“Where is he?” Allison asked, her voice cool and professional-sounding. “I know what to do.”
“Thank God!” Marie motioned them along behind her, down the long hall toward the bedrooms.
“I think I’ll wait in the living room, if you don’t mind.” Winnie hesitated, grimacing. “I’m as hopeless as Marie is.”
“You won’t be alone long,” Marie promised her. “I can’t stand the sight of blood, either! He’s in there, Allison,” she added, nodding toward an open bedroom door. “You can hear him from out in the hall.”
“I’ll look after him,” Allison assured her, leaving Marie to keep Winnie company while she ventured into the room.
Muttered curses were coming from the bathroom. Allison moved hesitantly past the antique furniture in the cream and brown confines of the room, certain that it was Gene’s. The bed was king-size. There was a desk and chair in one corner and two chairs and a floor lamp in the other, beside a fireplace. The earth tones and Native American accent pieces suited what she knew of Gene Nelson.
But she didn’t have time to study his taste in furnishings. She pushed open the bathroom door, which was already ajar, and walked in. The bathroom, like the bedroom, was done in beige and brown with a tile floor and a huge glass-fronted shower with gold fittings. There was a Jacuzzi, too. But it was the vanity sink that caught her eye. Gene was standing in front of it, in clothes similar to those he’d been wearing in town. His shirt was off and one brown, hair-roughened forearm was cut from elbow to wrist and dripping bright red blood into the marble sink.
“That needs stitching,” she said.
He turned, his green eyes darker with pain, his lean face hard and without a smile. “What the hell do you want?” he asked, irritated because he’d been thinking of her when he’d gone too close to one of his few horned cows and had his arm ripped for his pains.
“A Ferrari and a house on the Riviera,” she said. She moved close, trying not to stare blatantly at the broad, bronzed chest with its thick wedge of hair that ran down his flat stomach and under the heavy brass belt buckle that secured his jeans. He was beautifully male, so striking that she had to drag her eyes away.
“You know what I mean,” he returned shortly.
“Marie and your future sister-in-law are squeamish. I’m not. Let me see, please.” She scanned the things he’d dragged out of the medicine cabinet and proceeded to gently bathe the long gash with soap and water before she used a strong disinfectant and then an antibiotic cream. “I guess you’ll scream if I suggest the local hospital emergency room?” she asked as she worked.
He stared down at her bent dark head with mingled emotions. He’d hoped to be gone before she and Winnie arrived, but he hadn’t counted on letting his mind wander and getting himself gored. “I’ve had worse than this,” he replied.
She looked up into his searching eyes, trying to ignore the beat of her pulse and the difficulty she was having with getting her breath. She was too involved with hiding her own reactions to notice his racing pulse and quick breathing. “At least it’s stopped bleeding. I don’t suppose you have any butterfly bandages?”
“What?” he murmured, lost in her eyes.
“B...butterfly bandages,” she stammered. She dragged her eyes down to his forearm. “Never mind. I’ll make do with these.”
Her hands felt cool on his hot skin. He watched her work, marveling at the ease and confidence with which she put the dressing in place.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling reminiscently. “Many times. I’m used to patching up people.” She didn’t add anything to that. It was too soon to talk about her past yet.
“You’re good at it. That feels better.”
“How did it happen?”
He chuckled softly. “I zigged when I should have zagged, cupcake. Now that you’ve gotten that one under control, care to have a go at this one?”
She put the last piece of adhesive in place and lifted her eyes. “Which one?” she asked.
He pointed to a smaller gash on his chest that was still bleeding.
“I guess your shirt was a total loss,” she murmured dryly, trying to stop the trembling of her hands as she began to bathe the scratch. His chest was warm under her fingers, and she loved the feel of that thick hair as she worked through it to the cut. Her lips parted on quick, jerky breaths. He was hurt. She had to keep that in mind, and not let herself lose control like this.
“My shirt and the denim jacket I was wearing over it,” he murmured. The feel of her hands on him was giving him problems. His body began to tense slowly as he watched her clean the cut. “If you try to put a bandage on that, I’m leaving,” he added when she’d stopped the bleeding.
“I... I guess adhesive tape would hurt when it had to come off, with all that...hair,” she faltered, her eyes helplessly tracing the muscular lines of his torso with involuntary delight.
The way she said it was faintly arousing. He ran a hand over the thick mass of it, nodding absently. “Just put some antiseptic on it, honey, and we’ll let it go, okay?”
“Okay.” Honey. No man had ever called her that in such a deep, sexy way, so that her toes curled inside her shoes. She took the antibiotic cream and put a little on her fingers. But when she began to rub it gently over the cut, he flinched and her fingers paused on his body.
“Did it hurt?” she whispered, puzzled by the heavy beat of his heart under her hand
