“I feel dirty.”
That stopped her.
Not because it was smooth.
It wasn’t.
It was pathetic, probably.
But it was also true.
Her nurse brain snapped on before her heart could defend itself. “What?”
“My skin.” I swallowed, throat still rough. “Blood. Sweat. Hospital sheets. I feel grimy as hell.”
Her eyes searched my face.
Suspicious.
Smart girl.
“I can ask an aide to help you clean up.”
“I don’t want an aide.”
Her jaw tightened.
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“You finished before you opened your mouth.”
I almost smiled.
Pain tugged at my side.
Her gaze dropped instantly to the place where the bandage hid the worst of the damage. Concern flashed across her face, naked and fast before she buried it.
I wanted that too.
The anger.
The care.
The love.
All of her.
“I need you to help me,” I said.
Her eyes came back to mine.
The room warmed dangerously.
“Is this your attempt at flirting with me?”
“Depends if it’s working.”
