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“It hurt,” I said with a little laugh. “I saw stars, but I didn’t swoon or anything. That’s for delicate, charming ladies.”
“Laurel, can you be serious for like five seconds?”
“Sorry. Yes, it hurt right away. No, I didn’t pass out.”
He finished rinsing the cut and dried me off with a towel, carefully avoiding rubbing against the cut. “It doesn’t sound like you gave yourself a concussion but tell me if you start to feel nauseated or dizzy.” He helped me to stand upright, and then with no other warning, put his hands on my waist and lifted me onto the counter.
I blinked at him. My hands had automatically gone to his shoulders, and eye-level with him, I could see every detail of his sandy brows, the freckles from days in the sun, the little wrinkles starting to form at the corners of his eyes. My eyes widened as I stared at him.
His attention was on the gash, assessing the seriousness of it. “Yeah, I think we can do Steri-Strips.” He looked at me, finally. “You have to be careful with them, though.”
I gave him an innocent look. “I’m careful.” His face said, “Yeah right.” Lachlan grabbed the packages he would need and returned to stand between my legs. I swung my bare feet idly, wondering how bad the scar would be. It kind of matched Calla’s.
He wiped my forehead with a cleansing wipe and then with quick efficiency, pulled the gash together with the strips. He put three of them over the little wound, and then finished it off with a square, adhesive bandage. I liked watching him get in the zone. His eyes sharpened and I could practically see the cogs working behind them.
He stepped back and folded his arms. Then he snorted, laughing again.
“Okay,” I said derisively, sliding off the counter. My head was starting to pound again, and my throat was closing off with soreness. “Yes, very funny. I’m going to go clean the mess.”
“No,” he intercepted my motion and steered me toward the bedroom. “You can clean the blood off yourself, but I’ll handle the bathroom. Go drink some water and lie down.”
“You’re very bossy,” I clipped.
“Cry me a river. Get in there. If I find you anywhere but my bed, there will be consequences.” I hitched a breath and looked over my shoulder at him. He smirked. He knew exactly what he’d done.
Smug bastard.
It didn’t take long to clean the mess off my face, neck, and hands. Nothing I could do about his pajamas. I went back and settled myself on the bed, drinking the ice water from the tumbler with heat staining my cheeks. I couldn’t just sit here while he cleaned up my mess again. I had hated it when Jason had sat on the couch while I cleaned baby toys.
I got up, but Lachlan passed by the doorway with rags and bottles of cleaning solution. He gave me a threatening look. “Sit.”
I narrowed my eyes. He glared back.
With a defeated sound, I plopped back down. Looking at the sheets, I realized I could at least make the bed. I crawled across the bed, straightening the comforter and checking to make sure the white sheets had stayed firmly tucked around the corners. I slid off the other side, adjusting the pillows, and then yanked the comforter up in place. The bed was huge. It probably took two people to get it as perfectly crisp as he’d had it when we’d arrived. Still, it was worth trying.
I trudged to the other side, fighting the sudden onslaught of symptoms again. I knew it took a while for a body to recover from strep, but the process was infuriating. I tugged the other corner up, smoothing out the top. I leaned against the bed to fluff a pillow, and suddenly two hands had my waist. I went momentarily airborne, and then landed on my back with a softplop.
Lachlan leaned over me, trapping my legs between his. “I told you,” he said, his voice low and playful. “Consequences.”
“I’m in bed,” I eeked out. My heart tapped at a fast tempo.
His nose rubbed against the side of mine. “Loopholes aren’t allowed.”
“Mnh,” I said, making the sound he’d said he liked.
His gold-brown eyes hooded. “Nice try. Cute sounds will not bribe me into giving you a lesser sentence.”
I tingled all over with anticipation of what exactly Lachlan might consider a punishment.
Then a phone rang, and he groaned. “I’m on-call,” he said with an apologetic look. He pushed himself onto his knees, still trapping my legs, and pulled a black phone from his back jeans pocket. “Dr. Cade,” he said.
Another shiver went through me. Why was that so hot?
He listened intently, turning his head to look out the window. “Yeah, it really came down. How bad?” A slight sigh, and then, “Okay, I’ll be there in twenty. Yeah, send her to CT. Thanks.” He hung up and gave me a tight-lipped look that said, “well that sucks.”
I smiled. “I’m pretty sure that was bound to happen. Was it the snow?”
“Yeah,” he pushed himself off the bed, pocketing his phone again. “I’ll run out and be back as soon as I can. Do not,” he said with assertive emphasis, “clean anything. Just sit on your butt, take the pills I put on the counter for you, and drink water. And eat food. I have leftovers in the fridge.”
