Not even a flicker. So . . . she pinched him, right on the ass. As it was a very fine, very taut ass, there wasn’t a lot to work with, but she managed.
He let out a grunt and she nearly collapsed over him in relief. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Now open those pretty gray eyes of yours and tell me once again how we’re going to be just fine.”
He groaned, sounding rough. “You actually talk more than I do, did you know that? How long was I out?”
“A few minutes.”
Still not opening his eyes, he gave a small smile. “You think my eyes are pretty. And you touched my ass. Admit it, you want me bad.”
Had she really told him his eyes were pretty? Maybe she’d hit her head too. “Why did you use yourself as a shield for me? That was so stupid.”
“Always save the person with the first aid kit.”
Leaning over him while trying to balance in the still-swaying gondola, she pulled back the shirt to check his head. Blood welled up. She quickly put it back.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he said quietly, sucking in a breath when she applied pressure.
She didn’t want to react to his statement, but she honestly couldn’t remember when anyone had done such a thing for her, stranger or otherwise. Then she realized his color had gone from tan to white to green, and she knew what that meant. “Breathe in through your nose. Hold for four seconds, then slowly let it out to fight the nausea.” She breathed with him to keep him on track. “For the record,” she said quietly, “I’d have been fine on my own.”
“Most people might say thank you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not most people. And I stand by my statement—it was a stupid move.” Once again, she lifted her blood-soaked shirt and inspected his gash. It was deep and he still hadn’t opened his eyes, pretty or not. “Are you dizzy?”
“I’m fine.”
Guy speak for yeah, he was dizzy as hell. At least this she knew how to deal with. Her hands had stopped shaking, her heart no longer pounded in her ears, but the truth was, they were still hanging, possibly by a thread, and in need of extraction.
Don’t think about it.
“It’s my mom’s fault,” he murmured.
Great, he was delirious. “Your mom?”
“She taught me to protect others, always.”
The blood was soaking through her shirt, so she deepened the pressure, making him wince. “Yeah? And how is that working out for you?”
“Great. And Jesus . . .” He tried to sit up, but she held him still. Or at least he gave her the illusion of letting her hold him still, because he was a big guy. As he lay on his side on the floor of the shuddering gondola—Nope, don’t think about that!—his long legs took up much of the room, and what little was left, his broad shoulders covered.
When she’d first noticed him sprawled out on the bench opposite of her as she’d boarded, she’d done her best to ignore him. That had been easy because she’d been distracted by her hatred of small, enclosed spaces. But it was impossible to ignore him now, on her knees and snugged into the curve of his long body, her face close to his as she checked his pulse again, his blood on her hands.
Closest you’ve been to a man in a long time, came the entirely inappropriate thought, which vanished at the shocking grinding sound of metal. She gasped and involuntarily clutched at his arm. “What was that?”
She expected him to come up with some smartass answer, but he didn’t speak at all. “No. Hell, no, don’t you dare. Stay with me.”
He groaned, and she almost burst into grateful tears. “What’s your name?” she demanded. “Mine’s Jane.”