Page 69 of Freedom’s Inferno

That earned a quiet laugh, muffled but real. She rolled onto her back, the blanket slipping lower, and gave me a look that made my dick stir. She stretched her arms over her head, her back arching, spine lengthening, and I couldn’t help but watch the way her breasts lifted with the motion.

My gaze lingered on the pale pink of her areolas.

Her pert nipples, no longer warm where she had been pressed against the mattress, were pebbling into hardened peaks.

“So, you want to shower… together?” she asked.

I shrugged, aiming for casual. “I’m not exactly opposed to conserving water.”

She arched a brow. “Only if you let me check how your injuries are healing.”

I grunted, frustrated. “Last time I checked you’re a CPA, not a nurse.”

“We could role play,” she said, mouth curving into a grin. “I’ll play the nurse… you be the patient.”

I stared at her, half amused, half intrigued. “Oh, really?”

She tilted her head. “No, but you’re going to let me look at you anyway.”

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“Admit it,” she said, pushing herself up to climb from the bed. Her blue eyes glistened in the morning light. “You like when I take care of you.”

My gaze trailed over her body, gloriously naked, then I realized my lips were parted. She smirked, and I snapped my mouth shut, face heating.

“Maybe I do,” I said, but I didn’t rise from the bed. I couldn’t. Not unless I wanted her to see the evidence of what she was doing to me.

She gave me a pointed look, the kind that told me she was well aware of what I was hiding beneath the sheets. Then, she turned and sauntered out of the room, and God help me, I stared at her bare ass until the door clicked behind her.

I stood at the sink, towel around my waist, trying to look like a man who wasn’t suddenly very aware of his own skin. The bruises on my ribs were fading to smudges of sickly green and yellow. My shoulder still ached where the road rash hadn’t healed but it looked a little better. My hand, the one that had been burned, was finally free of bandages, the skin tight and shiny where the scab had set.

Lana stood close enough that I could feel the warmth of her beside me. She was naked, and utterly distracting.

“You’re healing well,” she said, studying the angry patch of skin on my shoulder. “Although, I’m not totally thrilled with this.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

She gave a soft hum that could’ve been amusement or disapproval. Her fingers were careful as she traced near the wound, her touch light enough to make me forget how much I resented being looked at.

I told myself to stop watching her, to focus on something—anything—else, but my eyes kept betraying me.

She didn’t seem to notice how tense I’d gone, or if she did, she didn’t care. She was at ease in her own skin, comfortable in a way that made me feel clumsy by comparison.

I’d grabbed a towel on instinct the moment I followed her in, but she stood there unbothered, utterly unguarded. She was different from the day before, like something inside her had shifted.

“Hold still,” she murmured, leaning in to inspect my ribs. Her hair brushed against my chest, light and distracting.

“I am holding still,” I muttered. “You’re the one hovering.”

Her mouth tilted at one corner as she reached for the bruise along my ribs. “You’re terrible at accepting help, you know that?”

I caught her wrist with purpose. “That’s enough.”

Her eyes flicked to mine, surprised but not frightened.

“You’ve been running the show since the day we met,” I said, my voice low. “Always calculating, always steering, always holding everything together.” I traced my thumb over the inside of her wrist. “Not right now.”

She blinked, her lips parting. “And what exactly does that mean?”