be easier from here.”
    She nodded. Let him think he was reassuring standing there half dressed, heartbreaking and bloody.
    “I’d prefer if it you didn’t do a runner with my money. At least till we get out of the city.”
    She stiffened, tried to sound indignant. “I wasn’t going to do that.”
    “No?” He opened the door wider. “Then you might want to take your shopping with you.”
    She met his eyes and tried not to smell guilty. “I’ll get it later. I’ll be back in fifteen.” She left him standing in the doorway of his room as she took the stairs two at a time. She knew he was watching. Hell, she could still bolt. She could leave his envelope of money with reception. Then he’d have no reason to chase her down. Would he? It was worth the risk. But he was on