When he got back into the room, she was still sleeping. Her red hair was a wild mass of curls on the pillow, surrounding a pale face marred by the exhaustion of pain. He’d had injuries like that and knew how much they hurt. Claire wasn’t a merc—she wasn’t even a soldier. She should never have to know that kind of pain. And feeling as weak as she was, she had still planned to go back to the house and take care of herself.

      He shook his head.

      She’d even admitted in the car that she had no intention of going to Belmont Manor so someone there could look over her. It was her place of employment, not her personal nursing staff, she’d said acerbically.

      His mouth twisted. She was too stubborn for her own good. Too independent. Though she hadn’t demurred even once when he said he was going to help her. Did that mean she didn’t mind depending on him, or that she knew arguing would do her no good? She was far from stupid, after all.

      The next twenty-four hours were hell on them both. She just wanted to sleep and hide from the pain in her head. However, he had to keep waking her up to check her responses, make her eat, and keep her hydrated with juice and water. Neither of them enjoyed the process.

      But finally, he allowed her to fall into a deep sleep, knowing the worst of the danger had passed. He took a shower, put on a pair of jockey shorts, and climbed into the bed to go to sleep himself.

      He woke up six hours later, instantly alert, but confused all the same. Soft, feminine warmth was draped across his chest, and Claire’s face rested right over his heart.

      How had she gotten there? From her boneless, well settled condition he figured she’d been there a while. Why hadn’t he woken up? No one had gotten the drop on him during sleep since his first year in the army when Nitro played a typical nighttime prank on a fellow recruit. It had only taken one time, and Hotwire had learned to sleep with a subconscious awareness of what was going on around him. So, how had he slept through Claire not only invading his personal space, but draping herself over him like a soft, warm, and very pleasant blanket?

      One of his arms was wrapped around her back and his other hand rested on the silky smoothness of her thigh. His morning boner tightened to the point of pain. This was bad.

      Carefully, with no intention of waking her, he began to extricate himself from her embrace before his libido convinced him to do something that would embarrass them both. However, the second he started to slide out from under her warmth, she woke up, jolting upward with a jerk and bringing her knee into painful contact with his balls.

      “Aaagh, Claire!”

      “Hotwire?” She stared at him like she’d never seen a man before. “What are you doing under me?”

      “Getting my nads decimated,” he ground out.

      Her brown eyes widened and she gasped. Then the offending knee moved back.

      When she went to sit up all the way, she ended up straddling his thigh and wincing with pain as she grabbed her head. “Oh, gosh…that hurts.”

      He couldn’t stand the pain in her eyes. “Lie back down.”

      She shook her head and then cried out. “Oh, that was stupid.”

      “Claire.”

      “I can’t lie back down. I’m on top of you.”

      “Apparently you slept there.”

      “I did?” she asked, sounding supremely shocked. “That’s not possible.”

      “I promise you, it is.”

      “But I’ve never slept on top of someone before.” Her eyes looked wild. “It must have been the painkillers. I’m not used to taking drugs of any kind.” She bit her lip. “I have to get off you, but if I move again, it’s going to hurt.”

      He reached out and holding her by the waist, lifted her off of him. Then, changing his hold on her, one hand on her waist and the other cradling her head, he lowered her to her back. “Is that better?”

      “Yes, thank you,” she replied primly and then bit her lip, her face contorting again.

      “What is it?”

      “I have to go to the bathroom. Badly.”

      He didn’t say anything, just picked her up and carried her to the en suite. His stealth movement training came in handy, allowing him to move quickly without jostling her. The way she held her thighs tightly together said it all.

      He stood her beside the commode. “Can you handle it from here?”

      She blushed, a fiery red. “Yes.”

      He left the door open, but absented himself so she would have a measure of privacy. His head was still reeling from the fact she’d managed to ensconce herself on top of him during the night without him noticing.

      She came out of the bathroom wearing the hotel robe over her little top and cotton panties, moving about an inch at a time. He swiftly crossed the room and picked her up to carry her back to the bed.

      “You’re really strong.” She didn’t say it like a come-on and he didn’t take it as such.

      “Comes with the territory.”

      Her small hand rested against his chest, sending totally inappropriate messages to his libido despite his brain’s warning that that wasn’t a come-on, either. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

      “My pleasure.” And as depraved as it made him feel to acknowledge it, because she was weak and wounded, he had to admit it really was pure pleasure to be carrying Claire like this.

      When they reached the bed, she clung to his neck instead of letting him lower her to the mattress. “I don’t want to lie down again.”

      “You need your rest.”

      “I’ve been in bed forever.”

      “Only about thirty hours, actually.”

      “That is forever. No one should have to stay in bed that long.”

      He just smiled, enjoying her crankiness.

      She pouted, her lower lip protruding in an expression both endearing and sexy. “I’m hungry.”

      “We’ll have to fix that, then.” He settled her on the suite’s sofa in the main room. “We can order lunch from room service.”

      She leaned against the sofa arm, looking pale but determined to remain upright. “Okay.”

      He grabbed the menu and skimmed it for something vegetarian for her. “Any preferences?”

      “I’m not a picky eater.”

      “Except the no-meat thing,” he said with a teasing smile.

      “That’s not being picky.”

      “What is it, then?”

      “Self-protection.”

      Considering what she’d told him about why she chose not to eat meat, he had to agree.

      He called down an order for them both before sitting in the armchair near Claire. “Why don’t we go over what happened Sunday morning?”