"Are you both okay?" Jason asked again.
"Yeah, we're good," Knox answered.
"In that case, keep everyone back—especially away from the bomb fragments. I want to get a good look at what it was. Get Drakos's security to cordon off the area. I'll collect what weneed and take it back to Room 336. Call Rowan and get him to coordinate with Drakos's security—we need all security footage from around the hotel for the past thirty minutes."
"On it," Knox said.
Everyone moved at once, following Jason's orders.
The next hour was a blur.
By the time she returned to her room, Allie was exhausted. And her wound was aching. Not the new scrapes. Her bullet wound. No surprise there. It was still healing.
Knox had saved her life—and she hadn't fully processed that—but being yanked onto the sand and covered with his muscular mass hadn't been great for her still-healing leg. Not that she was complaining.
She changed into a pair of comfy shorts and opened the first-aid kit Tayla had brought her. Her cuts just needed some cleaning. Maybe a small bandage.
A soft knock sounded.
She padded to the door and looked through the peephole. Knox was knocking again.
She opened the door. "Hey, come on in."
But the moment she said it, she regretted it.She was wearing shorts.
Knox was already walking into the room. And she really didn't want him to see her leg. The wound.
She grabbed a pair of lounge pants and practically ran into the bathroom. "Be right back," she called over her shoulder. He probably thought she was acting strange, but she didn't care. She changed into the lounge pants and walked back into the room.
"Has Rowan found anything yet?" she asked.
He looked confused. "Why did you change?" He held up a first-aid kit. "I brought something for your leg."
She held up the kit Tayla had brought. "Already got one, but thanks."
"Did you clean those cuts? One looked kinda deep."
"They're not bad. I'll get to it later. What about the footage? Did Rowan see the guy who threw the explosive?"
"Yeah, but he hasn't been able to get an ID yet. He's working his magic." He pointed to her right leg. "You need to clean those cuts." He opened the kit he'd brought and pulled out some disinfectant. "This one is pretty good. And it doesn't sting too bad."
"Thanks, Knox. I'll do it later."
He stared at her for several seconds. "You changed into those pants . . ." He narrowed his gaze and continued to study her in silence. His brows raised. "You don't want me to see your leg. You don't want me to seethatleg. That's it, isn't it?"
Apparently, he could read her pretty well. Which was touching and frustrating, all at once. "I just . . . Knox, please. I'll clean my leg later. Can we talk about something else?"
The familiar hurt returned to his face. And she knew why. It wasn't about seeing her leg. It was because she was allowing what happened three months ago to come between them again.
No. She didn't want to do that again. She hated her wound and everything about it, but she didn't want to be the cause of that hurt look anymore. Something changed in the moments after the explosion. She didn't have everything figured out, but she knew how she felt about Knox.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean . . . Hiding my wound was a reaction. But I don't want to hide anything from you. Let me change back into my shorts so I can clean these cuts."
He opened his mouth and shut it again without a word.
She slipped back into the bathroom and changed into her shorts. Before returning to the room, she stood with her back against the bathroom door and allowed herself a slow, deep breath.Dear God, please help me through this. You know howself-conscious I am about this horrible scar. I hate it so much. Please don't let it affect how Knox sees me.
She tried to enter the room like nothing awkward was happening. But that was pointless. She felt so self-conscious. Nausea burned in her stomach.
