Page 103 of The Bodyguard's Fall

Tate was enjoying himself, far more than I’d expect for someone who always seemed so private. But then again…I thought of the way his dark eyes skittered across me in our bed at the inn and the feel of his hands on my skin. His confident and easy manner. Maybe it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for.

As for me, I was one immature thought away from bursting into a fit of nervous giggles. I tried to go for reason. It wasn’t like we were really married.

“Listen. Luke’s probably outside working right now. He’ll never actually know if I did this or not. Let’s get your mom in here. I don’t mind.”

“We’re in this now, woman. Any wife of mine would be happy to get in there and fix me up,” he said, throwing some of my words back in my face.

“It’s the ‘get in there’ that I’m struggling with.”

When he began to laugh, I gave his shoulders a push.

“How are you not embarrassed right now?” I asked.

“Oh, trust me. I hate this.”

“Then how are you laughing right now?”

“Because I’ll never be as embarrassed as you, and that somehow makes it easier.”

“Tate,” I whined, completely flustered, and I hadn’t even gotten the bandage out of the package yet.

“Just do it.”

Okay. This was happening. The best thing I could do was to act completely unaffected. He wouldn’t believe me after all of this, but it might help me get through it.

“Fine. Lie down.”

He moved to lie on the center of the bed.

“No. On the side of the bed,” I said, pointing to the edge. “And get everything ready.”

He did so, pulling down his own waistband with an amused smile.

“I kind of like you bossy,” he murmured.

His low, teasing drawl threatened to undo me, but I soldiered on, averting my gaze as much as possible.

I can’t say that I saw nothing whilst humbly tending to my wounded husband, but I will say that what I did see was quite…well done.

Tate, for his part, kept his comments to a minimum once I had the bandage in my hand. When I was finished, I stepped back, but refused to allow myself time to admire my handiwork. One of us needed to keep things professional.

“Thanks, wife,” he said, standing up and sauntering toward the door.

“You owe me,” I said lightly as I gathered up the bandage wrapper with jittery hands. I felt substantially braver now that he was covered up and walking away.

“I owe you? You’re the one who just got some,” he said as he turned back toward me.

My hands found my hips while my heart picked up speed. “Some what?”

“Some action.” He grinned lazily, leaning casually against the door.

I blinked. “Wait. Who got the action?”

He laughed. It was low and husky and the kind that sent a bolt of heat racing down my spine.

“It was definitely you,” he said.

“That’s debatable.” I inched closer to the door, to him, ready to make my escape and thinking he’d step aside.