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“Sex has clouded your brain.” I rested my forehead against his. “Think about the reality of what you’re giving up.”

“I have. Every single day since I met ye.” His exhale caressed my lips. “God sent ye to me, not to make me choose ye or Him. He sent ye so I could love ye through Him.”

I wanted to understand what that meant, and maybe I would have if I was a believer. “But—”

“Are we going to sit around and recite vagina monologues all day?” He kissed my lips and climbed to his feet. “Or are we going to scrounge up some grub and check on the bettys?”

I gave him an exasperated look, which he laughed at and turned away to tackle the nails on the door.

An hour later and our bellies stuffed with cinnamon Brioche French toast—Brioche! Seriously, the blond-haired cook with the missing finger knew his way around dough, a skillet, and a fire—we made our rounds with the women.

There wasn’t a room large enough to hold twelve dazed and thoroughly terrified patients. So Jesse, Roark, and I spread out between the three bedrooms, updating them on the years they’d missed.

Link’s presence at my side eased some of the fear, since all of the women but two had known him before. By midday, I’d recounted the details of the plague’s origin and the expectations of the healing process so many times Link and his men were able to take over and answer questions from the women who were still trying to wrap their foggy heads around their new world.

As I watched them interact, it became apparent that none of the men belonged to a specific woman. No brothers or husbands or boyfriends. Just as Link had said. Some might’ve been sexual partners before, but there weren’t defined couples. It was still too soon to imagine how territories would be established. The women could barely hold their heads up, let alone begin picking their mates.

Shea tended to their physical recovery with the grace of Mother Teresa. She darted from bed to bed, sometimes singing, always smiling, with a trail of male volunteers on her heels. Her muscle-boys listened to her instructions and jumped on her orders to fetch water, wash blankets, and empty vomit buckets. But their motives snaked a wary amount of suspicion through my gut.

After lunch, I caught her arm in the doorway of one of the bedrooms. “Can we talk privately for a sec?”

“Uh…” Her black curls smoothed into a ponytail high on her head, the hair tie pulling so tightly it stretched the skin on her face, making her eyes appear larger as they darted over the five women filling the beds and sleeping bags in the room. “Liliana needs aspirin. Brooke is demanding a vibrator, and—”

“Wait.” My head jerked back. “Did you say vibrator?”

She lowered her voice and nodded at the brunette writhing on the mattress across the room. “If I don’t strap that girl to the bed, she’s going to be pregnant by nightfall.”

Did that mean I’d passed on my overactive libido, not only to Shea, but to the whole damned house of women? Shit.

Shea squeezed my hand, her focus locked on the women, her mind likely racing through a list of things she wanted to get done. “Just tell me what you need to tell me.”

I glanced around the small bedroom, meeting the eyes of her three male nurses, who were feeding the women from cans of applesauce. There was—shit, I really struggled to remember everyone’s names—African American Beefcake with a trim goatee and two white guys, Sexpot with a tongue ring and Hottie with sleeved tattoos. As illogical as it sounded in my head, they were way too attractive to be trustworthy.

With my hand on her spine, I angled our backs to them and whispered, “I don’t trust them.”

She stuck her chin out, tilting her head slightly and giving me a huh? look.

I kept my voice quiet. “They’re following you around, you’re in here without protection, and—”

“Okay, stop.” She grabbed my arm and turned us to face them. “You.” She pointed at the black guy. “What did I tell you when you got all up in my personal space?”

He rubbed a hand over his neatly-cropped black hair. “That I smell…muscular?”

“No. Well, yeah, you do.” She put her fists on her hips. “But I’m referring to the part about touching me without asking?”

He held his hands up. “I didn’t touch you!”

“But if you did?”

“Oh.” He lowered his arms and lifted his chin. “That I won’t believe what you can do with a scalpel, not even while it’s happening.” He flashed her a gorgeous, panty-dropping smile.

“Breathtaking,” she whispered in my ear then straightened, giving him her own wide smile. “You, sir, are a breath of stolen air.”

Oh, brother. She was flirting with him? I couldn’t stop my grin.