“No, I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me for the evening.”
“I must have been incredibly wicked in a past life.”
“You’ve not been terribly good in this one,” I point out.
He takes off the sling with a lot of creative cursing that makes me stare at him. “What?” he snaps.
“I’ve never heard some of those words. Epic.”
“Andnowyou admire me. All my life’s accomplishments, and the one thing you value is the fact that you’ve learnt some new curse words.”
“Don’t knock it. Take the praise when it comes your way. It must be a rare occasion.”
I help him with his clothes, putting them on the chair in a messy pile. “I’ll send your clothes to the cleaners. They’ll be ready tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” he says in a scandalised voice. “What am I going to wear when I go home tonight?”
“You’re not going home tonight,” I say, astonished. “Noway.”
“Yes,way.”
I snort. “You sound like a sulky teenager.”
“I’ve had better compliments.”
“But probably not quite as truthful.”
I stand back when he’s naked and put my hands on my hips. There’s a bruise already blooming on his ribs. “Bloody hell, Mac. Was this staircase fifty feet high?”
He chuckles and then winces. “It certainly felt like it as I fell down it.”
“You could have been killed.” I stare at him, unable to keep my emotions at bay.
He could have died, and I’d never have seen him again. The thought makes my heart thump painfully. Would I even have known? I might have gone the rest of my life thinking he’d just left me.
“Wes?” he says cautiously, probably because I look like I’m going to have a breakdown. “I’m perfectly fine. You can see that, and… And what are you doing?”
I’ve stepped into him, hugging his narrow waist and resting my head gently against him.
“I hate that you’re hurt,” I say, my voice muffled by his skin. He smells faintly of his cologne and hospital. I clutch him a little closer. Fear is a nasty taste in my mouth.
“For god’s sake,” he says resignedly, but his good arm bands around me, pulling me tighter, and we stay that way for a few seconds.
Eventually, he pulls away and sits on the mattress’s edge with a pained grunt. I kneel in front of him and lean in to gently kissthe biggest bruise, and then daringly nuzzle the edges of the scar on his stomach.
He sighs. “What on earth are you doing now?”
“Kissing it better.” I look up at him. “Didn’t your mum ever do that?”
A cynical expression crosses his face. “Hardly. She caused that one.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I try to think of something cheerful to say. “My kisses are well known for their restorative properties.” I give him a cheeky wink and stand. “Okay, do you feel up to a shower? You might feel better if you wash the hospital off you.”
He gives me a wry smile, but winces when it pulls at his sore lip. “Yes, that sounds good.” He stands up and I start to guide him into the bathroom. Predictably, he digs in his heels. “You know I can do this myself,” he grumbles.
