“I’ll be sure to give your complaints to the chef.”
He grinned, his teeth very white against his brown skin. “I wasn’t complaining. Just correcting.”
He was damn charming when he was conscious. Then again, he’d been so charming when he was unconscious, she’d decided to snuggle up against him and fall asleep in his arms.
She tried to ignore him as she swallowed the bacon that settled like lumps in her stomach. When his bowl thunked onto the ground, she looked up in alarm. He lay against the pillows, his skin ashen below his natural color. His eyes were closed, the black lashes heavy fans against his cheekbones.
“You okay?”
He shook his head the slightest degree. “Tired.”
Well, sure he was tired. She felt the tiniest pang of remorse for grilling him unmercifully as soon as his eyes were open. The tiniest.
His breathing evened out and she continued to watch him. “So far, you haven’t been the best of houseguests.” Of its own accord, her mind spun an erotic fantasy about a handsome stranger who stumbled onto her porch. They would have wild monkey sex right away and then…
Alex snored.
She stared at him with a twinge of wry humor. Why was reality so complicated?
She studied the bandage on his shoulder, spotted with a couple drops of blood. Genevieve figured she should take advantage of his sleep to change the gauze. It would be easier to handle touching him if he wasn’t awake, easier to keep her distance. The cuts and bruises on his face were healing by the minute, revealing an even more attractive man. The white blankets had fallen when he’d sat up that little bit. They rode low on his hips, the snowy color highlighting his cut, naturally tanned abdomen.
The large bandage marred the beautiful landscape. She fetched her supplies, water and towels. As she unstuck the bandage from the wound, she did enough wincing for both of them. Genevieve dipped the washcloth in water and wiped away the blood and pus that had leaked under the gauze. She wrung the cloth out and grabbed a fresh towel, following the path the previous cloth had taken. Her vanity was more than pleased with the sight that greeted her. The torn flesh hadn’t completely fused together, not yet, but the red and angry edges looked a damn sight better than they had before.
She laid her hand directly on top of the wound, closed her eyes and directed another flow of energy into the healing flesh. When she opened her eyes, the skin along the jagged edges flared purple for an instant and then subsided to a pink that looked even better than it had before. She smiled in satisfaction, so proud she wanted to pick him up and stick him to the fridge.I did that! Me, me, me.The rebound she felt was only mild, a slight dizziness. Either she was getting better, or he didn’t need much help.
Don’t get too cocky, Genevieve.She sobered at the recollection of her mother’s voice. Yes, she would cool it. No one knew better than her what happened when a person became arrogant and careless with what they’d been given.
She cast a quick glance at his face before she took the washcloth to his chest. She kept her motions efficient and practical when she really wanted to drag the towel slowly over his delineated muscles. Not even the many scars riddling his body could detract from the work of art that lay in front of her. She knew the explanation behind the newer ones, but she had a sudden desire to pepper him with questions about the others, like the big healed scar on his thigh. She had no right to any kind of information, but while she was touching him, and they were all alone, it was tough to remember that.
Yesterday she’d cleaned him more personally, even removing his boxers, laundering them and dressing him again. Somehow, though, this seemed far more intimate.
It was because he was no longer just a piece of meat, a generic male lying on the ground. He’d woken up and talked to her and looked at her with those beautiful black eyes and… Genevieve sighed.
“Why are you sad?”
His voice made her hand jerk, and she realized she’d simply rested it over his navel. Thank God the wet towel had been between their skin. His voice was rough, and she plopped the towel in the basin and grabbed the glass of water she’d meant for him to drink before he fell asleep. No IVs here, and he wouldn’t want to be dehydrated.
He drank, finished the glass and lay his head back down. “Why are you sad?”
“I’m not sad. I was just changing your bandage.”
They both looked down at the drying wetness on his abdomen. Far from the site of his wound. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he looked back at her. Her face flushed and she tried not to sound defensive. “You don’t want to smell sweaty, do you?”
“Nope. You can sponge bathe me if you like.”
His tone was low and brought all sorts of erotic thoughts to mind. She cleared her throat. “I did it yesterday. You should be fine now until you can do it on your own.”
“You sponge bathed me yesterday?”
“Well, I couldn’t just let you lay there all dirty, now could I?” Shoot, there went her vow not to sound defensive.
“Of course not. Thank you.”
“Anyway, I’m done. Let me just bind you up again.” She looked up in time to see his confused frown as he studied his gunshot wound. Uh-oh.
“What the fuck? I don’t see any stitches.”
“I didn’t use any.”
