“Yeah, sweetheart, I would. In a heartbeat.” Actually, a heartbeat had already passed. There is blood on her dress. Delaney is bleeding. That bastard stabbed her. Nash grabbed the bottom of the dress and began to yank it up. The fabric ripped and tore beneath his fingers.
“No! I don’t have anything else to wear!” She backed away. Tried to, anyway, but there was nowhere for her to go in the tiny bathroom. “I’ll take it off! I’ll do it, jeez! Just give me second!”
And she did.
She put her hands behind her back. The zipper hissed as she lowered it. The dress sagged forward, and then it fell to pool at her feet.
Delaney was left wearing white stockings, white heels, white panties, and the most tempting bit of white lace for a bra that he’d ever seen in his life.
And, normally, he would have loved to just stand there and take in the perfection that was his Delaney but…
Blood. Blood covered her right side. It had hardened, and when the dress fell, he’d seen her wince as the dried blood had tried to cling to the fabric and to her body at the same time.
“Tell me that it’s not terribly bad,” Delaney whispered.
He couldn’t tell much about the wound, not yet.
He reached for a towel. Then stopped. Dammit, he had to get some first aid supplies. She might need stitches. And there sure as hell wasn’t going to be anything in that ancient bathroom that he could use that wouldn’t be covered in germs. “Stay right here,” he ordered.
“What?”
“I saw a first aid kit behind the check-in counter. I’m going to get it.” He could grab it and be back in five minutes. Nah, three. Tops.
“No, I’m fine!” She grabbed for the faucet, turning and giving him a truly stellar view of her ass. “I just need to wash the blood away.”
He wanted to treat the wound properly. No sense in exposing her to the risk of an infection. “Delaney, stay here.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m sure it’s okay.” But her lower lip trembled. “He…put a knife in my side, Nash.”
Fuck. “He’s dead, Delaney.” Correction, the prick would be dead when Nash got his hands on the guy.
A tear slid down her cheek. “He did it right in front of the priest. I…I stopped walking down the aisle, and Kurt came at me. He put the knife in my side—the tip of the blade, I felt it go into me.”
Oh, but I will make his death hurt. “Why in the hell were you marrying him?”
She flinched. Squared her shoulders. Turned back to the sink.
But he could see her reflection in the mirror. See the second tear that slid down her cheek. Sadness tinted her face as she told him, “You don’t know Prince Charming is a monster until he decides to let his dark side out to play.”
Nash’s muscles were already locked in fury, and he made sure not to let his expression alter at her words. Delaney had never understood the darkness that rested in Nash’s own heart. He’d always tried to shield her from that part of himself. And eventually, he’d even walked away from her.
And missed her every damn day.
She yanked on the faucet, and water poured into the sink. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” A brisk nod. Another teardrop.
Things were not, in actuality, fine, and the woman had to know that. More like, everything was on fire.
But she nodded again and said, “I just need to wash away the blood. I absolutely do not need stitches. So don’t even think of finding some shady needle to poke into my skin. The cut isn’t that deep. I’m sure it’s not and…why do you keep picking me up?”
He had picked her up. Turned her around. And sat her down on the edge of the sink. He stood in front of her.
“Oh, this countertop is not going to hold me.” She bit her lower lip as she peered down at it. “I do not think we are talking quality craftsmanship here. I’m about to go flying to the floor.”
“Stop.”
Her long lashes fluttered. Delaney had dark and thick lashes. Full and gorgeous lips. And, yes, she still did have that faint sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“Stop what?” Delaney asked.
