Duty At What Cost?

Feeling marginally better now that she was taking action, she stepped out of her room, feeling a bit like a thief as her bare feet padded silently on the tiled floor.

Hoping she was headed in the right direction, she stopped when she noticed a triangle of light spilling into the hallway ahead of her.

Wolfe obviously wasn’t in bed yet. Or maybe it was the driver of the Jeep. Maybe he could help her.

Cautiously moving forward, she felt a sense of trepidation tightening her throat as every horror movie she had ever seen vied for supremacy in her head. She leaned around the open doorway and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her shocked gasp.

Wolfe was standing in a small utility room, naked to the waist, his back covered in a crisscross pattern of fresh welts and bruises. A large medical kit stood open on the marble benchtop, bandages, scissors and blood-covered swabs strewn around it. A white gauze bandage he had clearly applied himself ran the length of his left triceps.

As if in a daze she connected her eyes with his in the wide mirror. ‘Oh, my God. That looks terrible.’

When it had felt as if a wall had fallen on her it had, she realised, but Wolfe had taken the brunt of the impact. Broken pieces of brick, wood and plaster had turned his bronzed flesh into a checkerboard of pain. The shock of the night returned full force and, feeling sick to her stomach, Ava moved into the room.

Wolfe spun around, presenting her for the first time in weeks with the sight of his magnificent hair-roughened chest.

Ava barely noticed.

Her eyes slid past his impressive pectoral muscles to where his bruised back could be seen as clear as day under the fluorescent light.

‘It looks worse than it is.’

Her eyes met his. ‘I very much doubt that.’ Her hand covered her mouth again. ‘Wolfe, I am so sorry.’

Swearing softly under his breath, he reached for the shirt he’d dropped onto the floor.

‘I told you it wasn’t your fault.’ The words were more like a grunt, but he didn’t move to cover himself with the T-shirt as she stepped into his personal space.

‘Much.’ She gave him a stilted smile. ‘What is this cream for?’ She picked up the opened jar on the vanity behind him and smelt it.

‘It’s arnica. It’s a natural remedy that takes a lot of the pain out of bruises.’

‘So you do feel pain?’ She tried to make light of it to curb how truly awful she felt about his injuries.

‘Not if I can help it,’ he said flatly.

She cocked her eyebrow at him and noticed him stiffen when she dabbed her finger into the jar. ‘Turn around,’ she instructed on impulse.

He shook his head, swallowed heavily. ‘I can take care of myself.’

Ava understood his need for self-sufficiency. On a much smaller scale she too had decided it was safer to rely only on herself, but for some reason she wanted Wolfe to know that she was there for him just as much as he had been there for her.

Finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him as he towered over her, Ava nevertheless held her ground. ‘Everyone needs someone, Wolfe.’

‘I don’t.’ His words sounded gritty. Empty.

‘Yes, you do. You’re just too afraid to admit it.’ Ava twirled her finger. ‘Now, turn around. Please,’ she added when it looked as if he wouldn’t comply.

He shook his head in mock resignation. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re a bossy little thing?’

‘Hmm, there was a man once who might have uttered something similar.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘I threw him in my dungeon.’

‘Then I better not cross you,’ he said gravely.

‘A smart man.’ She laughed. ‘Who knew?’

He scowled at her but there was a twinkling of humour in his toffee eyes. Her breath caught as she took in his male beauty, but then he turned and she could barely stop herself from wincing when she saw his back again. ‘Tell me if I hurt you.’

‘You won’t.’

Their eyes met briefly in the mirror and she knew he was right. If anyone was going to get hurt here it would be her.

Ignoring the maudlin thought, she concentrated on being gentle as she touched him.

She felt him tense up at her first touch. His hands braced against the vanity unit, but other than that he didn’t move as she worked the cool cream into his discoloured skin. ‘Weren’t you wearing one of those special vests?’ she asked to distract herself while she worked.

‘Kevlar is better against bullets than bombs. Although it hurts like a son of a bitch to get shot.’