“Don’t make fun of me,” she says stiffly.
“I’m not. I promise,” I say, still amused, even through my splitting headache. “Come here.”
I reach for her hand.
“Come where?” she says, walking closer.
“Come here,” I repeat and use her hand to pull her closer.
When she realizes I’m trying to pull her onto my lap, she widens her eyes.
“No.”
But I’ve already got a good grip on her.
“Nico, I don’t want to hurt you,” she says incredulously.
That makes me smile even more, making my jaw scream at me in pain.
“You won’t,” I rasp, finishing it through clenched teeth. “You’re sitting. Not tackling me.”
Her hands hover, uncertain, like she doesn’t know where to put them without touching something broken.
“I’m serious,” she says, still standing uncertainly, like she’s ready to spring away. “Your ribs are— your face is—”
“Trust me. I know,” I cut in. “Slowly, slowly.”
I shift my grip on her hand, guiding her the way I’d guide a skittish animal. One careful inch at a time until she’s fully settled across my legs.
She swallows, eyes still stormy.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she mutters.
“I’m in pain,” I say. “I want my woman close. What’s wrong with that?”
I tug the belt of the robe, loosening it.
She narrows her eyes.
“Nico,” she says in a warning tone.
“Very close,” I say and ease the robe apart.
“I’m not having sex with you right now,” she says. “Are you crazy?”
“Not sex, might kill me,” I murmur. “Just come closer.”
I pull her in gently until she’s tucked against me, her bare breasts against my chest.
I hold her close and sigh.
“Nico,” she whispers, and it’s not a warning now. It’s strained. “Your ribs.”
“I’m fine,” I lie automatically.
She pulls back an inch, eyes narrowing. “Don’t.”
“Sweetheart, my ribs hurt. My face hurts. My whole body hurts. That’s not going to stop, even if you’re across the room.”
