Chapter 28
Selina
I followed Wolfe into the bathroom where a tub sat under the window. Steam rose, fogging the glass and turning the small room into a private cocoon, shut off from the snowy wilderness outside.
“Look at that,” I said. “It’s practically begging for a broken woman to collapse dramatically into it.”
He tested the temperature with his palm, his back to me. Moisture had already dampened his hair at the temples, taking the edge off his usual sharp lines.
“Need to wrap this first.” He reached for a plastic bag and tape on the counter.
I stared at my cast, suddenly aware of how helpless I felt. “So. This is awkward.”
“What is?” He glanced over, curious.
“Well, the last time I was naked with you, we were in better shape and doing much more interesting things.” I gestured with my good hand. “Now I’m a walking bruise with one functional arm.”
He stepped closer. “May I help you?”
The question held more than logistics. His tone dipped to the level that always sent heat through me.
“Yes.”
He moved to the top button of my borrowed shirt. Methodical, gentle. His fingers barely brushed my skin as he worked his way down. The quiet intimacy lodged in my throat.
When he eased the fabric from my shoulders, his body went still. I followed his focus to the vast discoloration across my ribs, a violent purple-black stain spreading beneath the skin.
“Jesus.” His jaw tightened.
“It looks worse than it feels,” I lied, trying to ease it.
His gaze lifted, unimpressed by the deflection. “Don’t.”
He traced the edge of the mark with the lightest touch. Tenderness lived in his hands, while rage burned in his eyes. My chest tightened.
“Dresner will pay for this.” The words came tight, controlled.
“It was the stairs, not Dresner. Gravity’s the enemy here.” I aimed for lightness, but his expression didn’t move. “Hey. Look at me. I’m okay.”
No smile. He dropped to a knee to help with my pants. Another massive blotch colored my hip, and his face hardened.
“I should have broken character. I should have caught you.”
“Stop.” I slid my fingers into his hair, the silk of it soft against my palm. “I’m alive because of you. We both are.”
He pressed his mouth to the bruise on my hip—so gentle it made my throat tight. Warm breath on battered skin, steady hands bracing the backs of my thighs.
“I had to watch you fall,” he said against me. “Knowing what would happen and doing nothing.”
The raw guilt in his voice hit harder than any pain. It wasn’t just the injuries. He’d been forced to stand by to keep his cover while I fell. What had that cost him?
I tugged lightly at his hair, bringing his eyes to mine. “But you came for me after. That’s what matters.”
The self-reproach in his eyes didn’t vanish, but he gave a brief nod and rose. His fingers found the clasp of my bra, hesitating.
“Is this okay?”
“If you think I’m getting into that tub half-dressed, you’ve seriously misunderstood the concept of bathing.” I smiled to hide the sudden vulnerability.
His mouth curved as he unhooked it. I arched a brow.
“Impressive dexterity for someone who supposedly can’t remember his past.”
“Some skills stay with you.” His eyes darkened as he took me in.
The air became heavier. Despite the aches, heat pooled low under his frankly appreciative stare.
He knelt again, easing my underwear down. Naked except for the cast, I felt exposed—not by nudity, but by damage. Bruises painted my skin in purples and yellows. I tried to cover myself with my good arm and laughed to deflect it.
“I look like a medical textbook illustration titled ‘What Happens When You Fall Down Stairs.’ I just need arrows.”
Wolfe drew my arm away and studied me. I braced for clinical distance or pity. What I saw was hunger, plain and startling.
“Beautiful.” His voice came rough.
His hand slid along my uninjured side, mapping the contrast between tender skin and battered places. He avoided pressure where it would hurt, and still he made it feel like want. My breath snagged when his thumb brushed beneath my breast—brief, and enough.
“You must need glasses,” I tried, meaning to sound flip, failing when my voice hitched. “Or you have an alarming fetish for human wreckage.”
He guided me to the bath. I hissed as I sank into the heat, the first sting surrendering to relief as muscles unknotted. I cradled the wrapped cast awkwardly on the rim.
“Oh God,” slipped out as my eyes closed. “This might actually be better than sex.”
“Debatable.” He knelt beside the tub and peeled off his shirt. Lean muscle caught the low light, a reminder of what I’d been missing.
“Planning to watch me bathe?” I lifted a brow. “Because that’s not creepy at all.”
“I’m planning to help you.” He reached for a washcloth. “Unless you’d prefer to struggle one-handed.”
