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“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. She wanted to return his feelings. She wanted to profess her undying love and stay with him forever, but that wouldn’t be fair to him. He deserved better than what she could offer him. “Just don’t pressure me, okay?”
“I won’t. I know you’re not ready to talk to me yet, but when you are, I’ll be here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“What did I ever do to deserve you?”
He chuckled. “You’re so adorable. So damned perfect.”
Perfect. Perfect she was not. If he only knew. But she didn’t want to cry anymore. She wanted to share this night with Zach and pretend everything was all right, but it wasn’t right to lead him on.
“I can’t stay with you tonight, Zach.”
“Yes, you can. You have to.” His eyes smiled at her. “You’re the reason I’m in this situation, darlin’. I need you to take care of me.”
“I think your ma and Angelina can handle that.”
“I don’t want them. I want my woman to take care of me.”
He sure knew how to get to her. She wanted to be his woman. She wanted to take care of him, and the territorial lioness in her didn’t want Angelina anywhere near him. True enough—it was her fault he was wounded. She owed him her care. And it was a good excuse to spend the night with him, anyway.
“I’ll stay,” she said.
“Wonderful. Let’s order up some dinner, and then I’ll let you play nursemaid.” He grinned rakishly. “You may have to bathe me.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Darlin’, the pleasure will be mine.”
* * *
Zach couldn’t immerse his wound, so Dusty gave him a sponge bath after dinner. It was a pleasure to cleanse his strong body. She especially enjoyed washing his genitals, seeing his cock grow before her eyes as she fondled him. “This is a bath,” she teased, “not foreplay.”
When she finished bathing him, she helped him on crutches to the bathroom and shaved his face.
“Have you ever thought about growing a beard?”
“Not really. Why?”
“I like the feel of it when we kiss, and when you do…other things.” She warmed.
“Then I’ll grow a beard for you. But I’ll have to start tomorrow, because you just shaved it off.”
“A short goatee would look good on you. With your long hair, it would be a nice contrast. You’d look even more like a movie star than you already do.”
“You think I look like a movie star?”
“The handsomest one in Hollywood.” She rinsed his face with a warm cloth. “Now lower your head. I’m going to wash your beautiful hair.”
When she finished, she changed the linens on the bed, which were damp from his sponge bath, and helped him get comfortable.
“Okay, soldier,” she said. “Time to look at the wound. Tell me what to do.”
“The dressing and antibiotic ointment are in the top dresser drawer,” he said, motioning. “You’ll need to clean it with peroxide first.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and removed the bandage slowly, trying not to hurt him. She gasped when she saw his wound—several tight black stitches laced around a pinkish gash. “You poor thing. I’m so sorry!”
“I’m fine.”
“Zach, it’s all red, and it’s swollen. It’s oozing a little, too. It doesn’t look right to me. I hope it’s not infected.”
