Page 85 of Whatever Lola Wants

“We’d like to keep her overnight, for observation,” he began.

“I want to go home,” she said and turned pleading eyes on Simon. “Really, I’ll be?—"

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, cutting her off. “You’re staying,” he told her, his tone implacable. “You don’t want to take chances with a head injury, sweetheart.”

She closed her eyes on a sigh, too tired and in too much pain to fight. “Fine.”

“Good,” the doctor said. “Now that’s settled, let’s see about getting you stitched up.” He looked around with a frown. “I need a suture kit.”

He strode out, calling for a nurse.

Simon leaned over the gurney, brushing at her temple. “You’re covered in blood.”

She chuckled weakly. “Flirt.”

His lips curved in a smile. “With you? Always.”

She hitched in a breath. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He pressed his lips to her hand again. “Me too.”

He held her hand while they sewed her up, distracting her with the story of Ginger storming the club. Even through the laughter he could see the fatigue dragging at her, and the pain in her eyes every time she tried to move.

Having been through his share of accidents, he imagined every bump and bruise, no matter how minor, was making itself known.

When she shivered with cold, he nagged a nurse for extra blankets. When the doctor was finished stitching her up, he helped her dress in a set of scrubs; the doctor didn’t care what she wore, and he knew the clothes would make her feel better than a backless hospital gown.

He dampened some paper towels and, as gently as possible, cleaned the blood from her face and neck. Bruises were beginning to bloom, the result of her bouncing around in the back of the car like a pinball, and even though he was careful, he knew he hurt her.

They moved her to a room after a couple of hours, and he called Ginger to give her an update. He assured her he would stay with Lola until she was discharged, and thanked her again for coming to get him. At least, he thought with amusement, the crisis had pushed her past the embarrassment of stun gunning him mid-blowjob; he’d been certain she’d never look him in the eye again.

By the time he got back, they had her settled and had given her something for the worst of the pain. He knew they’d be in to wake her every few hours and check her vital signs, so they wouldn’t sedate her heavily enough for her to sleep undisturbed. Unfortunate, but the concussion protocol took priority over pain relief.

He spent the night in a chair by her bed. She grumped and groused at the nurses every time they came in to check her, and every time he soothed her back to sleep with soft kisses and murmured reassurances. She clung to his hand, reaching out silently for comfort even in sleep, and he gladly gave it.

When morning broke and her eyes opened, he was still sitting in the chair by the bed, holding her hand.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I feel ridiculous with you carrying me,” Lola groused, feeling like a recalcitrant child and doing her best to act like one.

Simon merely raised a brow and lifted her out of the back of the car. “Shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” she fired back, grasping onto the rudeness of his response like a lifeline; finally, something concrete to bitch about.

Simon stared resolutely ahead as he carried her across the sidewalk to her building. “Your leg is too sore to walk. You tried at the hospital and fell into the damn wall.”

Just because he was right was no reason to give in. “So? I’m a grown woman, and I’ll fall into walls if I want to.”

His harsh exhale was exasperated. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“No.” She gave up and laid her head on his shoulder. She managed a smile for Chet when he rushed to open the door for them, and could only be grateful that Simon didn’t pause to chat.

When the elevator doors closed them in, she tilted her head back to see his face. “I’m sorry.”

He looked down at her, amusement in his gleaming gold eyes. “For what? Being grumpy, or being a brat about it?”

“I guess being a brat. I can’t help being grumpy.”

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