“Jasper,” she screamed in my ear.
I was crushing her. But I didn’t move.
“Winn!” Eloise shouted.
My hold on her only tightened, my frame molding around hers like I was trying to tuck her into my pocket.
At my movement, Eloise stilled. “Jas? Oh my God. You’re bleeding. You have to move. You have to get up. I need to get you help.”
Bleeding? The pain registered a moment later. The burning in my shoulder. The blood, soaking my shirt.
Fuck.
That motherfucker had tried to kill Eloise.
I shoved up, ignoring the screaming in my shoulder. The world tipped upside down, spinning until it had righted itself again.
“Are you hurt?” Safe behind the counter, I used my good arm to start checking every inch of her body.
Eloise scrambled to her knees, her hands going to the blood. Her blue eyes flooded. “Oh my God. Your shoulder. Winn!”
A moment later, Winn rounded the counter, her gun gripped in her hands.
“Blaze?” I asked.
Winn shook her head, her expression hard but grim. A cop doing what she’d been trained to do. To lock it down. To help others.
“Put pressure on it, Eloise.” Winn’s voice was calm. Firm. “Until an ambulance gets here, just keep pressure on it.”
Eloise nodded, the tears beginning to streak down her face as she pressed her hands to the hole in my shoulder. One side where the bullet had gone in. And the other where the bullet had come out.
I hissed, the pain beginning to blur the edges of my mind. “Are you okay?”
“He shot you.” Her voice trembled. “He shot you.”
But he hadn’t shot her.
I sagged against the counter, the crash coming.
Eloise was okay. She was okay.
If I had lost her today, if I hadn’t been fast enough . . .
Fuck, I could have lost her.
“I love you,” I whispered.
A sob escaped her mouth. Her hands clamped my shoulder so hard I winced, but with the tears streaming down her face, she didn’t notice. “Why did you do that?”
I tried to lift my arm but it wouldn’t work.
Why wouldn’t it work?
Oh, yeah. That motherfucker had shot me. Was Blaze dead?
“Jasper, look at me.” Eloise moved so close to my face that my eyes crossed. “Stay with me.”
“Where else would I be?”
She pressed her forehead to mine, then kissed my mouth, her salty tears lingering on my lips. “I love you. Don’t close your eyes.”
“Okay,” I murmured and closed my eyes. My body was going into shock. The adrenaline. The blood. “Love you, El.”
The world faded in and out. EMTs. An ambulance. Talia wearing her hospital scrubs. Pain. Getting shot hurt like a bitch. It all faded in and out with a blur.
Everything but Eloise.
Until I was in a hospital bed and she finally let me close my eyes.
When I woke up, minutes or hours later, darkness had settled beyond the windows. And asleep beside me in the narrow bed, my wife.
Cuddling.
I closed my eyes.
And pulled her closer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JASPER
Eloise held up a hand, stopping me from crossing the loft. Her gaze darted between me and my target.
The bed.
“Don’t you dare.”
“I’m fine.” I took a step, ready to rumple the covers she’d so crisply made while I’d been in the shower.
“Jasper,” she warned. “You’re not fine. You got shot.”
“Two weeks ago.”
Her mouth pursed in a thin line.
I took another step.
“I mean it. I’m not having sex with you. You’re hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.”
Our glares locked in the same standoff we’d been having for the past two days.
At my checkup earlier this week, Talia had given me the all clear for light activity. But apparently, Eloise considered sex too strenuous.
So far, I’d let her thwart my advances. But enough was enough. My body ached and it had nothing to do with my shoulder.
With two long strides, I closed the distance between us, wrapping my good arm around her shoulders, trapping her before she could get away.
Her mouth was open, her protest ready.
I stopped it by slamming my lips on hers, sliding my tongue inside. One lick and she melted.
She sank into the kiss, fluttering her tongue against my own before her arms wrapped around my waist.
Fucking finally. I kissed her until her lips were swollen. Until she had that pretty flush to her cheeks. Then I let her go, dropping my forehead to hers.
“See? I’m okay.”
“You got shot.”
“But you didn’t.”
She sagged against me, burrowing into my chest as she drew in a long inhale.
“I miss fucking my wife.”
“I miss you too. But . . . we’ll be late.”
I growled. “We’ll be fast.” After two weeks of not having her, there was no chance I’d last.
“Tonight,” she promised. “When we get back, you can have your way with me. As long as you promise to take it easy.”
“Fine by me. You can do all the work.”
It had been two excruciating weeks, and I was desperate for sex with Eloise. I needed that physical connection. A reminder that we were good. Alive.
I dropped my forehead to hers, the image of Blaze flashing in my mind. His face was one I’d never forget. I’d been seeing him in my nightmares for two weeks. In those dreams, I hadn’t made it in time. I’d wake up, panicked. Then I’d feel her against me, sleeping soundly, cuddled close.
Maybe one of these days I’d tell Foster about the dreams. Confess them to someone. As much as Eloise had become my safe haven, this was one story I’d keep from her. She had her own demons to fight from the shooting.
“I love you,” she murmured.
“Love you too.”
It was still new, hearing it. Saying it. But every time, those words sank a little deeper. Lingered a little longer. By the time we were old and gray, they’d be tattooed on my bones.
We stood together in the middle of the loft, holding tight for a few moments. Then she eased away. “We’d better go.”
“All right.” I kissed her hair, then followed her downstairs.
Eloise snagged her keys and the veggie tray we’d made earlier from the kitchen, then we headed outside, climbing in her car.
In the past two weeks, she hadn’t been out of my sight for more than minutes at a time. Otherwise, we’d been inseparable.
And since she wanted to go to dinner at the ranch tonight, I was riding shotgun. Not that I minded.
Over the past two weeks, the Edens had closed ranks.
Talia had required I stay at the hospital for a few days after the shooting, giving my wound a jumpstart on healing and to monitor it for any sign of infection. Eloise had stayed the entire time, setting up camp in my room. Her parents had been the ones to bring us clean clothes, food and whatever else we’d needed.
Since we’d come home to the A-frame, Anne had visited every day. She’d assigned herself chores, laundry, cleaning and cooking. Eloise had insisted her mom hadn’t needed to help, but Anne hadn’t listened. Personally, I was grateful for the cooking. No way Eloise would have let me in the kitchen and I’d never liked peanut butter and jelly.