Fangs for the Memories by Molly Harper Page B

point. You destroyed him.”
    â€œI don’t know about that. I never followed up, but I’m not sure he works at that college anymore.”
    â€œI need to make some calls,” he said, digging his phone out of his shirt pocket. “Because while you were unconscious, I may have made some requests of some of my friends in the Chicago area that feel like overkill now.”
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    Sheepishly, he admitted, “I was going to have all of his utilities shut off and then have a hundred deep-dish garlic and anchovy pizzas delivered to his house in twos for the next six months.”
    â€œAw . . . that’s adorable.”
    â€œOh, hush, so you’ve out-supervillained me one time. I was distracted by providing your vital medical care.”
    I burst out laughing.
    â€œSometimes you make it very difficult to be your white knight,” he grumbled.
    â€œYou can try again sometime,” I told him.
    â€œCount on it.” Dick chuckled and wrapped an arm around me. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead against the line of his jaw. He always had the appearance of having a five o’clock shadow, but his skin was surprisingly smooth and soft. I took a deep breath, inhaling his spicy bergamot scent. The familiar smell enveloped me and sent a shudder down my spine. I gasped but covered the noise by sucking air through my teeth as if I had been shivering. I pulled the blanket up to my chin.
    â€œCold?”
    I nodded.
    â€œThat happens sometimes with the saline,” he said, as he gently pushed me back against the arm of the sofa and climbed under the blanket with me. “Here. Shared body heat.”
    â€œYou don’t have any body heat. You’re room temperature.”
    â€œJust snuggle up, woman.”
    I snorted, carefully arranging us so my back was tucked against his chest. His arms wrapped around my front and enveloped me in an embrace that was oddly warm. He tucked his face into the crook of my neck, on the opposite side of my Darla-related wounds.
    I had no doubt I was safe. It’d been a long time since I’d been able to trust someone to get this close to me.
    After Mathias, I didn’t trust my perceptions of people. I didn’t trust that I could be loved, that I was worth loving. As much as I valued my clients, professional decorum and survival instincts kept me a little bit on edge. And now I felt . . . safe and cherished . . . and completely at peace, despite the fact that my head was still pounding and I was snuggled up to a T-shirt that was extolling the virtue of sex in the bluegrass state.
    â€œThis is nice,” he rumbled, burying his face in my hair.
    I closed my eyes and relaxed against him. “Mmmhmm.”
    â€œSee, I’m not such a bad guy.”
    I snickered. “Well, you’re not a good guy.”
    â€œIs this because I have my hand on your boob?” he asked.
    I yawned widely, noting that he did not, in fact, move his hand from my left breast. “That, too.”
    I slept so deeply that I don’t think I moved for twelve hours. At one point, I felt Dick get up from the couch, fiddle with my IVs, and pull the blanket up to my chin. Somewhere inside my barely conscious brain, it bothered me that he was leaving me, running off like I was some one-and-done. But at a weirder subconscious level, it was sort of a relief to have my worst suspicions (about Dick and the rest of the male population, dead and undead) confirmed.
    I drifted back to sleep, relieved that I hadn’t wasted years on bitterness and . . . yet more bitterness.
    I fully woke up hours later, and the room was totally dark. Once again, I had a room-temperature body wrapped around my back, and his hands were respectfully tucked around my arms. Dick’s chin was cradled in the crook of my neck. The IV lines had been removed, so I could roll over freely. My hands ached from the punctures, and all of