His hand pressed harder on her ass as he stretched, his back arching. She stole a glance at his face, that strong jaw and eyes clenched tight, neck and shoulders pulling back with the stretch. His baseball cap was firmly in place. She had a feeling he didn’t even realize his hand was on her butt. She tried to lift the rest of her body off him, but his hand remained firmly in place, holding her still, making her second-guess her assumption.

Her eyes darted to his, and she found them brimming with concern.

“How do you feel?” His voice was even rougher than usual.

“Sore.” She wanted to thank him for all he’d done, but now that she was fully awake, she couldn’t think past his hand on her ass, the fact that she wasn’t wearing underwear, and everything she’d gone through last night simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be dealt with. She needed to get her head on straight. But first she had to get off that bed. “And like someone’s fondling my butt.”

He moved his hand, and she pushed slowly to her feet, wincing in pain.

His brows slanted. “Where’re you going?”

“To the bathroom to get dressed.” She made her way to the dresser and fished out underwear and her most comfortable shorts and T-shirt. “You didn’t think I’d lie there without underwear on all day, did you?”

He smirked.

She headed into the bathroom, convinced that he was the hardest man in the world to read. When she saw her clothes and shoes on the floor and her battered face in the mirror, those thoughts were replaced with the anger from last night clawing its way free. Her cheekbone and brow were scraped and bruised, and she had a small cut above the left side of her lip. She peeled off the butterfly bandage from above her brow, revealing a red, crusty gash. She took off Diesel’s shirt, her body complaining with her movements. Black-and-blue patches marred her left side, hip, and shoulder. There were finger-sized bruises just above her elbows where those awful men had grabbed her. She turned around and peered over her shoulder into the mirror, her stomach seizing at the sight of more scrapes and bruises. Her mind trampled back to the bad days with Dennis, when he’d come home drunk and out of control, and she’d borne the brunt of his wrath.

She reminded herself that this was different.