Page 127 of Star Bringer
“I brought you a shirt. Sorry I didn’t think about giving it to you when you came in here.” Then, ignoring all the pretty parts of her I refuse to be thinking about right now, I give her a look that asks permission. Once she nods, I sweep her back up into my arms and carry her to bed.
After getting her settled on the bed again, I grab the shirt and help her into it before tucking her back under the blanket.
“I’m sorry,” she says, voice loaded with frustration and—I think—tears. Which…shit. I can handle four guys coming at me with blasters without blinking an eye, but women who cry? I can practically feel my hands shaking already. I’ve told her before. I don’t do crying women.
“Why are you crying? Are you hurting? I’ll get you more pain meds. Just don’t cry.” I practically leap for the medication cabinet.
“I’m sorry I’m so useless,” she says, and there are more tears—in her voice, on her cheeks.
“You were shot,” I tell her. “That’s not the same as useless.”
“It kind of feels the same.”
I shove another painkiller into her hands, along with the glass of juice I brought for her earlier. “Trust me, I’ve seen useless. This isn’t it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So don’t believe me.” I shrug. “No skin off my ass. But take your damn pain meds so you can feel better.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but she’s not crying anymore and she’s taking her meds, so mission fucking accomplished. “You should eat, too,” I tell her.
“You should be careful, Ian, or someone’s going to think you actually like me.”
“Yeah, well, I think my rep can take it.” I grab the tray of food and bring it over to her.
“You brought me dinner?” She makes grabby hands at the tray. “I’ll love you forever.”
A weird little shiver goes through me at her words. I ignore it—she was only fooling around—but what I can’t ignore is the wide smile she gives me as she forks up a bite of the not-very-good mash I brought her. It’s a good look on her, and as she continues eating, I can’t help realizing that I’ve never seen a genuine smile from her before.
I’ve seen princess smiles, polite smiles—even don’t-mess-with-me smiles. But the smile she just gave me… Maybe it’s time for thatI don’t do relationshipsconversation again. With myself, this time.
“This is delicious!” she says, holding a forkful out to me. “Do you want some?”
I shake my head. “I ate a few hours ago.”
She shrugs as if to say my loss. For the first time, I can’t help wondering if she’s right—and I’m not talking about the mash.
Fuck, this is ridiculous. Nearly dying today must have really messed with my head. There’s no other reason for me to be thinking like this.
“Are you done?” Her plate isn’t empty, but she’s put her fork down and leaned back against the bed.
“Yeah, I’m stuffed.”
I take the tray to the small counter and come back with some wound-wash and new bandages. “This shouldn’t hurt,” I tell her as I start unwrapping the bloody gauze. “We just need to clean it up a little.”
“I’m not worried.” She glances down at the wound. “Will I have a scar?”
“None of us are medics, so probably.”
“Good.” She gives me another one of those smiles. “It was a solid joint effort. Plus, now I’ll look mysterious and dangerous.”
“Only if people can see your legs.” I rinse away the newly dried blood with the wound-wash.
“Good point.” She winces a little. “Maybe I’ll get in a few more battles before this trip is over. Aim to get shot or stabbed in somewhere more noticeable this time.”
I smile. “Let’s get you through this battle scar first, okay?” I dry the wound and cover it with bandages to absorb any more leaking while she finishes off the last of her juice.
Concentrating on that keeps me from noticing how good she looks in Max’s shirt, eyes bright and hair wild around her shoulders. But I don’t take advantage of injured women or women under the influence, so it doesn’t matter how good she looks. Only that her wound is clean and taken care of.
