Page 45 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
But it was different with Wilder—everything was. And picturinghimgoing commando scrambled my brains into a fluffy hormonal omeletrightat the time I should have been cutting cholesterol—and Wilder—from my diet completely.
“Um, sure. I’ll be right back… with that.”
I speed-walked from the room and went to the bedroom where I’d been sleeping. Not wanting to invade his privacy, I’d resisted opening his drawers. But now I had a legitimate excuse.
I quickly located the one that held t-shirts and the one that contained shorts and collected one of each to take to him.
In his top drawer I found a collection of mementos—some medals for military service, some coins from different countries, a couple of old baseball cards he must have saved from when we were kids.
And his wallet.
Looking around first, as if he was going to drag himself in there on his stomach and catch me, I opened it. Pretty normal stuff—ID, credit cards, a surprising amount of cash.
Hmmm. No condoms.Interesting.
From the top edge of one of the card slots peeked a dog-eared photo. I pulled it out to look at it and gasped.
This is mine.
It was a photo of Wilder and me and Hap from when we were young. I always carried it in my own wallet—for obvious reasons. I hadn’t even realized it was missing.
How had Wilder gotten it? Andwhydid he have it tucked inhiswallet?
Hap must have given it to him. He must have wanted Wilder to have the reminder of why exactly he was here—why he’d taken the job. His lifelong best friend had asked him to.
Their bond wasn’t the kind that was easily broken. It would take a lot to destroy a friendship like that—a fling with your best friend’s little sister for instance.
Yep, it’s time to go home.I’d nurse Wilder back to health, and then we’d leave.
When I returned to the living room, the fire was blazing. Wilder looked better. His face had more color and had relaxed, releasing some of the pain-tension it had held before.
Also, he was shirtless.
The large tattoo I’d noticed the other day on his shoulder after his workout was clearly visible now, illuminated by the blazing fire.
It was a skull with the tail of a rattlesnake in its mouth. Though the image was macabre, it was also beautiful. There was color—turquoise, even hints of pink in it.
Brushing the top of the skull was the tip of a feathered wing, which carried over to Wilder’s back where it stretched across and met another wing. I wondered what it all meant.
“Hey,” he said softly when he spotted me.
“Hey yourself.”
“You changed, too,” he observed. “Good. Don’t want to put the golden pipes at risk of pneumonia.”
“The famous Wilder Lowe sarcasm is alive and well. That has to be a good sign.”
The shirt and shorts he’d been wearing were balled up on the hearth, and the blanket was now across his lap.
His naked lap.
Stop it.The man was hurt. Even if that lap was suddenly interested in me, I’d just made the decision I wasn’t interested init. And that decision was firm.
Firm.I bet he’d besofirm, so hard, so—
No.I wasn’t here for that. I was Nurse Jessica now—efficient, impassive, kind but detached. And as soon as Wilder felt better, I’d tell him I wanted to leave the island and go back to my life.
I simplycouldn’tstay here with him any longer.
