Page 5 of Stranded with the SEAL

“You need to get warm,” he said. He took off her coat and was surprised when he saw her shirt said “Bride” in sparkling gold letters. She barely looked old enough for marriage.

He’d seen shirts like that on women in bars, celebrating their bachelorette parties. He carefully slipped it up and over her head, noting the fresh bruises on the left side of her body where she must have landed. The dark peaks of her nipples were visible in his peripheral vision, but he kept his eyes trained on his hands as he pulled the blanket up to cover her. “I’ll go see if I can find you some clothes.”

Hawk rubbed his hand over his mouth as he made his way down the quickly darkening corridor. If she was wearing a bra, it was damn near see-through. Or she wasn’t wearing one at all. His body twitched to life and he chastised himself for the thought. She was hurt, nearly frozen to death, and she needed his help. Only a pervert would get hard from that.

Or a red-blooded man who hasn’t gotten laid in too long.

He shook his head, forcing his thoughts back in line.

The larger of two bedrooms had two dressers, one with a woman’s wardrobe, one with a man’s. He threw the wet clothes into a corner and pulled out a pair of pink long johns for her to wear before shucking off his own wet clothing with a sigh. His arms were heavy as he pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie.

He returned to the living room and sat gently on the edge of the couch. He began to examine her head injury.

She recoiled. “Ouch.”

He looked at her face, her eyes still closed, and a wave of protectiveness swept through him. “Can you hear me, sweetie?”

“Mmm hmm.”

She was responding to him. That was good. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold.”

“Is that it?”

“My head hurts.”

“I know. I need to look at that, okay?”

“And my fingers hurt.”

He pulled her hands out from under the covers, finding a diamond engagement ring on her left ring finger. The hand was swelling, and he fingered a dark bruise on her wrist, his brows coming together in concern. Gently, he placed her hand in his, and a tingle ran up his arm when his palm brushed hers.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you can,” he said.

She grabbed on to him, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Good.” He turned her wrist backwards, his eye catching another bruise, this one high on her arm and the size and color of a purple grape. The hair on the back of his neck went up and he frowned, lifting her arm and looking for the bruise’s telltale companions.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t think your wrist is broken,” he evaded.

There. Three matching grape bruises on the other side of her arm. The accident hadn’t caused them. Someone hurt her before he did, and the knowledge curdled in his stomach as his eyes went back to the rock on her wedding finger. Odds were good the man who’d given it to her was the same one who dug his fingers into the tender flesh of her arm.

It took some doing, but he managed to get the ring off and tucked it inside his pants pocket before focusing his attention on her head.

This time she didn’t pull away as he examined her. “It looks pretty superficial,” he said, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a concussion or worse where he couldn’t see.

“Are you a doctor?” she asked.

“No. Do you remember what happened?”

She made a little sound like a child crying. “I’m so cold.”

“I have warm clothes for you.”

Her eyes opened at that, and she moved to sit up, the blanket beginning to fall before she covered herself. “Where are my clothes?” she asked.