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“You go back to sleep. I’ll make us some coffee and breakfast.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t cook,” she said, snuggling back underneath the blankets.
“I can manage toast and coffee,” he quipped. The one piece of equipment he did know how to use in his kitchen was the coffee machine. He prided himself on how good his coffee was. Nash tried to hide his limp as he headed for the bathroom, but it was no good.
“Nash King, your leg is bad, isn’t it?” She was out of bed and beside him in a second, grabbing his arm to help him across the room.
“Now that’s the best view I’ve seen in a long time,” he said appreciatively, taking in the spectacle of her slim legs, and pert breasts bouncing in front of him. She’d jumped out of bed,ignoring the fact she was completely naked. Her long hair was a tousled mess, her face creased with lines from where her head had rested on the pillow. He was also baring his naked ass, but Skylar seemed not to notice. She’d have none of it, she was back to her officious nurse persona.
She helped him to the bathroom, then left him to do his ablutions. When she came back, she was fully clothed, and Nash gave a small sigh.
“Come and sit in the living room. I’ll make breakfast. I’m supposed to be looking after you, remember?” He did remember, but he also vowed to himself that one day soon, he would return the favor and bring her coffee and toast in bed.
She helped him get dressed, making him sit on the edge of the bed so she could get his shorts on. And even though he grumbled about it, he was finding it harder to hide the pain from her. He wondered what his doctor would say, if he knew the sort of exertion he’d put his leg through last night. But even the thought of the look on his doctor’s face wasn’t enough to dull the pain.
Skylar led him to the living room and sat him down on the end of the couch. Then he gratefully accepted the two little white pills she dropped in his hand, and gulped them down with a shot of water. Then she handed him two more, pink this time. The antibiotics his doctor had prescribed.
“You missed both doses last night before you went to bed?” she said, half accusing.
“I did have other things on my mind,” he replied with a twitch of his lips.
“Yes, well,” she huffed, a red tinge drifting up her neck. “It’s probably why your leg is so sore this morning.”
“That’s definitely not the only reason, babe.” He raised one eyebrow, daring her to argue.
She glared at him, and he wondered if she was going to tell him off for the term of endearment. But he remembered quite clearly, she’d called him baby more than once, back in the jungle. She probably hadn’t even realized she was doing it, and maybe she didn’t remember. But he did. Was it too soon to be using terms of endearment? He wasn’t sure, but after all they’d been through, the strong connection they’d made, he felt like perhaps he had a right to use it.
“I’m making eggs Benedict for breakfast,” she said instead, turning toward the kitchen.
“You are?” That sounded a lot better than the toast and honey he’d had on offer.
“It’s the least I can do, while I’m cooped up here with you,” she said, turning back to face him. “Cooking relaxes me. There are no surprises in the kitchen. Well, very few bad ones, at least. Food is something I understand.”
“Okay,” he replied.
Then he remembered he was yet to meet the new constable, and went to get out of this seat.
“Ignatius King,” she called him by his full name, and he grimaced. Damn, she’d remembered. “Sit down. Tell me what it is you want, and I’ll get it for you.”
“All right,” he agreed. “But don’t think you get to order me around like this all day.” And certainly not later tonight. He didn’t voice that thought, however, but he sincerely hoped they’d have a replay of the previous night’s activities. “Could you ask the officer at the door to come in for a second, please?”
“Sure.” She strode over and unlocked the door, pulling it open. Nash enjoyed watching her figure, silhouetted in the morning light pouring through the gap. Her jeans snug enough to show off her lovely ass, and the linen shirt flimsy enough for him to see the lace of her bra.
The surprised face of an officer stared back at her. “Hello,” she said sweetly. “Do you mind coming inside for a second? The senior constable would like to see you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The young cop followed Skylar inside.
Nash recognized him from the hospital. “Constable Newman.” Nash stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for this.”
Newman shook his hand and stood back, looking a tad uncomfortable. “Sorry to hear about your injury, sir. I hope your recovery is a swift one.”
“Me, too.” And wasn’t that the truth; but for more than one reason.
Nash spent the next five minutes debriefing the constable. It’d been a quiet night, with no disturbances and nothing unusual to report. Nash didn’t envy the poor young man; he’d probably been bored to death with this guard detail. And perhaps it was all in vain. They might not even be targets, anymore. But they couldn’t take that chance. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted past Nash’s nose, and his stomach rumbled loudly.
“Constable Newman, was it?” As if on cue, Skylar came over, two plates in her hands. “I’ve made you breakfast.”
The other man’s eyes lit up at the sight of two perfectly poached eggs on toast, smothered in yellow Hollandaise sauce. But he took a step backward. “Thank you, ma’am. But I can’t, I’m on duty.”
