Page 176 of California Wild

It wasn’t a dream. He was here.

The clock’s red digits glowed from the nightstand: 3:12 a.m.

She turned before she could stop herself, too fast, knocking his hand from her body as she shifted to face him. The sheets tangled at her hips, and her body jolted with the sudden rush of movement—but she didn’t care.

Because he was there.

Jesse.

Lying next to her. Shirtless. In nothing but black boxers, his chest golden in the moonlight, curls damp and sticking to his forehead like he’d run through a storm.

He looked like something half-wild, half-ruined—and all hers.

His gaze met hers immediately, eyes dark and open. No shields. No mask. Just Jesse.

Raw.

Quiet.

Watching her like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

And then—her breath caught.

The gauze.

Just below his ribs, half-shadowed under the moonlight, a clean white bandage. Neatly wrapped. Tight.

A fresh wound.

She inhaled sharply. “You’re hurt.”

He swallowed. “It’s not bad.”

“Jesse…”

“I cleaned up in your bathroom.”

The words were so casual, so goddamn normal, they hit like a gut punch.

Her eyes traced the bandage, the curve of his side. She saw it now—the way his body shifted ever so slightly, the careful way he was breathing. Protecting the injury. Protecting himself.

Her fingers moved toward him on instinct, but she pulled them back before they could touch. Before they could betray her.

“What happened?” Her voice cracked.

Jesse didn’t answer.

“Don’t lie to me,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

He reached for her hand—slow, cautious—but she pulled back.

His face tightened.

“I was on my way to you,” he said. “I ran into some trouble.”

Her stomach dropped. “What kind of trouble?”

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