I can start thinking straight.”
“Let’s not rush into thinking,” she agreed. Consciousness was coming back. Enough to be aware of Harm’s bare chest. He’d gotten blood on his shirt. Her blood. She could see the stain on his shirt from the top of the bureau. More relevant, she could see the patches of blond hair on his chest, the cords of muscle in his upper arms, the intensely passionate fury in his eyes. You didn’t hurt people Harm cared about, she mused. He just wasn’t the kind of man you’d want to rile. “Your bed is significantly more comfortable than mine.”
“I’m glad you like it, since you’ll be bunking in here from now on.”
“I’m pretty positive my boss isn’t going to like that.”
Harm pleasantly suggested what Ivan could do to himself if the captain raised any objection whatsoever. After that, he leaned over her, so close she could breathe in the scent of his warm, warm skin. Unfortunately, his only intent was to put a bandage on the back of her head-a project that had as much chance of succeeding as a frost in the Amazon.
“Harm. It won’t stick. Besides which, I want to wash my hair.”
“Of course it’ll stick. It has to stick. How else am I going to put ice on it? Obviously, I can’t put ice on the direct sore.” He motioned to where he’d clearly fetched a bowl of ice from the galley. She wondered how the Sam Hill long she had been knocked out.
“You could put a couple cubes in a plastic bag. Then put the washcloth between my skin and the bag.”
He looked annoyed-probably because she used the same patient tone she’d use with a small child. But he did it. “I guess that’ll do, Ms. MacGyver. So on to the next problem. Your hip. It sounds as if it was one of your crash connection points.”
“Afraid so. I’m just thankful I was so covered up in sleeping bags and blankets that the fall was cushioned. Still, I have to admit it hurts like hell.”
“Cate.” His tone turned gentle, serious. “I want to see it. No funny business, no joking. I’d just feel better if we both saw how bad it is. I also think we should make sure there are no other breaks or injuries that need attention.”
She looked at him. “You know…I’ve been thinking about being naked with you.”
“Have you?”
“But not in this context.”
“I think we should put it in that other context as soon as possible. But right now, I’m worried you’re a lot more hurt than you’re letting on. When you fall that distance, you’re talking a major clunk, Cookie.”
“Don’t call me Cookie. And believe me, I’d be baying at the top of my lungs if I had anything serious to complain about. I’m an A-grade whiner.”
“No, you aren’t and no, you wouldn’t,” Harm said patiently. “You’re tough as nails. Strong as a rock. And stubborn as a hound.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you any better than this? If you want to seduce a woman, you need to use sweet talk, not insults.” She was looking right at him, and he was looking right back, but Cate felt what he was doing. Peeling off the blanket. Finding the drawstring of her sleeping pants. And then she felt his big, bare hand on her flesh. She slapped her own hand over his to stop him.
“My mom tried to teach me manners. You’d love her. She kept this little switch on the top of the refrigerator, something on par with a tree twig. Threatened me with beatings my whole childhood, but never once laid a finger on me.”
“She should have,” Cate said darkly. With infinite gentleness, he’d lifted her hand. With even more infinite gentleness, that intrusive, intimate hand slowly stroked down her body, from the sides of her breasts to her ribs to the start of her bony hip and around. His touch, his tenderness, was the lovemaking of a fantasy-the big, strong guy able to melt for and with the right woman.
Only this wasn’t lovemaking, and there was no fantasy. The glaring overhead light blinded her and made her feel overvulnerable.
Damn it. She hated feeling vulnerable. Even with a lover, she picked the time, the place, the circumstance. She chose what happened and how.
“You can tell my mom that she should have smacked me when I was a kid. She’ll totally agree with you. I can remember having an argument with her when I was in high school-something about using the car. Anyway, she got on a footstool so she’d be tall enough to shake her finger in my face. Beats me why. She won every argument we ever had anyway-
His soothing tone and gentle tenderness abruptly disappeared. He didn’t yank or tear, but once he discovered the mighty bruise on her hip, he forgot that she might have some serious modesty issues. It wasn’t as if the location of the injury was any surprise to her. She already figured it was going to be the mother of all bruises.
From the way Harm was swearing, it was already the mother of all bruises times ten. And unfortunately, once he’d discovered that lumpy bruise, he turned dead serious about checking every inch of the rest of her right then, in detail, fast, no arguing with him. “This hurt?”
“Of course it hurts. You’re poking my shoulder.”
“Shut up, Cate. Answer the question. How about here?”
It was that “shut up” that made the tears well. She squeezed her eyes closed so the stupid things wouldn’t fall. It was downright silly to get all buttery over a “shut up” when no woman in the universe would think of it as a love word. But it was. With him, it was. She saw it in his eyes, heard it in the gravel-roughness in his voice, felt it in the rage in his careful, careful hands.
“Okay. The spot behind the shoulder. And the hip. And my head. But nothing’s broken-I can tell and you can tell. So I think you should cover me up with some warm blankets and bring me some wine and be nice.”
“I think I should find who did this to you and…” His breath caught. “It’s my fault this happened to you, Cate.”
“It certainly is. You should have been up on the top deck, waiting for the bad guy to show up and stop him from pushing me off. Talk about dereliction of responsibility. You’re a cad through and through.”
“I’m going to the galley for more ice. Lots and lots of ice. And more bags or something to put it in. You’re getting ice on the hip as well as on your head. We’re getting that swelling down. And you’re getting woken up every couple hours just to be sure of the concussion business. Now. Try giving me a hard time.”
She considered it. He was obviously enjoying turning into Mr.-Own-The-Universe-Bossy. But for a couple of minutes, she was increasingly feeling like a battered kickball. A little silence and rest might help her get a better grip.
But Harm seemed to return to the cabin in three seconds flat, carrying heaping bags of ice and a dark scowl. “It’s got to hurt darned bad if it’s making you cry.”
“I wasn’t crying! Sheesh!” She watched him turn down the lights, flick on the one in the master head, dimming the room. If the damned man was going to be considerate enough to let her hide her expression in the darkness, he really was going to make her cry. The ugly, loud kind of crying. “Harm-”
“Yeah?” He’d covered the makeshift ice bags in towels, eased the one between the headboard and the goose egg on her head, then cushioned one against the monster bruise on her thigh. Then started covering and tucking.
“I think Yale overheard me telling the captain about the peppermint.”
If he added any more blankets, she was going to roast. But he looked at her so sharply, she changed her mind about complaining.
“You think so, hmm?” Finally, he pushed off his shoes and eased down on the mattress next to her, barely taking any covers, careful not to jolt her in any way. “My first reaction to that is to go kill Yale, Cookie. But on second thought…he could have passed that information on to the other two. So there’s no guarantee he was the pusher, only that he was probably the catalyst to your getting hurt. If he did pass on your death-by-peppermint theory to the others, I’d think you’d be prey to some teasing tomorrow. That is, if any of them are brash enough-or smart enough-to bring it up openly.”
He’d spooned around her so protectively that, hurts or no hurts, she started to feel snuggly and safe. And turned on-which struck her as a completely lunatic response, considering how beat-up she was. “Harm?”
“Okay. You get to say one more thing. But then you’re closing your eyes and getting some rest.”
“I was just thinking that tomorrow morning, I should tell everyone at breakfast how I fell asleep top deck, fell off, and got really bruised. Make a point of saying how stupid and careless I was. Not imply in any way that I believe
