Page 82 of Fast Vengeance

She got a warm washcloth and a towel from the washroom and came back to him. This was stolen time they shouldn’t have had together. She wanted to milk every second of it for all it was worth.

Careful not to wake him, she started on his face, gently washing the blood from his cheeks and chin. Down his throat where his pulse beat slow and steady.

When she reached his chest, he stirred. She froze, the washcloth poised an inch above his skin. He turned his head toward her slightly, his left eye opening a millimeter or two. “Sponge bath time?” he rasped out, his voice hopeful.

She laughed softly. “Only if you behave. Sorry I woke you.”

“No. I wouldn’t want to sleep through this.”

With a wry grin she resumed cleaning him, using light pressure over his bruises. “I wish I could kiss each of these better.”

“I’m down with that. Couldn’t hurt to try.”

She bent and touched her lips to the welt at the top of his left pec, then raised her head to look at him. “How’s that. Any better?”

He pursed his lips, his brow furrowing. “Not sure. Do it again.”

She did. Twice. And added a few kisses to a neighboring welt for good measure. She looked up. “Well?”

“Think it’s working. Keep going.”

Smiling now, she did, working her way across his chest with light kisses as she washed the rest of the blood away. “There.” Easing up, she pressed her lips to his and sat back. “How do you feel?” she asked, serious this time.

“I’m okay.”

It broke her heart how strong he was. “Are the pain meds still working?”

“Not really.”

“Your ribs bothering you the most?”

“And my right shoulder. Freezing’s starting to wear off on my face, too.” He wiggled his nose around.

“Stop that.”

“It’s itchy.”

“Where?”

“The tip.”

She carefully scratched it.

“Oh, yeah, that’s good,” he groaned. “And the left side of my neck, too.”

She scratched that one too. “You’re high maintenance.”

He laughed, then winced. “Nope. No laughing.”

“Sorry.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead, used the cloth on a streak of dried blood there. “I’ll wash your hair later. You hungry now? Thirsty?”

“Yeah, both.”

He couldn’t use his right arm and shouldn’t be moving the left one either until the orthopedic surgeon had checked everything over. “Hang on.” She grabbed the cup of water from the little stand beside the bed, angled the straw into his mouth. “Your options for breakfast are some cut up fruit, scrambled eggs, and a piece of toast. What do you feel like?”

“All of it.”

She forked up some fruit. “Here’s some pineapple.”

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