She doesn't deny it. Just keeps working. She cleans and closes the cut with butterfly strips, then layers gauze and tape over it. When she moves to the bruise, she presses a cold pack against the worst of the purple and holds it there, her other hand braced on my shoulder for balance. Her touch gentles as she traces the edges, mapping the damage as though she's committing it to memory.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"For what?"
"For not catching this sooner. For being so wrapped up in my own—"
"Stop." I frame her face. "You had every right. You just told a room full of people your darkest secrets. Confessed things you've been carrying for two years. You think I'm mad you didn't treat a bruise in the middle of that?"
Her lip trembles. "I'm supposed to catch these things. I'm a medic."
"You're my wife first. Medic second. I'm good with that."
A broken sound, and she leans forward, pressing her forehead to mine. We stay there. Breathing together. Then she shifts, lips brushing my temple. My cheek. The corner of my mouth.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"For what?"
"For being patient with me."
I pull back enough to see her. "Sweetheart, I'd wait forever if that's what you needed."
She leans in and presses her lips to the edge of the gauze on my ribs. Soft. Reverent. My hands tighten on her hips. She kisses the bruise next, gentle as a whisper. Then the unmarked skin beside it. Then higher, over my heart.
"There," she says, meeting my eyes. "All better."
"Not even close," I rasp, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through her sweater. "But we're getting there."
Her eyes darken. Her hands slide from my shoulders to my chest, fingers splaying over the ink.
"Knox." Soft and dangerous.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
She holds my gaze, cheeks flushed, breathing shallow. "Take me to bed."
Every circuit in my head fries. Instantly. My control snaps. I stand up and lift her in the same motion. Her legs wrap around my waist, her mouth finding mine, hot, desperate, perfect.
"Yeah," I growl against her lips, already carrying her down the hall. "I can do that."
Chapter 33
Knox
Westumblethroughthedoorway, mouths fused, hands everywhere. I don't bother with lights. The afternoon sun slanting through the blinds is enough to see her face, her eyes, the flush spreading down her throat.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. Malachi. Third time in an hour. I reach back, silence it without looking, and let it fall somewhere on the floor. Whatever's coming can wait until I've had this. Until she's had this.
I set her on the edge of the bed, step between her knees, and frame her face with both hands.
"I love you," she says, soft but steady. "I love you, Knox."
Every time she says it, my chest cracks open a little wider. I don't think she knows that. I don't think she knows that three words from her mouth rearrange the way I breathe.
"Yeah." I put forehead to hers. "I love you too, sweetheart. Now tell me what you want."
She smiles, small and wicked. "Fewer clothes. Immediately."
