Page 160 of The Wrong Husband

She leans over me.

My last image is of her bitten lips. My last sensation, the edges of her hair brushing across my face. Then darkness pulls me under.

White. Everything is so white. And it smells of antiseptic. Even before I’m fully conscious, I know I’m in the hospital. Then, I remember seeing her before I passed out, and my eyes snap open. I take in the white walls, the sunshine pouring in through the windows. The muted beeps indicating machines are monitoring my progress. Then, like a heat-seeking missile, my gaze locks onto her and doesn’t let go.

She’s in a chair next to the bed, her fingers woven through mine. And her head is cushioned on her other arm, which is on the bed next to me. Her thick, dark eyelashes form a fringed crescent over her cheeks. Her luscious lips are slightly parted. There are dark circles underneath her eyes.

She was there when the vehicle arrived back at camp. I’ve no doubt, she jumped into trauma specialist mode and took care of me. I couldn’t be in better hands. And then, she must have stayed up, keeping watch over me until I regained consciousness.

I don’t want to disturb her, but she must sense me watching her, for her eyelids lift. She looks up, and our gazes collide.

For a second she freezes, then she jerks upright. "You’re awake."

"I am." My voice comes out rough. My throat hurts. When I cough, she reaches for the drinking cup. Sliding her arm under my neck, she holds me, then urges me to drink from the straw. I draw the water in deeply, only stopping when the water runs out. The burn in my throat subsides somewhat.

She places the cup back on the side table, then plumps the pillows behind my head. When she’s satisfied that I’m comfortable, she sits back. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I’ve been shot?" I chuckle, then wince when my ribs ache.

"Take it easy. You took a bullet to your left flank. It missed your vital organs, but it did fracture two of your lower ribs. There was a lot of bleeding—we had to manage the hemorrhage and drain some blood from around your lung. The good news is, the bullet didn’t hit anything life-threatening. You’re stable now, but we’ll keep monitoring for any signs of infection or fluid buildup.”

She doesn’t meet my gaze as she reels off the diagnosis.

"You have been incredibly lucky." She swallows. "A few more millimeters either side, and you’d have been in critical condition. And thankfully, we had an air-ambulance on standby. We airlifted you to a hospital in Germany where they could operate on you."

"Germany?" I look around. "That’s where we are?"

"It was the closest place with all the amenities needed. Once we stabilized you, we made the call to move you."

She keeps her gaze fixed somewhere over my right shoulder. I realize then, this entire experience was even more difficult for her than I imagined.

"Hey, Fever, look at me," I say softly.

She shakes her head.

"Phe, come on. I’ve been dreaming of looking into your eyes and seeing those gorgeous hazel-green eyes of yours when I kiss you."

"You shouldn’t indulge in any such physical activity. Not until you’re completely better." Her voice is stern.

"Oh?" I quirk my head. "Taking advantage of the fact that you’re my doctor, are you?"

"You bet." Her eyes fill, but she blinks away the tears. "You were lucky. Infuriatingly lucky. You’d better focus on your recovery now."

I reach for her hand, half afraid she’ll pull away. To my relief, she doesn’t. "I know you’re upset with me."

She firms her lips.

My chest tightens. I gave her reason to worry—reason enough to fear the worst. I swore I'd never to go into the field again, but this last assignment dragged me into danger and put my life on the line.

I hurt her. Not on purpose, but the damage is done. I swallow around the thickness in my throat. "I’m sorry I couldn’t return to you earlier."

She knits her eyebrows. "You didn’t have a choice but to walk into that rebel camp and trade yourself for the hostages. Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of you. But as your wife, it’s my right to be upset that it was you who had to go in there and negotiate their release. And then, when you didn’t return"—she sets her jaw—"I had every right to be pissed off with you for the danger you put yourself in. And every right to be angry with you for being such a humanitarian. Even though it's one of the things I admire most about you.”

She brushes away her tears angrily.

"And when I saw you get shot…" She shakes her head. "It was… Horrible. I thought—" She chokes, then seems to find her voice. "I thought I'd lost you."

"I’m sorry. So sorry." I search her features. "I walked into the rebel camp, knowing I was putting myself in a vulnerable situation. But I knew it was the only way to get them to release the kids and the supplies that the charity so desperately needed. You were foremost in my thoughts. I knew it was going to be hell for you when news of my being taken prisoner reached you. But I was also confident I’d negotiate my way out with the insurgents. I was confident I’d get them to release me… I didn’t know how soon that was going to happen, but I kept the faith. In the end, it was much longer than I expected.