Page 156 of Liar's Point

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Nicole.”

Her heart hurt. And her stomach. And her brain. Never in her life had she experienced such bone-deep terror as watching him get loaded into that ambulance and whisked away. She’d spent every minute of the past four hours imagining him bleeding out on some gurney because that “flesh wound” had actually been a nicked artery. And it could have happened. If not for that Kevlar vest, he would surely be dead right now.

She opened her eyes, and his expression was pleading.

“Please don’t cry. Okay? You have no idea what it does to me. And anyway, I’m fine.”

She sucked in a breath to steady herself and pulled back. She couldn’t tell him how scared she’d been. She wiped her cheeks, then he eased her against his chest and kissed the top of her head.

“I hate that you got shot,” she whispered.

“Yeah? Me, too. I’m pissed. And now I’m going to be stuck behind a fucking desk until I’m cleared to work again.”

She choked out a laugh. “That’s why you’re mad? Not your gunshot wound?”

“It’s just a few stitches. I’ll barely have a scar.”

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. Her ear was pressed against his sternum, and she could hear his heartbeat.

“Hey.”

She pulled back, and the tender look in his eyes made her insides twist. She wiped her wet nose.

He took her crutches from her and leaned them against the counter.

“What are you doing?”

“Come here,” he said, reaching down and carefully lifting her off her feet. He walked her into the living room and deposited her gently on the couch. Then he tossed the cushion to the floor to make room for her boot.

She gazed up at him as he leaned over her, resting his weight on his palm. They were alone again, finally. And it was strangely similar to last night, when they’d been on her couch, and one kiss had turned into a mind-blowing sex binge. But last night all she could think about was getting him inside her, and now she was thinking about how close he’d come to death.

He stroked the back of his finger over her wet cheek.

“I promise I’m fine.”

She took a deep breath. “You could have died today.” She rested her fingers against the stubble along his jaw. “You really scared me.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows arched. “Now you know how I feel every damn day.”

“You do not.”

“I do. You terrify me, Nicole. You’re so stubborn and fearless all the time.” He shook his head. “If anything ever happened to you...” He shook his head again.

“What?”

He leaned closer, close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his eyes in the light from the kitchen. The silence stretched out, and something passed between them. She didn’t know what it was, really—some sort of understanding or acknowledgment.

This was more than a one-night thing. Much more. They were bound together by a tangly vine of friendship, and loyalty, and intense physical attraction that refused to be ignored, especially now that they knew how next-level hot they were together. There was no way she could ever go back to not knowing what it was like to be with him, and—for her at least—sex would never be the same.

She traced her finger over the snowy white bandage on his upper arm.

“So.” She took a deep breath. “How many stitches are we talking about?”

He hesitated a beat, and she knew he was thinking of lying. “Six.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s going to leave a scar.”

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