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I place a fresh white bandage over everything and tape that down, too.

“Done?” I ask, looking up at him.

He has his eyes closed.

“I think I need to lie down,” he grumbles.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” I stand up, slipping his arm over my shoulder again. His aftershave washes over me, his shirtless, gorgeous body wrapped around me. I clear my throat, trying to focus on helping him and nothing else.

I get Nestor to the side of the bed, and he sits down. Kicking his shoes off, he lets me pull the blankets back as he slips his legs beneath them, not caring to change. I think the less he moves right now, the better, anyway.

“Will you call me if you need anything?” I ask, standing awkwardly next to his bed.

“Actually, do you mind keeping an eye on me for a bit? I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Okay,” I say nervously.

“You can lie in bed, I’m sure you’re tired too.” He taps the bed next to himself.

I swallow hard, but nod.

To my surprise, as I lie down, Nestor wraps his arm around my back, pulling me towards him.

I roll onto my side and snuggle against his chest without a moment’s hesitation.

Nestor takes a slow, deep breath. “The painkillers are working,” he says with relief in his voice. “I’m already feeling better now that I’m relaxed.”

“That’s good.” My eyes are roaming his body again. The thick muscles of his biceps, the well-defined shape of his shoulders.

I reach out and touch a scar running from his collarbone down across his chest.

“What is this one?” I ask, almost a whisper.

“That one was a piece of shrapnel,” he says, his eyes closed but his brows raised for a moment.

“As in—shrapnel from abomb?” Every scar I ask about seems to get a worse answer than the one before.

“Mmhmm,” he nods sleepily.

I stare at the profile of his face. The perfect shape of his nose and jaw line, the shadow of stubble over his cheeks andchin, the thickness of his long lashes. I have a million questions on the tip of my tongue, but he looks exhausted. Sighing softly, I brush my hand over his cheek.

“Get some rest, Nestor. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He smiles, just a flicker across his face, because he’s already drifting off to sleep.

His breathing gets deeper, slower, and his chest moves smooth and even as it rises and falls.

I lift the blanket to peek at the bandages. There is no fresh blood seeping through them. I did a pretty good job with that whole thing. I’ve never done anything like that before, and clearly the bleeding has stopped, so that’s great.

Nestor is fast asleep, and suddenly there is no conversation to distract me from his arm wrapped around me and the smell of his skin, misted with cologne. The heat of his body soaks into me and I shift even closer to him, resting my cheek on his pec.

The accident flashes in my mind when I close my eyes and I wince.

Except, I remember what he did.

How he reached his arm out to protect me. How even as the car rolled he was more worried about me than himself. He was thinking of me in that terrifying moment when I could hardly think about anything.

My heart constricts.