“Very funny.”
“Lean forward.”
I did, wincing when my ribs complained. Warm water over my head drew a soft sound from my throat. It cascaded through my hair and down my back, rinsing away days of sweat and fear.
His fingers gathered my hair, working shampoo through with slow, sure pressure. Thumbs circled my temples, releasing knots I hadn’t noticed.
“You have no idea how badly I wanted to do this in that hospital,” he said, voice low.
“Wash my hair?”
“Touch you without pretending you meant nothing.” Restraint weighted every word. “Every second was torture.”
The confession landed too hard. For days, he’d been the perfect operative, empty and obedient, while I believed I’d lost him. He had held that mask even while caring for me, never letting Dresner see him slip.
“I thought you were gone,” I said, the admission rough. “When they reset you—when your eyes went blank—I thought I’d lost you for good.”
His hands stilled, then resumed. “Part of me was. But you were the thing I held onto. The one thing they couldn’t erase.”
I reached back with my good hand and found his wrist. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
He pressed his lips to my bare shoulder. “No promises I can’t keep.”
“Rinse.” He nudged the moment aside.
I leaned back, letting him guide my head. The simple fact of being cared for by his hands undid me more thoroughly than seduction.
“Can you do my back?” My voice had gone husky.
He paused. “Turn.”
I shifted carefully, mindful of bone and bruise. Wolfe dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and drew it down my spine in one slow, deliberate stroke. A small sound escaped me.
“Too much pressure?”
“Not enough.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. He did it again, this time letting fingertips follow. Sparks chased his touch across skin that had known nothing but pain for days.
He dipped the cloth and brought it to my collarbone, letting water trickle between my breasts. The sight of his tanned hand against my pale skin stole my breath. When his knuckles grazed the side of my breast, it wasn’t accidental.
“Wolfe.”
“Just getting you clean.” The words stayed steady. The tension in his forearm did not.
One more pass, and the cloth skimmed my nipple. I arched despite the protest from my ribs.
“The water’s cooling,” he said, voice rougher now. “Time to get out.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He stood and reached for a towel. “Not adding a cold to the list.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“True. But I am the one who can lift you, and you need me functional.” He held out the towel. “So behave.”
I grumbled but let him help me up. Water slid off my body. He wrapped the terry around me, eyes betraying him when they dropped to the droplets tracing a path between my breasts.
“Stop looking at me like that if you’re not going to do anything about it.”
His mouth curved. “Who says I’m not?”
Before I could answer, he scooped me up, careful of the cast. I yelped.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you somewhere warmer.” He carried me to the bedroom where a fire burned in the hearth, throwing heat across the room.
He set me on the edge of the bed and knelt with a second towel. Methodical, lingering strokes worked from ankle to calf to thigh. Each pass stoked the heat building inside me.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Of course.” No denial. “I have to be careful with you. You’re injured.”
“Not everywhere.”
His mouth twitched as he dried the space between my thighs. The towel barely brushed me. Air hit damp skin, and I inhaled sharply.
“Tease.”
“Language, Doctor.” He moved to my arms, avoiding the places I wanted him most.
I reached for him, and he caught my wrist. “Patience.”
“I’ve been patient for days.” It came out as a growl. “I thought you were gone. I thought I’d lost you.”
Something in his face shifted, the playfulness stripped away. “I heard you,” he said quietly. “In that lab, when you were trying to reach me. I heard every word, but I couldn’t respond.”
The room held still. He’d been conscious. Aware. Trapped.
“Do you know what it did to me? Watching you look through me like I was nothing?”
His jaw hardened. “I know. And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
“I don’t need your self-punishment.” I cupped his face. “I need you. Here. Now.”
He stroked my bottom lip with his thumb. “You’re still hurt.”
“Then be gentle,” I said. “But be something.”
His eyes darkened. He crossed to the door and closed it. When he turned back, the caretaker had receded.
“If I do this, you have to promise not to move. Mind your injuries. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
He sank to his knees between my legs. His palms glided up my thighs, easing them wider with care.
“I heard everything you said in that laboratory,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Every plea, every memory you used to pull me back. It was like hearing you through water, distant but clear.”
The thought of him trapped inside himself, hearing me and unable to answer, nearly undid me.
“I’m going to make you feel good now,” he said, breath warm against the inside of my leg. “And you’re going to stay perfectly still.”
“Yes.”