Michael was pushing a room service cart to the table. He looked up when she returned to the bedroom. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and he remembered how silky it felt. Her legs were simply sensational, long and perfectly shaped. Her skin was soft and smooth. He knew because she’d had one leg draped over him most of the night. He remembered stroking her . . . Oh hell, he was at it again, conjuring up all sorts of inappropriate but thoroughly satisfying ways he wanted to make love to her. He really needed to get away from her before he completely lost his mind.
Halfway across the room she stopped. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” His voice was curt.
“Then why are you glaring at me?”
“I was thinking about something . . .”
“Anything I can help with?” she asked.
He laughed.
“You’re in a strange mood.”
She sat at the table and reached for a glass of orange juice, and he noticed drops of blood on her bandage. “Where’s the sack with the supplies to change your bandage?” he asked.
“In the bathroom on the counter, I think, or maybe on top of my bag.”
He found the sack, placed it on the table next to her, and sat down.
“Do you want some coffee?” he asked.
“No, thank you. I’ve tried to like coffee,” she remarked, “but it’s too bitter for me, no matter how much sugar I add. The lattes look so good with caramel and foam, but they taste awful. I’ve tried almost every combination.”
“If you’re going to drink coffee, you should learn how to drink it black. It’s an acquired taste.”
“Did you acquire a taste for it?”
“I had to. There were some days I needed it to stay alert.”
He didn’t go into detail. She assumed he was referring to his time with the SEALS, but she didn’t ask. He had turned away without an explanation.
Michael moved his chair closer to her, and while she ate yogurt and blueberries, he carefully removed her bandage. “You shouldn’t have gotten this wet,” he admonished.
Her shrug indicated she wasn’t concerned, as though her shower was more important than any other worry. Michael understood. He would have done the same thing. Washing away any traces of the blood from the shooting would have been his first priority, too.
He cleaned the area with the antiseptic she was given, then opened the package of gauze and tape.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. The injury was swollen and angry-looking.
“Yes.”
Her honesty made him smile. He was used to tough women, like his sisters, Jordan and Sidney, who could be bleeding to death and would swear their injuries didn’t hurt a bit. He liked the fact that Isabel told the truth.
“Want a Tylenol?”
“Yes, please.”
“Did you take your antibiotic?”
“Not yet.”
He got the Tylenol and one of the giant-size antibiotic pills, waited until she had swallowed both of them, and then finished wrapping the gauze around her upper arm. He tried to be gentle as he applied the tape to hold it in place.
“You’re doing a nice job,” she said. “Let me guess. After college and after law school you went to medical school, then specialized, then went into the Navy SEALS. Right?”
The dimple in her cheek reappeared and was interfering with his concentration. He laughed and shook his head. “Are you suggesting I’m an overachiever?”
“Ouch.”
He had pushed too hard on the tape. “Sorry,” he said. “Theo and Michelle are at Nathan’s Bay.
They got in yesterday. We’ll ask her to check your stitches.”
“She’s a surgeon, isn’t she?”
He nodded. The gauze was beginning to bunch up, so he undid his work and started over. Isabel watched him. “On second thought, you didn’t go to medical school,” she said when she saw the difficulty he was having.
It seemed the most natural thing for the two of them to discuss mundane topics. As they ate breakfast together, Isabel was surprised by how comfortable she was becoming with him. The only other men she had ever really been comfortable with from the moment she met them were Michael’s five brothers, Noah Clayborne, and Damon. None of them had the ability to make her crazy, though, like Michael did. He could make her want to kiss him and scream at him at the same time.
Did he think about kissing her? Doubtful, she thought. She was sure she wasn’t his type. He probably only went for women who had triple degrees and carried guns.