He might have been wounded, but he was right up in my space, lickety-split, one hand holding tight at my waist, the other at my neck, his face in mine, his lips whispering, “Baby.”
“Those look awful,” I whispered, staring at the one in his shoulder close up.
Good God.
So awful.
And painful.
“They’re not as bad as they seem.”
I tipped my eyes to his.
We were close enough to kiss.
“Are you sure?” I was still whispering.
“I’m sure.”
I said nothing and didn’t move.
“Maybe I should call Shirleen. See if she can deal with—” he began.
I shook my head and stepped back, out of his space, out of his hold.
I straightened my spine and declared, “I got this.”
“Shirleen won’t mind.”
“I’ve got this, Knox,” I stated firmly.
He studied me before he nodded and limped back to the bed.
He had the stuff beside him.
Okay, maybe I didn’t have this because I had no idea what to do.
“You’re gonna have to talk me through it,” I told him.
“Gotcha,” he said and then handed me some gauze. “Let’s go.”
He talked me through it.
One could say the bandage around his shoulder didn’t look half as tidy as the one he’d had before. I hadn’t seen the one that was on his leg, and, fortunately, the job I did on that one didn’t look too bad.
However, being that close to him, smelling the fresh-soap smell mingled with all that was Knox, touching his warm skin, doing this while his deep voice murmured instructions, in a room where we’d repeatedly been as close as two human beings could get—all of it did a number on me.
So I didn’t want to scurry away from him when I was done.
But I sure did.
“Right, let’s get you back downstairs so I can see to Jacques,” I said, not able to look him in the eyes.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t say anything. But he did wait for me to precede him.
I was down the stairs in less than half the time it took him, but I still waited and watched his painful descent.
When he was down, he walked me to the door.
