“You... what? How?”
“I’m making you warmer pants, Grandpa. Look, this is really not that big a deal. You’ve studied anatomy, I assume. I mean, youarea medic, so...”
“Hospital corpsman,” he corrected her automatically.
“Plus it’s not like you haven’t already seen me naked,” she added. “Okay, just hand me my jacket so I can cover my terrifying lady parts, then turn your chaste, puritanical gaze over to the corner for a moment while I get out of most of this thing. I won’t need your help until I get to the left sleeve. Ow, I mean,fuck.”
He pulled her jacket to within her easy reach from where she was sitting on the floor, but like hell she didn’t need his help. Turning away meant he couldn’t help her, so he didn’t turn away. However, he moved so that he was kneeling behind her, where he kept his eyes securely on her back and shoulders as he helped her pull her uninjured arm free from the first sleeve.
She had a splash of freckles on shoulders that were as strong as they were graceful—a swimmer’s shoulders. Her back was muscular, too. Her skin was smooth and uninjured—thank you, Jesus—as he helped pull the shirt off of her.
She may have been small of stature, and her wild riot of red curls added to her fairy-princess-like appearance, but it was all just an illusion. She was far more warrior-goddess than delicate, fragile sprite—radiating a strength that was feminine and powerful.
She made a point of holding her jacket up to her chest with her right hand and then let Thomas do the work to get her blood-soaked sleeve off her injured arm.
As the wound was revealed, his relief bubbled larger.
“It doesn’t look bad,” he told her as he finally peeled away the sleeve. “The bullet took a small bite out of you as it grazed you, so the injury’s slightly longer than a gunshot wound, but it’s shallow. Bleeding’s mostly stopped.” Yeah, there was still unpleasant work ahead, picking stray fibers from her shirt and jacket out of the wound, cleaning it thoroughly to ward off infection, but that wouldn’t be even half as bad as digging a bullet out of her flesh.
“So, wait, Iwasn’tshot, I was just nicked?” She tried to look over her shoulder, but her injury was on the backside of her upper arm. She’d need a mirror to see it.
“Nicked is still shot.”
“But a bullet’s not still in my arm.”
“Correct.” He probably should’ve told her that first, but he was having a little trouble breathing—his relief was so intense and profound.
Relief combined with sheer terror at what might’ve been.
Holy Jesus. An inch or two to the right, and the bullet would’ve broken her humerus. It might’ve even taken her arm clear off. Another few inches, and it would’ve hit her in the back, near her heart, and she’d be dead.
Those motherfuckers had been shooting to kill.
The realization of how lucky she was—how luckyhewas—and just how close he’d come to losing her, was dizzying.
And that, combined with all of the miles he’d just run at his full, top speed caught up to him in a rush. Now he was experiencing the dead opposite of cool, calm, and collected Navy-SEAL-firefight mode.
Yeah, he’d for sure slipped into pure caveman-brain meltdown, with tears literally rushing to his eyes. His hands shook and his heart pounded as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. He had to get her downstairs, get her cleaned up, but his legs were so weak, he wasn’t sure he could stand.
“Thomas?” Tash looked at him over her shoulder, then turned slightly to face him, still holding her jacket to her body, her eyes wide with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m just... um... Relief can be... hard to manage.” Embarrassed, he turned away from her, but then realized that was worse—that when he looked into her eyes, she gave him a lifeline to hold onto. “If you were dying, I’d be fine.”
Her eyes widened and she laughed a little, and okay, that wasnotwhat he meant.
“Not fine, no, that came out wrong,” he told her, his voice suddenly hoarse because those tears that were threatening to escape from his eyes were now filling up his throat, too. “I mean, I know what to do to save your life. I’ve trained to overcome the fear and the overwhelm—the panic. I push it aside. I control it so I can do what needs to be done.”
As he spoke the words, Thomas realized that he knew exactly what needed to be done in this very moment, if he could just push away the last of his lingering fear...
“Natasha Francisco, you arenotmy sister,” he whispered to this woman he loved more than life itself.
And he kissed her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thomas kissed her.
Thomaskissedher!
