Page 55 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

Something that might have passed for a smile touched his lips. As with most of his emotions, it was there and gone before she could analyze it. “It’s still Wednesday, Miss Michaels. You’ve been here about six hours.”

Six hours? Her heart raced again, but this time it wasn’t from anticipation. She put her hands on the bed rails and tensed, ready to pull herself up.

“Whoa.” Bard put a hand on hers. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I can’t stay here. What if they run tests on me? They might take my blood or—”

“No, they won’t.” He lifted her hand, then used his other one to jimmy the rail until it clicked and slid down. Still holding her hand, he sat on the side of her bed, his hip a breath away from her thigh. “This is a small hospital. In the ER, nothing gets past me. I’m the one who brought you in, and I took care of your labs myself.”

Her panic receded, but only a little. “You shouldn’t have brought me here. It’s forbidden.”

His gaze hardened. “Didn’t you hear what I said before? Your heart stopped on that trail, Haley. Healing you drained me. I needed you here, where I could keep an eye on you while I recharged enough to finish your healing.”

A tiny bit of heat teased the back of her neck at the sound of her name on his lips. As soon as it registered, she looked down, confusion swamping her.

Why should him saying her name provoke that kind of response? She didn’t even like him.

Her gaze fell on their joined hands. The heat rose higher.

His own gaze followed the direction hers had taken. Abruptly, he released her hand, almost as if he hadn’t realized he held it. He cleared his throat. “We should finish up. Then I can take you home.”

“Finish up?”

“With your healing.” He fished around in his breast pocket, then pulled out a penlight and snapped it on. “Look right here,” he said, tapping the bridge of his nose.

Again, his tone compelled obedience. She focused on the thick scar that marred his nose. How had he gotten it? And all the others?

“You have a concussion,” he murmured, flashing the light into her eyes, then moving it down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. He switched from one eye to the other, moving the beam in and out of her line of sight. The ache in her head throbbed to life once more.

Nausea surged, and she closed her eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered.

There was a clicking sound, followed by the rustle of cloth. “Don’t be,” he said. “It’s normal.”

She forced her eyes open. His head was bent, and he was rolling the cuffs of his coat above his wrists. When he finished, he leaned forward and slid both hands into her hair.

Every nerve ending in her body sprang to attention. He was so close she could see the black shadow of stubble on his cheeks. So close the underlying structure of his face was apparent—the square jaw, the straight nose, the firm but sensual mouth.

Inches away, his scars should have been more obvious. Yet they weren’t. Instead, it was as if she was suddenly able to see beyond them. Like she’d been staring at a map before and now someone had brought it to her face, allowing her to get a glimpse of something deeper than grids and lines.

“Deep breath,” he murmured. “This is delicate work.”

A beat of anxiety thrummed in her chest. “Will it hurt?”

His palms warmed, and the air grew heavy—like ozone gathering before a thunderstorm. Even as his gaze became intense, his voice was soft. “No. You should only feel heat.”

Heat. Yes, that’s what she felt. It was like the sun had come out and blasted the full force of its rays on the sides of her head.

His eye closed, and a frown formed between his brows, pulling them low. The scar over his nose went from pink to white, as if it was strained.

She took a deep breath and held it. Tension built. For a second, it seemed like the walls contracted. Her heart raced.

He bit his lower lip, the edge of a blunt, white tooth pressed deep into his flesh. His frown deepened, and he let out a low moan.

Her breath hitched. Now the sun was everywhere. Her nipples tightened.

What the . . .? She jerked against the bed.

“Don’t.” Bard’s voice came out as a half growl.

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