Christina Skye - Code Name - Baby

“We can discuss it later. Let’s get your power back on first.”

She shoved against him, her body brushing him from knee to chest. When she turned her head, her lips were only inches away.

Concentration deserted Wolfe for a moment. With an effort he managed to focus again. “Where’s your fuse box?” he asked gruffly. He sure as hell knew where his was.

She didn’t answer, her cheeks touched with color as he backed out of reach.

“Well?”

“Beside the kitchen door.” Her voice was hoarse. “I’ll go outside and check.”

“Hold on. Let me take a look first.”

She turned slowly, her face pale in the half shadows. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Wolfe shrugged. “It never pays to take chances. Trace should have taught you that.” Taking her arm, he steered her toward the far side of the kitchen, away from all the broken glass. “I’ll go out this way.”

“You still remember your way around after all this time?”

“I remember a lot of things.” Most of them were bad, but Wolfe didn’t mention that. “What’s with the body I feel against my leg?” She’d definitely expect him to be curious about her four dogs.

“That’s probably Baby. She has to get her nose right in the middle of everything.”

“Baby?” Wolfe managed to sound puzzled.

“The four-legged kind. Shine that light down here.” Crouching near the door, Kit was instantly surrounded by eager, panting dogs. “Meet my newest pupils.”

Wolfe ran his light from dog to dog, pretending to be surprised. “Four of them? You never do anything by half, do you?”

Kit smoothed Diesel’s fur. “I’m a sucker for a beautiful pair of eyes.”

“I’m a leg man myself.” Wolfe cleared his throat as the penlight flashed on her long, slender thighs.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“I told you, Trace asked me to—”

“You never could lie to me, Wolfe.” Kit jerked down her nightshirt as she walked to the side door. “The fuses are out here, by the way.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Wolfe cut in front of her and checked the darkness. “Looks quiet enough.” When he glanced down, the dogs were right beside him, their noses pressed against the glass door. “Back, you guys.”

“Down,” Kit said quietly.

Instantly, all four dogs were on the floor, motionless.

“Stay.”

Wolfe raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. You and the dogs had better stay inside just the same.” As he held up the penlight, his other hand edged to the pistol hidden at the small of his back. “How far to that fuse box?”

“About six feet. It’s just above the power meter on your right.”

Wolfe opened the door and listened. Nothing moved. He felt no hint of Cruz or any other intruders. Silently, he followed the wall to the fuse box. “Circuits have been reset. Hold on,” he called.

A moment later, light flooded from the windows. He closed the box and turned to find Kit staring at him. “Something wrong?”

“You look…different.”

As a welcome, it could have been worse, Wolfe thought. And it was true, he did look different—bigger, faster and harder. Now there was a coldness in his eyes that made people step out of his way.

Inside the door, he turned to face her, ready for more arguments. But she surprised him again, gripping his chin and turning his head up toward the light.

“You’re bleeding, you idiot. I’m going to kill Trace for not telling me you were coming.” Kit leaned closer, frowning. “What was that noise from the kitchen?”

“Someone broke in. He was alone, and I handled it.” Wolfe tried to pull free, uncomfortably aware of the heat triggered by contact with her body. “Forget about my face.” His cheek was swelling from the one blow Emmett had managed to land. “It’s nothing.”

But Kit moved closer, pressing him against the refrigerator door. “I’ll clean it better than you would.” She dodged under his arm, her long legs flashing in a way that left Wolfe’s throat dry. “Why didn’t you say something about it before?” she called.

“There wasn’t a lot of time for conversation. It’s just a scratch anyway.” Distracted by what felt like blood dripping into his eye, he let her shove him down into a chair beside the sink. “Kit, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up, Wolfe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly. He was trying not to notice the warm brush of her fingers, the pressure of her breast against his shoulder. He especially didn’t want to watch how her nightshirt rose over her thighs as she reached into cabinets and opened drawers. The sight of her was making his body respond in all the right ways, which happened to be the wrong ways.

“What are you staring at?”

Wolfe cleared his throat. “The cabinets. Ah…you painted them blue,” he said gruffly.

“I got tired of all that white.” Kit looked across the kitchen at the shattered glass. “He did a nice job on my window.” Her voice tightened. “Who was it?”

“Big guy, built like a fire hydrant. Ugly as the backside of a bull.”

“That’s Emmett. He’s convinced there’s treasure hidden here somewhere. He came back just like he said he would. I wish I could have seen his face when you stopped him.” She frowned at Wolfe. “Always being a hero. I see you’ve gotten your leg hurt as well as your face.”

“I’m fine.”

But she vanished into the bathroom and returned with a handful of boxes and bottles. “Take off your pants.”

“Kit, I don’t think—”

“Strip, Wolfe. Otherwise, I’ll cut them off you.”

“I’ll pass.”

“You think the sight of your naked butt is going to make me faint dead away?”

Wolfe felt his body tighten as she stared at the blood on his dark pants. “There’s no need to get upset.”

“Who’s upset? I’m just being practical, but you’re being the same as you always were. Mr. Tall, Dark and Silent, always in control.” He tried turning to look at her, but she held his face still. “That was your nickname in high school, didn’t you know?”

Somehow it didn’t surprise him. High school had been a blur of anger and confusion. The Russians could have invaded, for all he would have noticed. “Can’t say as I did.”

Kit finished cleaning the cut at his jaw, and then her gaze cut down to his leg. “Are you going to take your pants off or not?”

“Definitely not.”

Her eyes glinted as she went for his belt. They circled one another for a moment and Wolfe realized she wasn’t giving up. With a sigh he grabbed alcohol and cotton from the tray beside her on the counter, then removed a blood-soaked pad covering the wound just visible beneath his torn pants. He cleaned the area thoroughly, threaded a surgical needle, and went to work.

She stood watching, her hands locked at her sides.

Wolfe put in two precise stitches. As wounds went, this was only a scratch, so the sewing was no problem. He’d already shot himself up with antibiotics and covered the area with a gauze bandage, but he should have closed the wound sooner.

No time like the present.

With steady fingers he held the torn skin in place and shoved the needle home.

“You should take something for the pain.”

“Not necessary.” Wolfe put in another neat stitch.

Kit swallowed and looked away. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“Basic field medicine.” He shrugged. “No big deal.”

“I can see you don’t need me.” She pushed away from the counter, her body stiff. “I’ll get Trace’s bed ready.”

“Don’t go to any trouble. I can sleep down here on the couch.” Not that he’d do much actual sleeping.

“You’re sleeping in a bed, understood?” Her voice was tight. “It’s the least I can do.”