Page 57 of House of Cards

Ointment done, I carefully arrange the robe back over her body, and hold out the water bottle for her.

She doesn’t reach for it.

“You need to hydrate.”

“M’lord’s magic solution for everything isn’t it? Just add wat?—“

I bring the to her lips as she’s talking, tipping it against her lips until she’s forced to drink. She splutters like I just dunked her head in the toilet.

“Christ,” I growl, snatching the black cashmere blanket draped over the foot of the bed, before cocooning her in it.

It’s as much to warm her body out of the shock than to keep her shielded from me. She watches me with half-lidded eyes, mouth pursed, like she’s waiting for the punchline of this terribly drawn out joke her life’s become.

I say nothing, enjoying her silence.

But it’s her submission when I shift back against the padded velvet headrest, the way she doesn’t resist when I pull her into my lap…that shit gets me so hard I’m surprised she isn’t grumping about how uncomfortable her seat is.

“It really fucking hurts, Smith,” she murmurs.

I don’t tell her she’ll get used to it. Most women don’t.

“The ointment will help.”

She carefully lays her head against my chest, like she’s expecting me to push her away. When I place my palm on her temple, she curls up into a ball.

I’m glad she didn’t ask for painkillers. It might dull the pain, but it also dulls the high.

Does she feel heavy and numb, or light headed and insubstantial?

I want to ask her, but that might give her the false idea that I cared.

It takes a few moments for me to realize that Zoey’s breathing has evened out. That she’s no longer actively pressing into me, her body now relaxed.

Christ…it’s been years since a woman fell asleep in my arms.

Why did it have to be her?

Smith

Something tickles my face, dragging me from a deep sleep. I try to brush my fingers over my cheek, but my hand snags in someone’s hair. My body jerks awake, the haze of sleep I’d fallen into burning off as my hand drops back to my side.

Zoey’s nuzzled against my chest, snoring softly. The venomous little thing is quiet for once. I stare at her through lopsided glasses. Half of her is in focus, the other half blurred.

Judging from the darkness inside the suite, it’s been hours since I tended her wounds. Since she fell asleep in my lap.

Christ.

My eyes are stinging like hellfire, and there’s a dull ache behind my temples.

Missed lunch with Myles. Almost missed dinner, too.

I glance at Zoey again, sprawled without a care, as if she hasn’t unraveled my entire life in a couple of hours.

I can’t afford to fall sleep again.

Not here. Not with her.

Moving carefully so I don’t wake her, I slide Zoey off me. I pause at the side of the bed, working stiff shoulders, flexing sore hands. Peeling back the bandage to examine my wound. Already healed to the point where I don’t need a bandage anymore.