idea of putting the jeans back on, but he couldn’t exactly walk out in the flimsy gown he’d worn while the doctor had sewn him up.
A knock sounded on the door. Before he could say anything, the door flew open. Heather stood there, her two DEA agent shadows standing behind her. Two more agents had arrived a few minutes ago and were guarding Mark, just in case someone came in the hospital to seek him out and finish what they’d started.
“Give us a minute, okay, guys?” Heather called over her shoulder. She didn’t wait for an answer. She shoved the door shut, tossed a small bag onto the countertop and put her hands on her hips. Her deep blue eyes were practically shooting sparks as she glared at him.
Nick’s curiosity about what was in the bag was no competition for the vision standing in front of him. He couldn’t have moved to pick up that bag if he’d wanted to. He was too busy just trying to draw a normal breath.
He crossed his arms and tried to appear unaffected, but boy did she look good. Someone had given her a fresh white T-shirt and jeans, both a size too small by some standards but pretty near perfect by his. Every curve was outlined for his hungry gaze. He swallowed, hard, and reluctantly dragged his gaze up from her generous breasts.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, barely able to get the words out past his tight throat. He swallowed again and reminded himself she was off-limits. She wasn’t his girlfriend, not anymore, not if he wanted to keep his job. He’d have a hard enough time as it was explaining to Waverly how he’d ended up in Key West in a firefight when he was suspended and was supposed to be in Saint Augustine.
“You got shot,” Heather accused.
“Uh, yeah. A little bit.”
“A little bit?” she choked out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
“We were busy trying to escape without getting killed.”
She shook her head and fisted her hands at her sides. Her gaze went to the items sitting in the tray next to his bed. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
He probably should have hidden his phone.
She strode toward him and grabbed his ruined phone from the tray. When she held the twisted piece of metal up, the bullet hole was clearly visible. Her eyes flashed daggers at him as she tossed the phone back onto the tray. “Waterlogged, Nick? You said your phone was waterlogged.”
“I’m pretty sure I said it was broken.” She sure looked good when she was angry. Her skin was flushed a delicate pink. Her long hair flew out around her and her breasts pushed against her too-tight shirt as she put her hands on her hips.
Nick clutched the edge of the bed to keep from reaching for her.
She narrowed her eyes. “No, you said the phone was waterlogged. You implied you forgot to leave your phone on the beach with your gun when you went into the ocean. I thought that was odd for you to forget something like that. Now I know you didn’t. You lied to me.”
He shrugged, unimpressed by that accusation. He lied all the time. It was his job. If lying meant keeping her from worrying and keeping her safe, that’s what he would do. “I didn’t want you to worry about an insignificant injury.”
“Insignificant? You call a gunshot insignificant?”
“Through and through. A handful of stitches.” He gave her his best frown when what he really wanted to do was pull her against him and remind himself how well her curves fit against his hard planes. There was only one reason he could think of for her to be this upset. She still cared about him. After the way he’d treated her, that surprised him. And pleased him. Blood started pumping to a part of his body that left his brain slightly dazed from lack of oxygen.
“I could have helped you,” she insisted. “When did you get shot?” She reached past him, tore the plastic bag open that she’d carried in and dumped out a pair of jeans, a shirt, and miraculously, a pair of tennis shoes that looked like they just
A knock sounded on the door. Before he could say anything, the door flew open. Heather stood there, her two DEA agent shadows standing behind her. Two more agents had arrived a few minutes ago and were guarding Mark, just in case someone came in the hospital to seek him out and finish what they’d started.
“Give us a minute, okay, guys?” Heather called over her shoulder. She didn’t wait for an answer. She shoved the door shut, tossed a small bag onto the countertop and put her hands on her hips. Her deep blue eyes were practically shooting sparks as she glared at him.
Nick’s curiosity about what was in the bag was no competition for the vision standing in front of him. He couldn’t have moved to pick up that bag if he’d wanted to. He was too busy just trying to draw a normal breath.
He crossed his arms and tried to appear unaffected, but boy did she look good. Someone had given her a fresh white T-shirt and jeans, both a size too small by some standards but pretty near perfect by his. Every curve was outlined for his hungry gaze. He swallowed, hard, and reluctantly dragged his gaze up from her generous breasts.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, barely able to get the words out past his tight throat. He swallowed again and reminded himself she was off-limits. She wasn’t his girlfriend, not anymore, not if he wanted to keep his job. He’d have a hard enough time as it was explaining to Waverly how he’d ended up in Key West in a firefight when he was suspended and was supposed to be in Saint Augustine.
“You got shot,” Heather accused.
“Uh, yeah. A little bit.”
“A little bit?” she choked out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
“We were busy trying to escape without getting killed.”
She shook her head and fisted her hands at her sides. Her gaze went to the items sitting in the tray next to his bed. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
He probably should have hidden his phone.
She strode toward him and grabbed his ruined phone from the tray. When she held the twisted piece of metal up, the bullet hole was clearly visible. Her eyes flashed daggers at him as she tossed the phone back onto the tray. “Waterlogged, Nick? You said your phone was waterlogged.”
“I’m pretty sure I said it was broken.” She sure looked good when she was angry. Her skin was flushed a delicate pink. Her long hair flew out around her and her breasts pushed against her too-tight shirt as she put her hands on her hips.
Nick clutched the edge of the bed to keep from reaching for her.
She narrowed her eyes. “No, you said the phone was waterlogged. You implied you forgot to leave your phone on the beach with your gun when you went into the ocean. I thought that was odd for you to forget something like that. Now I know you didn’t. You lied to me.”
He shrugged, unimpressed by that accusation. He lied all the time. It was his job. If lying meant keeping her from worrying and keeping her safe, that’s what he would do. “I didn’t want you to worry about an insignificant injury.”
“Insignificant? You call a gunshot insignificant?”
“Through and through. A handful of stitches.” He gave her his best frown when what he really wanted to do was pull her against him and remind himself how well her curves fit against his hard planes. There was only one reason he could think of for her to be this upset. She still cared about him. After the way he’d treated her, that surprised him. And pleased him. Blood started pumping to a part of his body that left his brain slightly dazed from lack of oxygen.
“I could have helped you,” she insisted. “When did you get shot?” She reached past him, tore the plastic bag open that she’d carried in and dumped out a pair of jeans, a shirt, and miraculously, a pair of tennis shoes that looked like they just
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