“But I didn’t,” I grate out. “Apparently.”
“No—that’s… that’s good. Please don’t die.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You sound awfully hopeful.”
“Yes, well, I have my own reasons. Anyway, they brought food, so let’s dig in.”
“Who did?”
He shrugs. “The blond guard. She’s the only one who actually looks at me.”
“Hm.” I don’t recall Sergei having any female guards. “She’s probably new. Another piece my uncle has moved onto the board while he thinks I’m too weak to notice.”
Jonah looks toward the door. “Is that bad?”
“Not necessarily. New just means the game has changed. Bring the food.”
He does what I say, placing the tray on the bed before shifting me up. His stomach growls. My gaze drops to the name on his scrubs. Jonah Rader.
“You work in the ER?”
He nods.
“Let me guess. Shifts without breaks. They keep you running.”
Jonah stares at me. He doesn't answer. He shifts his weight, his eyes darting to the tray and then back to my face. He waits for a reaction I haven't given him yet. His silence is a wall, one he uses to hide the hunger I saw in his eyes earlier.
“Taste the food, Jonah." It isn't a request. I want to see the slide of his throat when he swallows. I want to know if he’s been fed by the same hand that tried to kill me.
His gaze clouds with confusion. He obeys regardless. “Oh, okay.”
His stomach growls again. His face thins like he wants to apologize, but instead he lifts the lid. Steam rises. I watch his lips close around the fork. His throat works as he swallows, andthe sight triggers a throb in my groin that the morphine can't touch. It’s dysfunctional. I’m riddled with bullet holes and barely conscious, but the proximity of this stranger is making me hard.
“And?”
“Good?”
“Hm… yes.” A soft sound slips out before he can stop it. He sits at the edge of my bed with the plate balanced on his lap. For a moment, he looks like he belongs there. The thought unsettles me more than the bullet hole in my ribs.
“When did you eat last?”
He blinks at me, confused. “What?”
“Food. When did you eat?”
He tenses. “Um, yesterday morning, before heading to the hospital.”
I hum. “And what did you eat?”
Color creeps into his cheeks. “Just… toast. Nothing special.” He looks away and doesn't finish. He doesn't need to. He was waiting for a paycheck that never came.
I shift against the pillows and tap the edge of the tray. “We’ll eat together. Help me. You already started.”
“I, okay. Just… hold still.” He brings the fork toward my mouth. I open slowly, letting my tongue curl around the metal. His breath hitches. Watching him hesitate, eyes fixed on my mouth, is better than the food. A pulse thrashes in my groin.
By the time he sets the fork down, the plate is nearly empty.
“Well, that was fast.” He clears his throat. “It seems you were hungry too.”
