God, he was gorgeous.
That square jaw. Strong brow. Exquisite chest hair over equally exquisite pecs and down his defined abs.
Those wide shoulders (even with one covered in bandages).
“Trust you to be hot post-double-GSW surgery,” I mumbled.
Nothing from Knox.
But even though I wanted to be there and didn’t want to be anywhere else, not until he woke up, not until he was dressed and walking out the door of that room for good, even with that, I was acutely aware there were a bevy of people in the waiting room who needed to see what I was seeing right now.
So, okay, perhaps in a drug-induced state he’d ask for me.
Once he was no longer in that state, he wouldn’t want me around.
That was something (agonizingly) I knew for certain.
Even so, I had this shot.
This one shot.
Maybe the only one I’d ever get again.
And perhaps it was messed up.
But screw it.
I was going to take it.
I bent over his handsome face, my eyes to his beautiful lips surrounded by sexy dark stubble.
I didn’t press. I didn’t take much.
I just brushed my lips against his.
I remembered them being soft like that.
Soft, but not gentle.
The man was a greedy kisser.
On this altogether too painful thought, I lifted away, and my breath stuck in my throat because his hazel eyes were open and on me.
“Luna,” he said, and damn.
He might look all right, but his deep voice was fragile, and hearing that, it instantly gutted me.
I was about to say hey, when he spoke on.
“The love of my life.”
My body turned to stone in shock.
And hope.
Hope.
I hadn’t felt hope about Knox in over a year.
