“I know,” she murmured.
But did she? Did she know how long I’d been without a human touch?
“I can give you the dissolvable,” she said. “It’s faster.”
“I didn’t come for pills.”
“Not taking medicine for pain doesn’t make you more of a man,” she said, and her voice had that quiet steel again. “It just makes you hurt.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were too close, too steady. And I hated that a stranger—this stranger—was cutting through the armor I’d spent years forging.
The ice pack dripped a cold line down to my cheekbone, and she caught it with a thumb, wiping the water away gently. For one reckless second, I imagined those same fingers on my skin for a different reason.
“Emily,” I rasped.
Her lashes flicked up. “You know my name?”
“The woman out front told me.”
She smiled—quick, then it was gone. I felt like all the light had suddenly fled the room. The worry came back when she saw the lines around my eyes. “You’re in pain.”
“I’ve had worse.” I felt her flinch at that, which pissed me off at myself for saying it. “Look—about yesterday—”
“We don’t have to talk about yesterday,” she said quickly, then flushed. “If you’ll let me give you the dose, we can get ahead of this before it blooms.”
Blooms. Hell of a word for an explosion.
“Fine,” I muttered.
She moved away, and I immediately wished she hadn’t. She came back with a small white pill and placed it on my tongue, fingers careful, professional. The dissolving bitterness spread, and I chased it with a swallow of water she brought without me asking.
“Lie back,” she said. Her tone was gentle but left no room for argument. Which I suddenly didn’t feel like doing. Damn it, did I want her attention? Her concern? Her touch?
She slid another cool pack behind my neck, her fingertips grazing the short hair there. My hand came up, closing around her wrist before I could stop it. Her pulse jumped under my thumb. Small bones. Warm skin. I could wrap my hand all the way around and still have room.
“Don’t,” I said hoarsely. I didn’t know if I meant don’t stop or don’t get closer.
Her throat worked. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Fuck. The medicine dulled the pain but not the effect she was having on me. I turned my head slightly, close enough that her scent once again crowded out everything else.
“You can’t keep driving up that mountain alone,” I said again, because it was safer than what I wanted to say.
“You are not the only patient who needs medication delivered.”
“I am the only one that far up the mountain.” My eyes narrowed as I looked at her. “Or I damn well better be.”
There were other men who lived like me on Lone Mountain. The thought of her being around any of them, hell, any man, made my gut tighten.
She didn’t answer. My gaze slid down, not in any subtle way, over the soft lines of her scrubs, the way they couldn’t hide the curve of her hips, the way the fabric pulled across her chest when she folded her arms. Her nipples tightened under the thin top, and my blood went hot enough I had to breathe slowly.
“Emily.”
Her breath hitched. “Mr. Barrett—”
“Tucker.”
“Tucker,” she repeated, and I swear my name never sounded like that before.
