Pounding wakes me up, and I squeeze my eyes closed even tighter, knowing that the sound is in my head. The pain is nearly unbearable.
Then I hear the voices. Cracking my eyes open, I see Cara’s bright red hair first, then the dark silhouette of her body when she cracks the bedroom door open.
“He’s sleeping,” she whispers.
“I’m just checking in on him.”
“You said it was the best way to heal,” she says, a little defensiveness in her voice.
“It is,” he agrees.
“I’m not going to wake him up.”
“I’m not asking you to.” The humor in his voice is clear, and it draws a painful smile to my own face.
“I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”
Kincaid glances over her shoulder, his eyes finding mine, lip twitching with mirth before looking back down at her.
“Thank you, Cara. Let me know if either of you need anything,” he says rather than telling her that he knows I’m awake.
She closes the door in his face, and I close my eyes again before she turns around, doing my best to wipe the stupid grin from my face.
Is she protecting me? Am I fucked up for liking it even if I don’t deserve it?
The blankets shift, and I can tell even with my eyes closed that she’s smoothing them out to make it more comfortable for me. The light from the bathroom turns on, the glow softer than if she would’ve turned on the overhead lights, and then she’s touching me.
I flinch, not expecting the soft brush of her fingers on my cheek, but then coolness follows the path and I recognize the scent of topical ointment. I nearly open my eyes but manage at just the last second to keep them closed. I don’t know if she would be comforted by knowing I’m awake.
“Shh. Just a little more,” she whispers when I flinch because of the pain when she rubs her fingers over the incisions that asshole Ernesto made on my arms.
I’m covered in stitches. The doctor in Mexico City was amazed that I didn’t bleed out before arriving at the hospital. Either Ernesto and Antonio are experts and managed not to hit an artery on purpose, or I just got extremely lucky. I’m betting it was the former because I’ve never been one to get lucky with anything.
But Cara is here, a soft finger rubbing some kind of balm on my lips. I resist the urge to lick at her finger and groan when my cock threatens to make itself known. How totally fucked up is it that even with my injuries, my dick takes notice of her scent and the comfort she’s providing?
Her fingers work to brush hair of my face, and I can’t resist not seeing her any longer.
She gasps, taking a step away from me when I open my eyes, and I hate the sight of her fear and the way she’s gripping a small comb to her chest.
“Cara,” I whisper.
She swallows, not saying a thing as if she expects me to pass right back out. It’s very possible that I’ve woken up numerous times and don’t remember it. The body is weird when healing from such extensive injuries. I know I lost time when I was being tortured and again in Mexico City. It wouldn’t surprise me if I’ve spoken her name more than once since Legend and Apollo carried me in here.
I lift my hand, a spot on my face itching like crazy only to smash the cast on my left wrist into the cut there.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“Here,” she says, dropping the comb on the bedside table and picking up a pill bottle.
She doesn’t say another word as she presses two white pills to my lips. I open obediently because I want the pain to ebb some. I’m pretty sure there aren’t real sparkles around her body, and I want her as close to me as possible.
She holds the back of my head, lifting it as she presses the mouth of a water bottle to my lips. My head pounds with the effort, but I do my best not to wince in pain. I don’t want her to know she’s hurting me.
“Thank you,” I whisper when she pulls the bottle away.
She recaps the bottle and places it back on the table before hurrying away.
“I heard voices.”
“Your boss was just coming to check in on you.”
“I don’t have a boss,” I whisper.
At least I won’t have one as soon as I make contact with the Bureau and tell them to kiss my ass.
She doesn’t clarify who she was talking about as she crosses the room and settles back into the recliner. She folds her body in on itself, tugging a small blanket up to her chin, but her eyes never leave mine.
She doesn’t look exactly scared, just wary. I don’t know if she’s in here because she wants to be or if she’s waiting for a moment to take out her vengeance on me for the things that happened to her and the part I played in them.