Page 50 of Rescuing You

“I think they’ll assume we’re in one of the hotels. Don’t worry.”

“How can I not worry?” Her voice rose as she gestured to the closed bedroom door. “My sister is ill. We barely made it to Baghdad, and still, we are in Iraq. How are we supposed to⁠—?”

“You’d be in Turkey tonight if you’d done what I told you to do.” He hadn’t meant to sound accusing. Or maybe he had.

“You were not there.” She stood, tossing the blanket aside. “You do not understand.”

He stood as well but kept his voice even. “I’m just saying, I had a plan. If I’d known about your sister⁠—”

“And where is your brother? The soldier? I never thought you’d attempt to rescue us all by yourself.”

He breathed, slowly. Working to staunch the words trying to escape. “I think you need to rest.”

“I am only saying, it was foolish to do this alone. You should have asked for help.”

“It was foolish to go to your friend’s house. You should have done what I said. If you had, you’d already be out of the country.”

“And where would you be?”

“Here. Sleeping. Peacefully.”

Yeah.

Based on the flush on her face, that was the wrong thing to say.

But seriously. He’d saved her life, and she was criticizing him? Thinking he should’ve asked Grant for help?

Grant, who had a wife? And a kid on the way, not that she knew that last part, but the point remained.

As if Michael would risk his brother’s life.

As if he’d needed help. All he’d really needed was for Leila to listen and do what he said.

Was that really so hard?

Her tiny hands clenched into fists, her gaze furious.

He felt exactly the same way.

They were both tired. Now that he’d gotten the story, this conversation needed to end, before one or both of them said something they couldn’t take back.

“I need to rest.” He nodded to the sofa, and she stepped out of the way.

He plopped down on it. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

He didn’t wait for her to argue. Or respond. Just shoved the pillow under his head—ignoring the pain in his abdomen. He pulled the blanket she’d cast aside up to his shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Okay.”

Though he didn’t open his eyes, he could feel her watching him.

“Michael?”

He peeked. She was standing a few feet away, her damp hair framing her face, making her eyes look larger. The anger had slid away, replaced by a tender look that gave him a whole new reason for needing her to go into her bedroom and close the door.

“It is an instinct, to argue when someone tells me what to do. To argue or disobey. To mistrust. A friend once told me it was my besotting sin.”

He felt his spreading grin. “Besetting sin.”