Chapter 399
[ 553 words ]
Chapter 399:
She walked into the tiny, adjoining bathroom to get an ice pack from the small freezer. The logic was simple: provide practical help, end the interaction, get him out. But the moment she stepped inside, he was right behind her, a large shadow filling the doorway. He followed her into the cramped space, and the room, which was small to begin with, suddenly felt like it had shrunk by half.
The air became thick, charged with his presence.
She knelt to rummage through the first-aid supplies under the sink. A moment later, she felt his weight settle against her back. He leaned over her, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder, his left arm—clumsily held away to protect his broken fingers—draped loosely as he braced himself against the vanity. He was acting like an overgrown, attention-starved pet.
The complete disconnect between this clinging, needy man and the formidable Colonel who commanded armies was giving her vertigo.
“If you don’t move,” she warned, her voice tight as she located a flexible ice pack, “I’m going to take a picture of you like this and send it to the Pentagon.”
A low chuckle rumbled against her ear, his breath warm on her skin. “There’s no Pentagon here,” he murmured. “Only my wife.” He shifted, his voice taking on a wounded tone again. “My wife who hurt my hand and now refuses to take responsibility.”
She finally found the antiseptic spray and a roll of gauze. She stood up, turning to face him in the tight space, and shoved the items into his chest.
“Go sit on the sofa,” she ordered, her voice taking on the clipped, no-nonsense tone she used with uncooperative patients.
Jarrod looked down at the supplies in his hands, then up at her. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. He seemed to have genuinely expected her to refuse. He had been prepared for a longer campaign of attrition. Her quiet capitulation, her simple, efficient care, seemed to catch him off guard.
For once, he did as he was told. He walked out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the small, uncomfortable sofa.
D𝘰𝘸𝗇l𝗼a𝖽 P𝘋𝘍𝘴 𝖿𝗿e𝗲 о𝗻 g𝖺𝗹ո𝘰𝘷e𝗅𝗌.𝘤𝘰m
Caroline followed, kneeling on the floor in front of him. She took the ice pack and gently wrapped it around his bruised fingers. He winced, but didn’t pull away.
“You need to keep this iced for twenty-minute intervals,” she began, her voice a low, continuous murmur as she worked. “Don’t get it wet for the next few days. No heavy lifting. You’ll need to change the dressing every morning…”
The stream of clinical instructions, delivered from beneath a mask of detached annoyance, was a more profound confession of her concern than any apology.
Jarrod wasn’t listening to the words. He was watching her face, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the gentle, practiced movements of her hands. He was listening to the soft, worried cadence of her voice. The games were over. The strategic maneuvering was done. She could see the raw hunger in his eyes, but he seemed to be holding back a wave of want.
He’d had enough.
He yanked the ice pack off his hand and tossed it onto the floor. With his good hand—his right arm still securely locked in its splint against his torso—he reached out and caught her chin, his thumb stroking her lower lip with agonizing tenderness.
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