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His “cure” twitched slightly and gave a soft moan as she surfaced from her awkward sleeping position, scooting further inward and trapping his arm against the side of his chest. Shit! Groaning mentally, he willed his hard-on to subside as the stern-faced nurse bustled into the room to take his vital signs. The white hospital blanket was stretched taut across his lap − his right arm and hand were in a splint and the left was so numb and deadened with the weight of Lexie’s head he couldn’t even lift it to dislodge her. There was nowhere to hide.
“And how are we this morning, Mr. Fernandez?” the bosomy, big-framed, no-nonsense nurse inquired, slapping a state-of-the-art thermometer to his forehead and making him feel like a grocery item being scanned by the cashier.
Lexie was awakened by the booming voice of the matronly woman and lifted her head off his arm.
“Er−fine,” he croaked, blood recirculating in his freed arm. He clutched the sheet and bunched it up to conceal the evidence − a loaded gun pointing towards the nurse. It should have shriveled by now in the face of such a hostile environment, but Lexie chose that moment to soothingly rub the inside of his arm, and it was like she had pulled the trigger. He coughed to cover his groan.
“Hhhmpp,” the nurse grunted noncommittally, but her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Feeling any pain?”
“Just a bit.” He gritted his teeth and wrenched his arm away from Lexie’s caress, folding it across his chest protectively away from further sensual assault. A frown appeared on her brow at his sudden move.
“Just call the station if you need anything.” She waddled towards the door and paused, spearing Nic with a glance that made him feel like a schoolboy. “You need to rest today and have peace and quiet.”
Princess or not, she awarded Lexie the same warning look. “We can’t have the patient getting too excited. Good morning, Your Highness.” With a curt nod of her head, the nurse swept out of the room.
“What was that all about?” a bewildered Lexie blinked.
Nic attempted to shrug and was punished for forgetting his arm was broken. He grimaced.
“Shall I call the nurse?”
He shook his head and felt the room shake with him. He turned green.
“What is it?” Her winged brows were furrowed in alarm.
He took several, deep breaths. “I’m okay now. If I pretend to be dead and not move anything, I’ll be fine.” He noted Lexie’s sudden pallor. “It was a joke.”
“Oh, Nic,” Lexie sighed, her cat eyes moist. “It wasn’t a good one.”
“I’m sorry, rojita.”
“I love you, Nicolas Fernandez,” she said starkly.
He shut his eyes, blocking off the emotion on her face.
“Why are you allowed to say you love me and I can’t say it back?” she demanded. “Look at me.”
“No, Lexie. You look at me.” Nic said, surprised by the frustrated anger in his voice. “We weren’t equals before and now with a broken arm, the divide is even greater. There is a chance I might not be able to play polo again.”
”I don’t care about any of that.”
“You will.”
“I am not Melissa Rathborn!” she cried vehemently. “Don’t compare me to her. From now on, her ghost in our relationship is exorcised.”
“You are one crazy lady,” Nic whispered in bemusement.
“I know it’s not going to be easy with you traveling all the time on your tournaments. But I will work out my engagements in Seirenada so I can spend time with you.”
His heart had long been convinced she was his, but his mind took more persuading.
“I’m even happy to be called a WAG,” she said in a small voice.
“A wag?” What the hell? She wanted to be a comedian?
“It stands for Wives and Girlfriends of athletes,” she explained sheepishly. “They hang out at the games, follow their boyfriends around, and cheer for them all the time.”
Oh, that WAG. He chuckled weakly, not wanting to pull on his bruised ribs. “You’ll be the hottest WAG of all time, rojita.”
She blushed, her color competing with the titian strands that had escaped her ponytail. “You better get better really, really soon, Señor Fernandez. I think I’ll make a very good WAG.” She linked her hand with his.
