He didn’t even argue. Instead he ran the water, and helped me into it. While I was happily soaking, he stripped down himself and took a quick shower.

I leaned back in the tub and watched as he stepped out and toweled dry. A naked Wyatt Bloodsworth was a fine sight, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, with long, muscled legs and a very nice package. Even better, he knew how to use that package.

“Have you finished lolling around?” he asked.

I can loll with the best of them, but I had finished bathing, so I nodded and he helped me to stand, then steadied me to make certain I didn’t slip as I stepped out of the big tub. I could have dried myself one-handed, maybe a bit awkwardly, but he took the towel and gently wiped me down, then got my toiletries out of the duffel so I could tone and moisturize. Skin care is important, even when a murderer is after you.

I had a T-shirt to sleep in, but when I dug it out, I saw that no way was it going to go over the bulk of that huge bandage, not to mention I couldn’t lift my arm to put it on anyway.

“I’ll get one of my shirts,” Wyatt said, and disappeared into the big walk-in closet that opened off the bedroom. He came back with a button-up white dress shirt, and gently worked the sleeve up over my arm. The shirt hung halfway down my thighs, and the shoulder seams drooped down my arms. He had to put three turns into the cuffs before my hands poked out. I turned in front of the mirror and checked out the fit. I just love the way men’s shirts look on women.

“Yes, you look hot,” he said, smiling. He slipped his hand under the shirt and rested it on my bare butt. “If you’re a good girl for the rest of the night, tomorrow I’ll kiss your neck and make you happy.”

“No neck kissing. Remember our deal. We aren’t having sex again.”

“That’s your deal, not mine.” Then he picked me up and took me to bed. He settled me between the covers of the king-size bed, I rolled onto my right side, and it was Lights Out, Blair.

I woke some hours later shivering with cold, hurting, and generally miserable. I couldn’t get comfortable no matter how I squirmed. Wyatt woke and stretched to turn on the lamp, and mellow light flooded the room. “What’s wrong?” he asked, putting his hand on my face. “Ah.”

“Ah, what?” I asked fretfully as he got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.

He came back with a glass of water and two tablets. “You’re feverish. The doctor said you probably would be. Take these; then I’ll get another pain pill for you.”

I sat up to take the two tablets, then huddled under the covers until he came back with the other pill. After I took it, he turned out the light and got back into bed, cuddling me close and sharing his body warmth with me. I pressed my nose against his shoulder, inhaling the heat and scent, and my heart turned over. No doubt about it: he cranked my tractor. I could probably be near death and he’d still turn me on.

I was still too cold and uncomfortable to go back to sleep, so I decided I might as well talk.

“Why did you get divorced?”

“I wondered when you’d get around to that,” he observed in a lazy tone.

“Do you mind talking about it? Just until I get sleepy?”

“No, it’s no big deal. She filed for divorce the day I quit pro ball. She thought I was crazy to walk out on millions of dollars to be a cop.”

“Not many people would disagree with her.”

“Do you?”

“Well, see, I’m from your hometown, so I’ve read the articles in the newspaper and I know that being a cop was what you always wanted, that you majored in criminal justice in college. I would have expected it. She was surprised, I take it?”

“Big-time. I don’t blame her. She signed on to be the wife of a pro football player, with the money and the glamour, not the wife of a cop, with never enough money and never knowing if he’s going to come home or die on the job.”

“You didn’t talk about the future before you got married? What you wanted?”

He snorted. “I was twenty-one when we got married; she was twenty. At that age, the future is something that happens in five minutes, not five years. Throw in rioting hormones, and there you go, one divorce in the making. It just took us a couple of years to get there. She was a good kid, but we wanted different things out of life.”

“But everyone knows-everyone assumes-you made millions while you were playing ball. Wasn’t that enough?”

“I did make millions-I had four of them when I quit, to be exact. That didn’t exactly turn me into Donald Trump, but it was enough to turn things around for the family. I took care of all the repairs and renovations on Mom’s home, set up college funds for my sister’s kids, bought this place and remodeled it, then invested the rest. There wasn’t a huge amount left, but if I can leave it untouched until I retire, it should give me a comfortable retirement. I took a hit when the stock market bottomed out five, six years ago, but my stocks have come back all the way, so things look okay.”

I yawned and settled my head more comfortably on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you buy a smaller place? One that didn’t need so much work?”

“I really like the location, and I thought it would be a good house someday for a family.”

“You want a family?” I was a little startled. That usually isn’t something you hear a bachelor say.

“Sure. I’ll get married again someday, and two or three kids would be nice. What about you?”

The bottom dropped out of my stomach, and it was a moment before I realized that wasn’t a very offhand proposal. The pain medication must be kicking in, if I was getting that punchy. “Sure, I want to get married again,” I said sleepily. “And have a munchkin. I have the perfect setup. I could take a baby with me to work, because it’s my business and it’s an informal, relaxed setting. There’s music, no television, and lots of adult supervision. What could be better?”

“You have it all planned out, huh?”

“Well, no. I’m neither married nor pregnant, so everything is still hypothetical. And I’m flexible. If circumstances change, I’ll adjust.”

He said something else, but I was in the middle of another yawn and missed it. “What?” I asked when I could talk.

“Never mind.” He kissed my temple. “You’re fading fast. I thought it would take the pill half an hour or so to work.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I mumbled. “Accumulative effect.” He was the reason I hadn’t had much sleep the night before, because he kept waking me every couple of hours to have sex. My toes curled at the memory, and for a moment I flashed to how it felt when his big body settled on mine. Wow. I definitely wasn’t cold now.

I wanted to climb on top of him and take care of matters, but I’d told him no sex, so I couldn’t violate my own edict. Probably I should have put on underwear before getting in bed with him, though, because of course the shirt had ridden up to my waist. That’s what shirts do when you sleep in them. He’d been very gentlemanly, not feeling me up or anything, but that was only because I was hurt. I expected that would change, because being a gentleman was probably a strain for him. Not that he didn’t have great manners, because he did, but his instincts were aggressive and competitive. That was what had made him such a good athlete. Besides the physical ability, he had that ruthless drive to come out on top. I wondered how long he would be considerate because of my arm.

I went to sleep on that thought, and found out the answer around six in the morning when he gently turned me on my back and settled between my legs. I was barely awake when he started, but wide awake when he finished. He was careful with my arm, but ruthless in his attack on my neck.