Page 63 of Lacey's Fight

“All this blood says otherwise.” You’d never know it by the tone of her voice because it was bright and cheerful, but he could hear—or maybe it was feel—her underlying terror.

Lightheaded, Ben sunk back against the pillows as Lacey shot him a concerned frown then tugged her hand free of his hold and bustled around the room looking for something.

A first aid kit it turned out.

Blood loss was making him woozy, but he didn’t want to pass out.

Didn’t want to leave Lacey alone and vulnerable.

Wasn’t going to succumb …

Like only a second had passed, Ben blinked open his eyes to find himself in a crisp white hospital room.

How did that happen?

Had he really lost enough blood to make everything that happened from the safe room until now a blank?

Obviously, he had.

At least he knew the raid had gone off as planned because he was alive, and Lacey was alive.

She was beside him, curled up in an uncomfortable-looking chair beside his bed. She’d changed into white jeans and a pink T-shirt. From the way she was sitting sideways so her back didn’t press against the back of the chair, he knew she had to be in pain. Her wrists had been freshly bandaged so he also knew that she had received medical attention.

The sight of her there, waiting for him to wake up did funny things to his chest.

It felt like his heart physically constricted in an act of rebellion against the emotions she stirred up.

Why was she making him feel this way?

For three years he had been content to wallow in a pool of grief and guilt. Not a pleasant pool by any stretch of the imagination but he’d been comfortable there.

In that pool he’d found a sense of safety.

It sounded crazy because who would want to be stuck in a pit of grief and guilt, but as long as he was there, he could numb his emotions, freeze everyone out of his life, and he never had to worry about losing another person he loved.

He could have lost Lacey twice during the few days they’d been at the estate. Another time the day he met her. He barely knew her and yet her loss would cut him deep.

Ben didn’t want that.

Didn’t want to hurt that way again.

Losing Jemima was bad enough, no way could he survive letting Lacey in only to lose her too.

In the chair, she shifted, yawned, then blinked. She obviously saw he was awake because she rocketed up and reached for the hand that was lying on the mattress, his other arm was tucked into a sling. Her small hand was warm as it covered his and not only did he feel a jolt of attraction, but also something that ran deeper. A different kind of warmth. Like being enveloped in a hug, it brought with it a sense of peace that he had rebelled against since Jemima’s murder.

“Ben! You’re awake, how are you feeling? Do you need anything? Water? Are you hungry? Are you in pain? Do you want me to get the nurse to give you anything for it? I asked to make sure they were giving you painkillers in your IV but maybe it’s not enough. Getting shot sucks.”

Despite himself, he smiled. Exactly what he’d thought when the bullet ripped through him.

Quickly, he shut that smile down. This thing with Lacey was doomed. She only did one-night stands, and despite the awesome sex they’d had nothing had changed. Nor did he want it to.

Avoiding pain was what was important, and being with Lacey, with the job she had and the kind of person she was, was all but inviting it into his life.

“You should be getting some rest,” he snapped.

Taken aback her hand withdrew, taking that beautiful warmth with it. “You were shot. I didn’t want you to wake up alone,” she said softly.

“Not your concern if I wake up alone.” Ben felt like a jerk behaving like this, but he couldn’t blame it on the drugs, or the pain, or anything but his own selfish need to protect himself from pain. But hurting Lacey in the process … that hurt more than anything else.

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