Page 24 of The Hero She Loves
She cleared her throat. “Your scars…they don’t hurt anymore?”
“No.” He touched his neck. “It took the docs a while to put me back together, but I was one of the lucky ones.”
She knew his torture had changed him. Knew that it haunted him. It was why he’d come to Alaska.
They finished eating, then Parker rose, stacking their empty boxes. She spotted a dark patch on his black T-shirt.
“Is that blood on your shirt?”
He looked down. “It’s nothing.”
She popped to her feet and circled the table. “You’re bleeding. That’snotnothing, Park.” She pulled the hem of his shirt up. “Let me see.” Then her eyebrows winged up. “You did this?”
“It stopped the bleeding.”
She stared at the wad of tissues held in place with some duct tape.
“Jesus.” She pulled the makeshift bandage off and ignored his wince. There was an ugly cut underneath. “This needs proper treatment, Park. Not whatever this half-assed mess is.”
His expression turned stubborn. “I’m not going to the hospital.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stay. I have a first aid kit in the SUV.”
She hustled outside, and grabbed the first aid kit from the Tahoe. He was still sitting with his ass against the table when she returned.
“Shirt off,” she ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled his shirt over his head.
She’d thought about that muscled chest and abs a few times over the last day. His hard muscles tempted a woman to touch. She pulled open the first aid kit and got out some wipes and started cleaning the blood off his skin.
He hissed.
She glanced up. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
Stubborn man. “It’s not too deep.”
“Price got lucky. Nicked me.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“It was fine.”
She realized they were standing close together. She felt the heat pumping off him and smelled the scent of his skin. It wasn’t cologne, just soap or shower gel. Park didn’t strike her as a man who wore fancy cologne.
“I’m going to put a bit of glue in it.”
He grunted. She figured it wasn’t the first time he’d been glued back together. Her gaze moved over his scars. She saw a circular scar that had to be a bullet wound, along with the healed cuts and burn marks.
Sympathy moved through her. His torture must have been agony. Three weeks of pain, not knowing if anyone was coming for him. Her chest was so tight it was hard to breathe. She knew he’d hate any pity.
She focused on treating his new wound. When she was done, she placed a bandage over the cut. Her fingers brushed his skin.
She heard him draw in a sharp breath and looked up. He was watching her with his dark gaze.
She let her hands drop to her sides. “Sorry.”