Page 90 of Covert Mission

I pinch my lip between my teeth.

“Why do you react like that when I call you Poppy?”

I turn my attention to unzipping his massive first-aid kit. “This thing is like a hospital emergency room.”

“Evasive,” he rumbles.

I pull out some antiseptic wipes and some butterfly bandages. A suture kit falls out and lands on his chest.

“Stitch me up.”

My eyes dart to his. “You’re kidding. Me?”

“Not joking in the least.”

“You’d trustmeto stitch you up?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You trusted me to be inside your body. It’s only fair.”

I look at Lucas as a quiver forms in my stomach. “You shouldn’t trust me.”

He catches my hand. The power of his inspection makes me want to shrink away.

“I see your secrets, Camile.”

“Back at you.”

I try to slide off of him, but he reaches for me, cups his hand around the back of my neck, and pulls me down until we’re nose to nose. “I see you, Camile. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I’m going to win your trust and unravel it all.”

Then he kisses me.

I press my hands against his chest where the hard beat of his heart pounds against my palms. The tone of the kiss starts out slow and almost sweet, but it quickly becomes possessive and demanding.

I don’t know if the ripping feeling in my chest is my heart or something much bigger.

When he lets me go, he sits me back upright. “Open the suture kit.”

I gape at him.

“I’ll tell you what to do.”

“SEALs,” I mutter. “Crazy men.”

“Crazier than you can probably imagine.”

The hidden message behind that reply causes my brain to crackle.

I can’t even deal with that. “If you’re serious, tell me what to do.”

Lucas guides me step by step, watching me with scorching intensity as I clean and stitch his cut. When we’re done, he sets me aside like I weigh nothing. He scoops up the first-aid supplies, kisses the top of my head, and strolls off to the bathroom.

When he comes back, he’s popping some pills into his mouth. “Antibiotics,” he says after he swallows and chases with bottled water.

I draw a deep breath as I pull the throw around my waist. “We should talk.”

He cuts off the light. The edge of the bed dips. Somehow, he wrangles me around until he’s on his side and I’m tucked against him.

We’re both still damp. The fan blows across us, evaporation of the water off my skin cools the flush.