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Yan, who’s seen me walk around with broken bones without a peep, gives me an “are you fucking kidding?” look, but is smart enough not to say anything as Sara frowns and comes up to me.
“Show me,” she orders, reaching for my shirt, but I catch her slender wrists before she can start an examination right then and there.
“How about we go to our room so I can sit down?” I suggest, ignoring Yan’s open eye roll. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”
Sara frowns up at me, apparently divining my agenda. “I still have to examine Anton. Here, sit.” Twisting her wrists out of my hold, she grabs my hand and leads me to a chair in the corner as Yan—the cock-blocking bastard—snickers quietly.
“Let me see,” Sara says, deftly pulling my shirt up over my head, and I wince for real as the movement pulls at my sore shoulder.
It’s all worth it, though, because in the next moment, Sara’s cool, gentle hands press against my torso, carefully feeling each rib for breaks. Her touch should hurt, but as her delicate fingers glide over my bruises, all I feel is a surge of warmth, mixed with an aching tightness in my groin.
“Does this hurt?” she murmurs as her hands move up to my shoulder, and I shake my head, mesmerized by the green striations in her soft hazel eyes.
“It’s just—” I clear my throat. “Just muscle soreness, I think.”
“Hmm.” Carefully, she lifts my arm and moves it in a circular motion. “No pain like this?”
“No.” I breathe in deeply, inhaling her sweet scent. “Just some soreness.”
“Okay.” She gently lowers my arm and, to my disappointment, steps back. “Looks like you’re right—it’s just some bruising.”
“I also scraped my back,” I say, turning to show her. “Might need to be bandaged.”
Sara leans in, her hands grazing my shoulders before moving down to mid-back, where I feel the faint stinging.
“This?” she asks, touching the wounded area lightly, and I nod, though the pain is barely noticeable.
“It looks like it’s already healing, so no bandage required,” Sara says as I turn back to face her. “I’m guessing someone already cleaned it?”
“Anton did that on the plane,” I admit grudgingly. For once, I wish my team and I weren’t so well versed in first aid. “Are you sure you don’t need to bandage it?”
“No. It will heal better like this. Anything else?”
I lift my hands to show her the scrapes on the bottom of my palms, and Yan bursts out laughing.
“What do you want her to do with that? Kiss it and make it better?” he says in Russian, ignoring my furious glare. “Seriously, man, you want to indulge in doctor-patient play, do it later. Let her finish treating actual wounds first.”
Sara frowns at us both before asking Yan, “What did you just say?”
“I told him that Anton needs your attention,” Yan replies, still grinning. “And that he shouldn’t hold you up with his kinky sex games.”
Sara’s face pinkens, and she turns away, grabbing the first aid kit to stuff the gauze and other supplies back in. “I’ll go take a look at Anton right now,” she says stiffly, and hurries out of the room without looking at either one of us.
I get up and put my shirt on. “I’m going to smash your fucking face into your skull at training tomorrow,” I tell Yan grimly. “As soon as I get some sleep, you’re going to be eating your own teeth.”
The asshole just laughs as I stalk out of the room, following Sara, and even Ilya seems to have a smile on his face as I loudly slam the door behind me.
Anton better not enjoy Sara’s ministrations as I just did.
I’ll kill that motherfucker if he does.
29
Sara
Anton has a few gashes and shallow puncture wounds where the shrapnel from the grenade got his arms, but otherwise, he’s okay. I change his bandages as Peter glowers from the other side of the room, and then I give Anton some instructions on how to take care of the wounds. Not that Peter’s teammate needs them; from what I can tell, these men are pros at treating basic injuries.
“Thank you, Dr. Cobakis,” he says when I’m done, and I smile at him.
Even scary-looking bearded assassins seem to respect the medical profession—when they’re injured, at least.
Peter says something sharp in Russian and crosses the room to stand next to me. “All done?” he asks irritably, glaring down at me, and I match his frown with one of my own.
“Yes, for now.” I have no idea what his problem is, but he’s been acting like a bear with a thorn in its paw ever since he entered the room.
If it weren’t so ridiculous, I’d think he’s jealous of my attention to his injured friend.
“Then let’s go.” Grabbing my hand, he leads me out, and my pulse jumps as I realize he’s bringing me to our room.
