Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) by Nelle L'Amour Page A

blond wood desk. The one antique among all the contemporary treasures—a highly polished Art Deco piece that looked like it once belonged on the Titanic. For a busy CEO, there were few things on it. A large, state-of-the-art computer, a single black leather file folder, and several framed photos.
    Ari returned carrying a silver tray, with a glass of water and an assortment of first aid items all manufactured by his company. Placing it on the coffee table in front of the couch, he sat down next to me.
    “Drink,” he ordered. He held the glass to my lips.
    Not having the energy to fight him, I gulped down the cold, refreshing liquid, surprised how thirsty I was. He set the glass back on the table next to the first aid stuff.
    “Let me see your hand.” A gentle command.
    Slowly, I flipped over my right hand so that my scraped palm was in full view. The blood was already caking.
    “Nasty.” He opened the peroxide and grabbed a square piece of gauze. “This is going to hurt.”
    After soaking the gauze with the peroxide, he dabbed it on my wound. I wasn’t prepared for the sharp sting and winced.
    He smiled. “I told you it would hurt.”
    “Aren’t you supposed to kiss the boo-boo?” I asked, pleased that my sense of humor was coming back.
    “You’re right.”
    Without missing a beat, he gently pressed his warm, velvety lips against the wound. They were more soothing than any balm. I half-expected his expert tongue to roll along it, but instead he began to roll gauze around my hand.
    “You’re good at this,” I said as he finished off the dressing with a piece of adhesive tape. “You should have been a doctor.”
    “I almost was,” he responded. “I spent a year at Columbia’s Med School but switched over to the Business School when my dad got sick.”
    No wonder he knew how to handle Lauren’s suicide attempt. What else didn’t I know about my amazing Trainman?
    “I also have a super active kid who takes a good spill every once in a while,” he chuckled as his eyes roved down my body. They lingered on my crotch before stopping at my left knee. “That’s a fine mess.”
    I cast my eyes down. It was! The nasty scrape was red-raw, and there were streaks of blood all over my calf.
    “Stay still.”
    I winced again as he cleaned it up and then bandaged it with a patch of gauze.
    “Thanks, Doctor.” I knew I was recovering because that tingly-all-over feeling that I got whenever I saw him was back big time.
    His eyes burned into mine. Impulsively, I glanced down at his crotch and could see a tent between his legs that wasn’t there before. The area between my inner thighs fluttered, and my skin heated.
    “Well, I’d better be going.” I stood up, but Ari held me back, his two large hands planted firmly on my shoulders.
    He furrowed his brows. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Ms. Greene?” he chided.
    I thought he might spank me. My body tensed at the possibility, ready and willing. Holy shit! I was ready to submit to him under his scrutiny, his eyes intense and steely. I let out a little squeak.
    “You can’t go back on the street in those torn up clothes. You have no money to get home. And for all I know, there’s some mad serial killer on his way to your apartment right now. He has your driver’s license and knows where you live.”
    I chewed my lip. He had a point. Thank goodness, my assailant hadn’t taken my keys.
    Ari strode over to his desk and pressed a button on his phone. “Miss Thatcher, please use my credit card and pick up some appropriate clothes at Neiman’s for Ms. Greene. I trust your taste. She wears a Size 6.”
    “Yes, Mr. Golden,” the voice on the other end said.
    “She’ll be back in less than an hour. Neiman’s isn’t far.” He headed toward that other room off his office. “Don’t go anywhere.”
    I sat back down on the couch as he again disappeared. Awaiting his return, I could hear water running. Ari shortly reappeared and strode over to me.