The little head housed behind his zipper sent up a rousing chorus ofhoorahsas if it truly believed it might get lucky.Fortunately for Wolf, he’d stopped listening to that idiot and started paying attention to thebighead on his shoulders around age thirty.
Okay, maybe he’d been closer to thirty-one.
Fine. Thirty-two at the latest.
“I’d hate to bump your shoulder,” he told her.
“I’m not worried about that. I’m more worried you won’t get any rest on that thing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” There was exasperation in her voice. “I don’t usually need much from anyone. But I could really use some comfort and connection tonight. Some human warmth to remind me I’m alive. So would you please sleep up here with me?”
He remembered a night not too long ago when she’d asked him that same question. It’d been after the terrible firefight with the Iranians. There’d been blood and carnage then too, and she’d needed someone to lie beside her to keep the demons away. To keep the darkness at bay.
“Should I grab the cushions off the love seat to make a pillow fort like I did last time?”
“There’s not enough room for that.” Her jaw cracked when she yawned. The adrenaline and drugs were taking their toll.
He was glad it was dark so she couldn’t see the smile that curved his mouth. “Okay, then.”
He hurried to her uninjured side. After kicking off his shoes, he carefully lifted the thin, blue hospital blanket and crawled onto the narrow mattress beside her, doing his level best not to jostle her around too much.
She’d scooted to the other side of the bed, but he still had to lay on his side. If not for the guardrail plastered along his back, he’d have spent the night with his ass hanging over the edge of the mattress.
“This okay?” He gingerly placed his head on the pillow next to hers, loving the feel of her body heat reaching out to him. Loving the sound of each soft breath as it exited her lungs.
“It’s good,” she assured him, scooting to give him more room he didn’t want. “Thank you, Wolf.”
How many times had he dreamed of her calling him into bed? How many times had he imagined having her laid out next to him exactly like this?
Of course, none of those fantasies had included a hospital room. And they’d certainly never included her suffering from a bullet wound.
She’d come so close to—
He couldn’t finish the thought. Anytime he touched on it, he felt an ache so deep inside his stomach he wondered if he might be developing an ulcer.
He hadn’t been lying when he told her he couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. A world without her sunny smile or her blue eyes or that laugh that burst out of her like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
So many people simply existed, neither adding to nor subtracting from the world. But not Christina Szarek. She brought sass and fun and banter wherever she went. And although she’d never admit it, she also brought generosity and grace.
Put simply, people likedChrissy because she was likeable.Hecertainly liked her. Had from the moment he met her and—
He stilled, feeling himself edging toward an epiphany he wasn’t ready to have.
“Sorry I smell so bad,” she whispered into the darkness.
It took everything he had to hold himself away from her, to lie beside her without touching her, but he contented himself with leaning forward to take a covert sniff of her hair. Sure, it smelled of marina water tinged with antiseptic, but it also smelled of her. Of salt spray and sunshine and coconut oil.
An island girl from top to tail.
“I’ve smelled worse,” he assured her and grinned when she snorted.
“Damned by faint praise.” She relaxed beside him, her uninjured shoulder nestling against his chest.
He wished he was shirtless. Wished he could feel her skin touching his.
Slowly, so as to give her plenty of time to stop him, he slid his arm across her waist. Her stomach radiated heat through the thin hospital gown, and he loved the feel of her hip bone and how it perfectly fit the curve of his hand. “This okay?” he asked.
