He is on his side, dark hair messy from sleep, jaw rough with stubble, green eyes softer than they have any right to be. He is wearing only black briefs, and my brain tries to process that like a normal woman with a normal pulse.
It fails immediately.
His chest is bare. His stomach is hard. One tattooed arm is bent under his head. The other is still around me, like he reached for me in sleep and never let go.
Then I see his shoulder.
The white bandage is stained red.
My sleepy softness vanishes.
“You’re bleeding.”
His gaze flicks to his shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Ace.”
That gets him. His mouth twitches, but he eases onto his back. “It pulled while I slept.”
“It pulled because you got shot and then decided to act like a maniac afterward.”
His brows lift.
Heat floods my face because yes, I am absolutely including what we did.
Especially what we did.
He knows it too. His eyes darken for half a second, and the air between us changes.
Then I sit up fast, because if I stay in bed with him looking at me like that, he is going to bleed through another bandage for much better reasons.
“Kitchen,” I say.
His gaze drops to where the shirt rides high on my thighs.
“Reina.”
“Don’t Reina me. Up.”
His smile is lazy and dangerous. “Bossy this early?”
“Nurse this early.”
“Careful, sweetheart. I might start liking it.”
I point toward the kitchen. “Chair. Now.”
He stands up with a soft grunt, and my chest pinches at the sound. He tries to hide it, but I see the tightness around his mouth. I see the careful way he moves his injured shoulder.
I also see far too much of the rest of him.
The briefs do nothing to make him less distracting.
Nothing.
He’s tall and rugged and half naked in the morning light, and my mouth goes dry.
Ace catches me looking.
