Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I thought these ones suited you best,” he told me as he walked over toward the window, setting them on the sill. Right in my line of sight. Where I wanted them. “And this is because hospital food sucks, and I thought you would like something sweet,” he said, bringing over the other bouquet. Melons—bright orange cantaloupe, light green honeydew, red chunks of watermelon, grapes, pineapple, and strawberries.
I hadn’t thought I was hungry before, but my belly let out a little grumble at just the sight of all that fresh fruit as he set it down on the rolling tray beside my bed.
“This was so thoughtful of you,” I said, actually finding myself a little emotional as he came to the side of the bed, placing the fancy white paper bag down. If I was right, the logo on it was from an expensive boutique in Navesink Bank.
“This might be more useful than flowers,” he told me, reaching into the bag.
“Beautiful things have their own sort of use,” I assured him, smiling over at the flowers.
Then I saw what he was talking about.
A buttery-soft looking pale yellow blanket.
“Oh, that is so perfect. I am freezing,” I admitted as he removed the tag, then carefully spread it out over me, and I swear the warmth that swelled in me had very little to do with the lovely blanket. “My mom says it’s because of the blood loss and my anemia,” I admitted.
Then, I swear I saw pain slice across his face.
But that made no sense.
Unless he was just one of those people who felt their empathy so deeply that someone else’s pain may as well have been his own.
“How are you?” he asked again, voice a little sad.
“I’m alright. They said the shoulder went right through. And that it’s lucky I have thick hips.”
“Say that again?” he asked, brows pinching.
“That bullet bypassed my organs and my intestines, and lodged in some hip fat,” I told him.
“I see,” he said, that slice of pain going through his eyes again. “I am so sorry this happened to you, sweetheart,” he said, and his little pet name made my belly do a flip-flop.
“Hey, now, it wasn’t your fault!” I said, trying to keep things light because it suddenly looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“I owe my life to you,” he said, reaching down to take my hand in his big one, and I was momentarily focused on the way his hand positively swallowed mine up. And while I was distracted, he went on. “I am going to do everything in my power to make it up to you.”
“You’ve already done more than enough,” I told him. “This is all so lovely.”
“This is nothing,” he told me, releasing my hand, then reaching into the bag, producing lilac purple fuzzy socks. “Forgot about these,” he said.
“My feet are freezing,” I admitted.
“May I?” he asked, pulling the tag off of them, then gesturing toward the foot of the bed.
I would like to reiterate that I was in a hospital bed, that I’d been shot twice, that I’d lost a lot of blood.
Because, somehow, despite all of that, I felt a tightening of my sex at the idea of his hands on me. Reminding me of all the steamy things that had been crossing my mind while he’d been in the restaurant the day before.
Suddenly, the memory of him holding me as I bled all over him came back to me as well.
“Please,” I invited, hearing a husky edge to my voice. But he, luckily, didn’t seem to notice as he moved toward my feet, lifting the blanket off of them, then reaching out.
“They’re like ice,” he said, taking one of them in both of his hands, and rubbing it, trying to coax the blood back into it.
Me?
I was pretty sure I died and went to heaven as he not only got the blood flow back, but then started to press his thumbs into the arches, easing the aches that were chronically found there, thanks to long hours on my feet at work.
He worked one foot for several long minutes as I tried to tamp down the desire that was building in my system. Then he slipped on the sock before going to work on the next foot.
When he was done with both, tucking the blanket back around my feet, I had to cough to try to hide the husky edge to my voice.
“You really know how to spoil a girl in the hospital,” I declared.
“Anytime you want a foot rub, you can call me up,” he said, and it would have seemed like a joke, some throwaway comment, but he sounded so dang serious when he said it.
“Careful, I might take advantage of that. You’re on call day and night, right?” I teased.