Page 70 of Stealth Mission
Slowly my protector reaches for my cheek. With the most tender touch, he skims the back of his fingers over my skin. “Thank you, but you need to take it easy. Don’t rip out your stitches.”
The coldness of his fingers worries me. Everything about the way he looks is concerning. This is a haunted version of the man that just hours ago was full of vigor.
And there’s something red on his throat. Little splotches.
When he realizes that I’m staring, he pulls back, scrubbing the palm of his hand over the spot just below his chin. “I’m sorry, I thought I got it all.”
“That’s blood.” Heart skipping, I pull at the sheet. “Are you sure you’re okay? I saw the bandage, but it looks like you bled a lot more than a cut that size would bleed.”
Dismissively, he touches the bandage on his forehead. “This is nothing. I wish it was me that got the shrapnel.”
I shake my head and wish I hadn’t because it worsens my headache. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth, something so beautiful and delicate as you should never be touched by something so horrific.”
Those fierce words slide into my heart and warm some of the spots that have been filled with fear for the last few hours.
But even with him here, I can’t wait to be out of this place. It’s the machines, the drab blue-gray walls, the sterile bedding. “I’ve always hated hospitals since my mom died. Can you stay?”
“It would take an army to drag me away from here.”
I let that sink in.
After a minute of breathing intentionally, I swipe my tongue across my dry lips. I do this while wondering how this is my life now.
It happened so fast, but I can’t imagine not wanting him by my side.
“That means the world to me.” I reach for his hand. “I only want you here. I don’t want to tell my father. I hope you didn’t call him.”
Just thinking about the man sours my mood.
“Shit. I didn’t even think about him.” He rubs his brow, the lines there growing deeper. “All I could think about was you. I’ve been going out of my head in the waiting room.”
The pillow makes a crunchy noise as I sag back, sinking deeper into the bed. I picture him wearing out the rug, or shredding up books with his bare hands.Bending those ugly waiting room chairs into pretzels.
“I’m sorry you’ve been so worried. And I’m hugely relieved that you didn’t contact him. I really don’t want him rolling in here making a scene.”
He doesn’t deserve that.
The dark, swirling emotions he’s harboring harden his expression. I hate whatever is going on right now in his mind.
Not only does he feel protective of me, I want to slay his inner demons, patch up his wounds. Kiss away his worry.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt? I’m just getting this really weird vibe from you, and I’m afraid someone like you might not admit that you’re injured because you didn’t want to upset me.”
He shakes his head, but the tightness of his lips says there is plenty wrong.“It’s not that. I’m a little banged up, but I’ve had worse from training exercises.”
As he sits silently, I run my fingers over the back of his hand. Scrapes and scabs. A crisscross of small cuts. Even some bruises. He definitely got more damage than he’s letting on.
A somber energy fills the space between us.
Something different is here, unspoken.There’s some kind of emotional cord between us after what we did together—the sex we shared before I was injured.
An energetic connection.
A tingle builds in my lower belly. “In case you were wondering… I do remember what happened before the accident.”
A small smile pulls at my lips, but the corners of his mouth turn downward.