The Dangerous Curves Series

Chapter 89

Sarah Matthews limped into the Art With Heart Center. It was just over eight weeks since her ex-boyfriend had beaten her into a coma, six weeks since she had come out of it, and she was still grateful that the damage wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it could have been.

The right side of her lower body had been almost totally unresponsive when she’d come to, and had to be retrained and strengthened. Five weeks of intensive physical therapy was working wonders, and she was now walking on her own… though painfully slowly and carefully. She still lost her balance easily, but she hadn’t had any serious tumbles.

Far more frustrating was her memory loss. When she’d first emerged from the coma, she’d had very little memory of her relationship with her boyfriend, Jax. But as more time passed – and they spent more time together – things had started coming back to her. She had been told that she probably wouldn’t ever fully regain all her memories, and she was working to make her peace with that.

Jax Hamill walked next to Sarah, keeping an anxious eye on her. More than once, she’d pitched forward and gone down, and he was on constant high-alert to catch her if that happened. So far, they’d been pretty lucky, but no way Jax was going to let her fall. Not if he could help it.

“Hey, guys.”

They looked over to see King already there, his massive frame reclining in a chair that somehow managed to hold his weight. A steaming cup of coffee sat on a table next to him, and he looked on-edge.

“Hey, man,” Jax said. “You got here a bit early.”

King had actually arrived almost forty-five minutes earlier. He’d sat on his motorcycle out in the parking lot next door, freezing his ass off in the autumn chill, watching the seconds tick past and counting his breaths. His whole body had strained to just get the hell off the bike and get into the damn building. He wanted to see Naomi again, wanted it like he hadn’t wanted anything in years. Maybe ever.

He’d used the time wisely, though. He’d sat there, fingers tapping on his large thighs, and wondered just what the ever-living f**k was wrong with him. Why was he all twisted up in knots over a woman that he’d met the day before, and spoken to exactly twice in the whole of his life, and one of those times had been a tense semi-confrontation? This wasn’t his usual MO, not even close, and he tried to pinpoint what it was about Naomi Abbott that was making him slowly but surely lose his goddamn mind.

OK, she was beautiful, no doubt about that, but she wasn’t even close to King’s usual type. Jax had said so yesterday, and the man had been bang-on correct. King thought about his most recent ex, Janine, and when he mentally put the two women side-by-side, he wanted to laugh. Could they be any more different?

Janine was the last in a long, long line of tall, dark-haired beauties. Slim and long-legged, with enhanced t**s and lips, she had the kind of looks that smashed a man over the head, hard. No missing her and God knows, she’d never tried to hide. Janine had been happy to parade and strut, and King had been happy to look. Or he had been, until Janine’s refusal to take care of herself properly had made everything implode in the most dramatic way possible.

Naomi, though… quiet beauty, small, curvy. Her blonde hair was cut short – much shorter than any other woman he’d ever been attracted to – and that kind of surprised him. He’d always thought that he liked women with flowing hair, but he loved Naomi’s cut. It accentuated her gorgeous dark eyes and sharp cheekbones and full lips, and it framed her face perfectly. King wondered just what the hell had happened to him that he was actually noticing s**t like a flattering hairstyle on a woman.

King’s other usual type was the kind of woman who would work for his renegades-for-hire business. Not that he ever slept with his female staff, despite the fact that Honey, Angel, Valentina and Lilly were all smoking hot women. And he had to admit that part of his attraction to these kinds of women was their ability to beat the crap out of bad guys, or hit a moving target at ninety feet. Bad-ass chicks, hardcore and trained-up, really did it for him. As a bonus, they tended to not be big into commitment, and that did it for him, too.

Again, though… Naomi. Not the kind who could break a man’s knee with a single well-placed kick, not the kind who’d know what the hell to do with a Glock 19. She was a painter and a businesswoman, and she walked around in trim little suits. She was reserved and contained – and King longed to see her just cut loose.

I just bet she’s got a hidden wild side…there was something in her eyes this morning, man. Dark and secretive. Sexy as hell.