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I stood in the pristine kitchen, shifting nervously from foot to foot. I’d probably ruined any chance of him seeing me as a capable, attractive woman. To be fair, I had probably ruined it before this. Or would have soon after. But I couldn’t help the crushing despair that twisted my gut at the thought that Lachlan would look at me any less than he already did. I wanted to be a cool, sexy woman.
I was a total goob instead.
When Lachlan returned, he had on a navy-blue scrub top and held a black duffel bag. Heaven help the serger stitch that tried to keep the arms of those sleeves from ripping in half.
He dumped the bag on the counter and came to stand before me. I was eye level with the base of his throat, and he framed my face with his hands. He tilted me up to look at him. He stared at me. And then suddenly his face broke with a snort, and he laughed.
I scowled. “You promised!”
He gritted his teeth against the laugh, and his chest shook with the effort of stopping. “I’m sorry. You just look so ridiculous right now.”
I ground my teeth together. Lachlan blew out a steadying breath, his lips still quivering with a smile. “Okay. Let’s see it.” He cautiously peeled back the light blue towel, and one of his fingers probed around the wound.
I jerked back, and he shuffled forward with me. “It’s not bad. Head wounds just bleed a lot.”
“I know,” I said.
He chuckled. “I thought Calla was the ‘assidert prone’ one.”
“I’m not accident prone. I just have bad luck.”
“Right. Well, a Band-Aid isn’t going to cut it, anyway. But we can get away with some Steri-Strips.”
“You got into your official doctor clothes for no reason,” I teased.
“If I had to bet,” he said as he turned to the duffel bag on the counter, “I’d put money on you finding a way to ruin my clothing anyway.”
“Oh.” I thought back to the IV mess I’d made last night, and then looked down at the little droplets of blood on the plaid fabric. “Oh my word, I suck. I’m so sorry.”
“The nerve,” he said with an impish smile. “Stop apologizing for things you didn’t do on purpose. Come here.”
I stepped over to the counter, and he tilted my chin up. My heart rate spiked.I might have to keep maiming myself just to get a hit of his touches.
Lachlan’s eyes were focused as he peeled back the towel. “You shouldn’t use toilet paper on open wounds,” he chastised. “I’ll have to flush it before we seal it up.”
“Great,” I said with heavy sarcasm.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he drawled. “Get over to the sink. No, don’t put the damn towel back on. Just go. Lean over the sink and—watch your head!”
I had followed his instructions and leaned over the sink, but everything was made with shiny chrome, and his faucet was unnaturally long. I whacked it with my temple before I realized. With a hiss, I clamped my hands over my blood-slick forehead and leaned over in agony.
Lachlan pressed two frustrated hands on either side of my head as I leaned over the sink. “Okay. That’s it. I’m wrapping you in blankets and saran wrap for… ever. Are you okay? Where did you hit it?”
My teeth hurt from clenching so hard. “Fine,” I bit out. “I’m fine.”
“Do you need glasses or something?” he asked. His hands gently smoothed my hair back, and he twisted it to get it out of the way.
“Very funny,” I mumbled, starting to stand. Blood dripped steadily into the mirror-fine finish of the sink.
“I wasn’t kidding.” He pushed my head down. “Stay. Don’t move.” I started to look at him and he pulled in a hiss between his teeth. “Don’t. Move.”
I went stone still.
Lachlan rifled through the bag, and I heard soft, plastic clicks and the rustle of packaging. Then he was in front of me again and he wrapped an arm around me, cradling my head to the side and facing his lean stomach. His hand supported my head so I was angled just right to rinse the gash. He smelled like his cologne and detergent, and his warm, solid body gave me the irresistible sensation of protection and safety. And there I was looking like, well, me.
I flicked my eyes up to look at him. “On a scale of one to Margot Robbie, how hot do I look right now?”
“You look like a pain in the ass,” he said, but he was smiling. He had a clear, plastic bottle with a long, thin nozzle angled off of it. He started to squirt cold saline over my forehead, and I steeled myself against the burn of it. “When you hit your head, did it hurt right away, or did you black out when it happened?”
