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“Not to tell the cops I killed Simon?”
He meets my curious gaze with a probing one. “No, Jane.”
I look away because I don’t want to see the pain of Simon’s death in his eyes—or the blame. “Why do you call me Jane if you know it isn’t my name?”
“I think I’ve gotten attached to it.”
The amusement in his voice draws my attention like a moth to a flame. “It hasn’t even been an hour,” I remind him as I raise my eyebrow. “So, I can’t see how you could have.”
“Has it?” He briefly checks my heart with his stethoscope. He does it over my t-shirt when I’d thought he would need to do it under.
It’s a relief. A big one.
After nodding in a way that assures me my heart is beating as it should be, he returns it to the metal tray, and his gaze dips to my belly. “Do you want to lift your shirt so we can see what we’re dealing with here?”
Relieved he asked for permission, I grip the hem of my shirt and lift it to just under my breasts.
His expression doesn’t change as he turns back to his cart. “What happened?”
Dipping my head, I take in the deep red and almost black bruises which form an interesting pattern over my lower belly. It’s like someone smacked me with a mallet. A big one. “A door hit me.” I pause. “I think.”
Harley’s blue-green gaze returns to mine, then flicks to my head, and he raises both hands. “May I?”
I lean back, swallowing a wince when the stretch pulls on my stomach. “Why?”
“A person is usually a lot more confident whether a door hit them. I’d like to check for any swelling, bruises, cuts, in short, any signs of a head injury.”
I point my chin at his tiny flashlight. “Wouldn’t that tell you?”
“There are some things you have to feel for yourself.”
My heart jolts.
“What?” My eyes dart over his shoulder to the open door. It’s feet away, yet suddenly it’s like an ocean separates it from me.
Can I get past him and to the door? Or would it be better to scream?
He’s a shifter,I remind myself. There’s no getting past a determined shifter.
Scream. It’s better to scream.
I prepare to puncture Harley’s eardrums when he lifts his hands higher, wriggles his fingers, and flashes me a quick grin that creases the corners of his eyes. “My gift is in my hands. I mean nothing by it than that.”
There’s a playfulness in his tone that makes me suspicious. “The nurse from before…” I scrabble around in my mind for the name of the perky blonde nurse from my last hospital stay. “Olivia. She said you liked to flirt.”
A smile tugs on one corner of his lips, and his tropical sea eyes sparkle with mirth. “Did she now? What else did she say?”
I study him some more, not sure I should trust that smile—or him. “That you were a decent guy in spite of it.”
He throws his head back and laughs, right from the gut. All un-self-conscious and… real. It makes me want to laugh with him, just to see what it feels like. “I will most definitely need to have words with Olivia.”
I cock my head, forgetting my need to scream for Kade to come back. “Words?Is that a euphemism for—”
“No euphemism.” He wriggles his fingers again, as if for permission.
After a moment, I nod once, and he steps forward.
He’s standing so close; the tip of my nose is practically brushing his chest as my knees kiss his thighs. I can’t help but draw his scent deep.
