I said softly, keeping my eyes shut. “But ever since people started getting shot and dying around me… like the first time I met you… I haven’t been the same.” I felt horrible that he was the one bleeding, and I couldn’t even look at his wound, let alone help him.
“It’s okay, I can handle it,” he said. “Do you think you can get my first-aid kit out of my bag for me?”
“Yes,” I said, relieved to do something useful. “Where is it?”
“My bag…”
“Oh… right. I’ll be back.” I didn’t trust myself to actually stand up, so I kind of scooted across the marble floor toward the bedroom. Ramos chuckled, and just hearing that made me feel a little better. If he could laugh, it wasn’t too bad, right? By the time I got to the living room, I felt well enough to stand and managed to find Ramos’ bag beside the couch. I rummaged through it, feeling kind of funny looking through his personal things. Having no luck, I decided to take the whole bag into the bathroom. Maybe he could find it easier than me.
I stood straight with the bag in my hand and faced the bedroom, knowing I had to go back in there but unable to move. I took a few deep breaths to steel myself and wondered if maybe it wasn’t just the sight of blood that made me woozy. It was probably more like a combination of Ramos’ bare chest plus the blood. It was enough to make any woman worth her salt swoon a bit. And what was I doing? I was standing out here instead of going in there to enjoy the view. That was pretty stupid. Instead of dreading it, I should look forward to going back in there. That’s the spirit. Go me!
I strode in with my head held high and found Ramos at one of the sinks, wiping at the blood with a washcloth. Thoughts of pain with lots of swearing came through, so I put up my shields, relieved to have the feelings of wooziness leave me. I took a moment to study his broad back and noticed several scars. Of course, keeping his profession in mind, it probably came with the territory. It was still a fantastic-looking back, broad and long, tapering nicely to his hips with lots of muscles and not an ounce of fat. Yup, very nice.
“Are you going to stand there all night?” he asked, holding the washcloth over his wound so I wouldn’t freak out.
“Oh… sorry. Just admiring the view.” Damn! Did I just say that out loud?
He glanced at me through the mirror, his lips pursed, and an eyebrow raised. “Well… when you’re through, I could use my first-aid kit.”
“I couldn’t find it, so I brought the whole thing,” I said, my face heating with embarrassment.
“It’s in the side pocket.”
“Oh… okay.” I quickly unzipped the pocket and pulled out a larger than normal container for a first-aid kit. Then I realized Ramos wasn’t a normal kind of person when it came to stuff like this. I set it on the spacious counter by the sink Ramos wasn’t using and opened it up. “What do you need?” I asked.
“It’s okay,” he said tiredly. “I can do it.”
“No. I’m fine now. I want to help.” The way he had to twist around to get to the wound couldn’t be easy. Surely I could put a bandage on him.
He sighed. “You sure? I don’t need you fainting on the marble floor and ending up with a concussion.”
“I promise if I start to feel woozy, I’ll sit down.”
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ve washed it out with water, so I think some hydrogen peroxide, followed by anti-bacterial ointment and a couple of butterfly bandages should take care of it.”
“Okay. I can do that.” I thoroughly washed my hands and dried them. Then found a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, the ointment, some gauze, butterfly bandages, and tape. Last came a package of cotton balls. I pulled it open and then liberally doused a cotton ball with the hydrogen peroxide. I held it up, took a deep breath, and glanced at Ramos.
“I’m ready,” he assured me. “But are you?” He was still skeptical that I could
“It’s okay, I can handle it,” he said. “Do you think you can get my first-aid kit out of my bag for me?”
“Yes,” I said, relieved to do something useful. “Where is it?”
“My bag…”
“Oh… right. I’ll be back.” I didn’t trust myself to actually stand up, so I kind of scooted across the marble floor toward the bedroom. Ramos chuckled, and just hearing that made me feel a little better. If he could laugh, it wasn’t too bad, right? By the time I got to the living room, I felt well enough to stand and managed to find Ramos’ bag beside the couch. I rummaged through it, feeling kind of funny looking through his personal things. Having no luck, I decided to take the whole bag into the bathroom. Maybe he could find it easier than me.
I stood straight with the bag in my hand and faced the bedroom, knowing I had to go back in there but unable to move. I took a few deep breaths to steel myself and wondered if maybe it wasn’t just the sight of blood that made me woozy. It was probably more like a combination of Ramos’ bare chest plus the blood. It was enough to make any woman worth her salt swoon a bit. And what was I doing? I was standing out here instead of going in there to enjoy the view. That was pretty stupid. Instead of dreading it, I should look forward to going back in there. That’s the spirit. Go me!
I strode in with my head held high and found Ramos at one of the sinks, wiping at the blood with a washcloth. Thoughts of pain with lots of swearing came through, so I put up my shields, relieved to have the feelings of wooziness leave me. I took a moment to study his broad back and noticed several scars. Of course, keeping his profession in mind, it probably came with the territory. It was still a fantastic-looking back, broad and long, tapering nicely to his hips with lots of muscles and not an ounce of fat. Yup, very nice.
“Are you going to stand there all night?” he asked, holding the washcloth over his wound so I wouldn’t freak out.
“Oh… sorry. Just admiring the view.” Damn! Did I just say that out loud?
He glanced at me through the mirror, his lips pursed, and an eyebrow raised. “Well… when you’re through, I could use my first-aid kit.”
“I couldn’t find it, so I brought the whole thing,” I said, my face heating with embarrassment.
“It’s in the side pocket.”
“Oh… okay.” I quickly unzipped the pocket and pulled out a larger than normal container for a first-aid kit. Then I realized Ramos wasn’t a normal kind of person when it came to stuff like this. I set it on the spacious counter by the sink Ramos wasn’t using and opened it up. “What do you need?” I asked.
“It’s okay,” he said tiredly. “I can do it.”
“No. I’m fine now. I want to help.” The way he had to twist around to get to the wound couldn’t be easy. Surely I could put a bandage on him.
He sighed. “You sure? I don’t need you fainting on the marble floor and ending up with a concussion.”
“I promise if I start to feel woozy, I’ll sit down.”
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ve washed it out with water, so I think some hydrogen peroxide, followed by anti-bacterial ointment and a couple of butterfly bandages should take care of it.”
“Okay. I can do that.” I thoroughly washed my hands and dried them. Then found a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, the ointment, some gauze, butterfly bandages, and tape. Last came a package of cotton balls. I pulled it open and then liberally doused a cotton ball with the hydrogen peroxide. I held it up, took a deep breath, and glanced at Ramos.
“I’m ready,” he assured me. “But are you?” He was still skeptical that I could
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