Page 20 of Straight Shooter

She jerked in his arms and drew her head back. “Oh my god.”

He made a face. “Yeah. You’ve probably heard about how his nephew allegedly murdered a stripper. I was assigned as his bodyguard so I could dig up information on who he’s paying off to get his nephew acquitted.”

She kept several inches of distance between her chest and his. Her breasts still lay against his skin, and if he looked down, he’d get an eyeful of cleavage. Dryness coated his eyeballs as he fought the urge. Instead, he stared at her now pale-pink lips. Her cheeks weren’t full of color yet, but they no longer held a scary grayish tint. Her eyes, too, lit with life. Her pupils weren’t dilated on the fast train to shock town.

“I screwed up everything,” she whispered, shaking her head. He couldn’t resist dragging his fingertip over the delicate outline of her shoulder. When had soothing the woman who’d blown up his case become so damn important?

“You didn’t do it on purpose. But you shouldn’t have tried to steal from Moretti.” The words came out with a hard edge. If he accomplished anything tonight, he prayed it’d be getting Peyton to turn her life around. “Will you leave it alone after this?”

She blinked. “Leave what alone?”

“Whatever it is you tried to take from Moretti.”

She looked down and lifted a shoulder. “Uh, yeah. I won’t go near him again.”

He studied her. Something didn’t fit. She’d been hell-bent on not leaving the ship without the thing she’d been searching for. But then again, since then she’d been slashed with a knife and nearly raped. And she’d jumped off a moving boat. Drastic events changed people.

She moved the blanket and brought her attention to her thigh. He followed her line of vision. The dark-red gash split her porcelain flesh, and blood trickled down her leg. “Crap.” She pressed her hand to the wound.

“Shit. Are you warm now?”

She nodded.

He removed the hypothermia blanket from his shoulders and wrapped it around her body. “It’ll be easier for me to clean it if you lie down.”

She scooted to the floor and lay on her side. Bringing his hand to her knee, he wrapped the blanket around her hip and then tucked it between her knees so it wouldn’t move and expose her.

He reached for the medical bag, which had rolled to the other side of the raft. Waves lifted the boat, but the motion wasn’t violent. Grabbing a clear bottle and gauze, he inspected the three-inch-long cut.

“What’s that?” She eyed the bottle sharply.

“Peroxide.”

She hissed. “That’s going to hurt more than the saltwater.”

“Probably,” he said with a grimace. “Just don’t kick me, okay?”

“I’m not making any promises.”

He popped the cap, positioned the gauze beneath the wound to catch the overflow of blood and liquid, and poured.

“Ah, shit!” She drew up her leg toward her stomach and squeezed her eyes shut. Pain twisted her features as she sucked in deep, raspy breaths.

He caught her leg, steadying her, and poured the rest. “Sorry. We need to get it clean.”

She didn’t scream this time, but long, controlled breaths wheezed from her nose.

“Okay?”

She swallowed and snapped open her eyes. “I’m fine. How’s it look?”

“Deep. You’re going to need stitches when we get on land.”

She lifted her head from her arm, and a dark shadow crossed her eyes. “No.” She shook her head. “No hospitals. It’ll be fine.”

“It’s deep, Peyton. You lost a lot of blood.”

“I said no. If I have any complications then I’ll go.”