“My legs aren’t hurt.”
I glare at him. “Justsit.” I go to the bathroom. The cabinet contains only a stainless-steel box with cute anime characters and the Thai Airways logo. I blink at the shockingly adorable box, then pop it open. Inside are some painkillers, individually wrapped rubbing alcohol swaps and Q-tips, cotton balls, Band-Aids, anti-itch cream for bug bitesand a small jar of green ointment with a label in some foreign language. I bring the whole thing out. “Very cute,” I say, pointing at the box.
“Would be better if you put on a nurse outfit,” he says with a grin.
I shake my head. “So you can pounce on me before I can do something for your cheek? I don’t think so.”
“Priorities.”
“Shut up.”
“When a woman says, ‘Shut up,’ like that, it means she agrees.”
Ignoring him, I open the box. “So. Which one?”
He points to the jar with the ointment. “This one. It helps heal open cuts.” My gaze lingers on the rubbing alcohol. He quickly adds, “It also has some antiseptic properties.”
“Okay.” I pull out a Q-tip, dip it into the white ointment and dab it gently over the cut. “So. Who did this to you? A client who got mad because you lost a case?”
He shoots me a baleful look. “I don’t lose cases.” He sobers. “It was Mom.”
I tense. “Zoe?”
“Yup. She was upset about our marriage.” Taut fury seethes underneath the outwardly careless tone.
I press my lips together.The woman is a menace.“Is she going to harass us even though we’re married?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“But she hit you.”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing.”
I hesitate, trying to find a diplomatic way to ask, but then there’s no careful way to talk about it. “Did she…hit you before?” My voice is small.
“No.” His eyes grow dim with disgust. “She wouldn’t, as long as I was hergood boy.”
He sneers the last two words like he wants to go back in time and beat his younger self for being good. There’s a strong urge to hug him and tell him he shouldn’t be upset with himself for having been young and sweet, but the familiar fear of making myself too open and vulnerable holds me back.
“Look, I handled her.” He lifts his eyes to mine, then points to hischeek. “It didn’t hurt that much, and now”—he wraps his warm hand around my wrist—“it’s quit hurting altogether.”
My mouth dries as his thumb brushes over my pulse point. My belly flutters. I blink, trying to shut out the gush of sweet need and affection—
A loud growl shatters the moment. Bryce’s ears turn red. I look at his belly, then his face. “No time for lunch?”
“I was working hard.” Although his tone is somber, a bright gleam in his eyes betrays him. “Wanted to come home early to my wife.”
I smile softly at his olive branch. “Did you?”
“I’m tired of coming home late.” He wraps his arms around me and buries his face carefully on my chest. “I missed my wife.”
I run my fingers through his soft, silky hair. “Want to split the pizza? Pepperoni and sausage. Even better than pepperoni alone.”
“Sure. I’d love that.” He tilts his head to look up at me, his eyes soft. When he’s clinging like this, he doesn’t look like a mean lawyer, but an adorable puppy wagging his tail, offering playful affection—and asking for it in return.
I bring out plates and some Diet Dr. Pepper. It’s a good thing I ordered a large, because Bryce mows through three-quarters of it like he hasn’t seen food in ages.
We chat easily, Bryce telling me some gossip from the firm, keeping the conversation light, like he doesn’t want the darkness of encountering his mother invading our time. “How about you?” he asks. “What’d you do today?”
