her closer. “Babe, I would do anything for you,” he murmured, eyeing the railing and then her face. “I’m lucky as hell that you’re a resourceful woman and handled Mitch on your own.”
Although he hated that she’d gone through that, hated knowing she’d carry that memory for the rest of her life.
Her smile started slow…a low-watt glow that brightened her eyes to a brilliant green shine before spreading across her face, banishing the shadows and distance between them.
“It was those self-defense moves you taught me that saved me.” Her fingers tightened around his hand and clung. “Your voice was in my head the whole time…telling me what to do, when to do it. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t taught me those tactics.”
“You would have found a way to take him down.” There was no doubt of that in his mind. “You’re a warrior.”
A laugh escaped her. “I don’t know about that.”
Some of the darkness returned to her eyes. She was remembering the battle for her life. Remembering killing Mitch.
Of all the things Mitch had taken from her, this might be the worst. He’d turned her into a killer—twice over. She hadn’t had a choice, it had been her life or theirs, but it didn’t matter. Because she knew what it felt like to take someone’s life now. If he could lift that burden from her, he would. He’d carry it on his own shoulders, along with all the lives he’d taken through the years. But he couldn’t. She’d have to learn to live with that on her own.
Still, he might be able to help her come to terms with that burden.
“Do you want to talk about what happened with Mitch? Hayes?”
She might not. She might not be ready to discuss it yet. If not, he’d be there for her when she was.
“I don’t feel guilty—not about Mitch, anyway.” She frowned, fidgeted, her gaze dropping to the floor. “He shot you. Just left you there to die. He would have killed me too, once he was done with me. So I don’t feel guilty.” She went still. “It’s just…”
“What?” He sat up straighter. Damn, if ever there was a time she needed to be held, it was now. Fuck the doc’s orders.
He glanced at the rails on the bed. Both sides were up, thanks to the nurses’ pathological need to see him contained. Getting out of bed without assistance was going to be tricky, but not impossible.
She hesitated, shrugged. “It’s just…I keep thinking that I should feel something. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Something. But I don’t. I feel nothing at all. What does that make me?
Yeah, fuck this cage. His woman needed him. He started scooting his ass towards the foot of the bed, which was the only area without the bars.
“I should feel something—” She broke off, her attention zeroing in on him and his scooting. “What are you doing?”
“Getting up.”
“No, you aren’t. You’ll pull your stitches.”
He scowled and stopped inching his ass along. That earlier burning throb had started up again beneath the bandages. She was right. Damn it.
Fine—time for plan B.
“Right.” He stopped moving in favor of stretching flat out on his back. “I’ll stay put if you climb the rail and join me.”
She laughed like she thought he was joking. When he folded his arms and stared back, her laughter faded.
“Are you crazy? I’m not going to help you pull out your stitches.”
“I’ll heal faster if I can touch you. If you’re in my arms. It’s a well-known, scientific fact that human contact increases healing.” He dredged up a weak, pathetic tone.
Snorting, she folded her arms, mimicking his body language from a standing position. “That’s a huge no, Brett. The sooner you behave, the sooner you’ll get out of that bed.” She paused, a sly smile curving her lips. “And the sooner you get out of that bed—the sooner we can get up close and very personal.”
Pure sensuality purred through her voice and set fire to his blood. He jerked his gaze away from the sultry promise in her eyes to check out the rising tide of enthusiasm tenting his hospital gown.
Damn. The woman knew how to inspire him.
Pure determination lit him from within. He relaxed against the mattress. She’d made her point. An exceptionally good one at that. He’d lie right here, without moving—unless he had to shit or piss—until the doctor signed his release papers.
Even if it fucking killed him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Your brother was a fucking genius,” Brett said as he stepped