Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance(44)

“That’s such...bullshit!” Anger flashes in her eyes, turning lively green to fierce and wild. “All of this. Just like that proxy marriage in the will you forced me to sign.”

I hoist her leg onto my lap. She tries to pull it away, kicking slightly. I only hold on tighter.

“Easy. Keep it straight so I can put on your strips.”

She glares pure daggers.

It’s a showdown between us. Like two gun-slingers in the Old West, waiting for their moment to draw. Only, I’m not sure any steely-eyed cowboy ever had everything riding on some chick’s leg.

Swallowing harshly, she glances away and lets her leg relax.

It’s not much of a win, but I’ll take it as one for me. “It’s not bullshit, Bella. Not all of it. Neither is the proxy marriage, your grandpa’s will, or the prenup that’s also in the file. It says I don’t get one red cent of anything I’m not already owed in Jonah’s will. I’m not a thief, and I didn’t force you to sign anything.” Tearing open an alcohol wipe, I warn her quickly, “Hang on. This might sting.”

“You tricked me, Drake. Prenup or not, we have a problem. And you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Not the fuck now.

Ignoring her, I clean the gash on her leg and the area around it with the alcohol wipe. It’s stopped bleeding.

As long as the butterfly bandage stays on, there shouldn’t be much of a scar. That shouldn’t be any of my concern. To know her flawless skin isn’t marred.

Just like it’s none of my concern how she smells, or looks, or feels, or – goddamn.

I’ve got to stop doing this. Forcing those thoughts aside, I open up the bandage strips. “Would you have signed if I’d asked you to?”

“No way.” She looks at me like I’m insane as she brushes stray hair out of her eyes.

“Hold still.” Using the tweezers, I lift up one of the little strips and apply it. “That’s what Jonah predicted, you know. He said you were stubborn.”

“Stubborn? Ha, he was the stubborn one.”

“No arguing here – especially when it came to you.” I continue applying the strips, carefully spacing them, making sure they close the gap around the slash.

It’s just a damn injury, no different from any other I’ve mended in the past.

Her sun-kissed, silky skin is just like the skin of any man in my unit that I’d patched up.

The lies I keep telling myself just won’t ring true, no matter how many times I repeat them.

This is different from treating a fellow soldier. And that’s every last bit of the fucking problem.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” she says, thankfully changing the subject.

“I do. My unit was trained for every possible scenario.”

“What, your Army unit?”

“Yeah. Snipers get stranded in places where it’s hard to get out and there’s no opening for extraction.” I secure the last strip, set the tweezers on the table, and pick up the gauze pad and tape.

“Sniper? That’s what you were?”

“These strips have to stay dry for at least forty-eight hours,” I tell her, confirming nothing. “After that you can shower, but be careful. They’ll fall right off on their own within two weeks.”

“What did your unit do?” She glances at the strips and then lifts her leg off my lap, back to the floor. “Where’d you serve?”

“Did a lot of things. Iraq and Afghanistan. Syria. Everywhere they ever needed me.”

I really can’t tell her more. The missions we did were top secret. Few knew about them then, and no one needs to know about them now. “Need a bandage anywhere else before I put these away?”

“No. The rest are just scrapes.”

I put away the first aid kit, and returning to the kitchen, take the enchiladas I’d made earlier out of the fridge.

“Ready to bake?” she asks.

“Yep, I was just cleaning up earlier when I heard you holler.” I put the pan in the oven and walk over to clean off the counter.

“Were there any pictures of those men on the cameras?”

“A few. I sent them to Shelia. There’s a good shot of the license plate. It’s from South Dakota.” While putting the cheese and tortillas back in the fridge, I ask, “You need ice for that leg?”

“No. You’ve already done enough.”

Nodding, I head out of the kitchen, wondering which way she means those words.

No denying it, I’ve done plenty where Bella Reed’s concerned.

In less than forty hours, I’ve been her bodyguard, her medic, her shoulder to cry on, her chef, her 'helper,' and the goddamn husband she never wanted.

How’s that for introductions?

I’m getting a second wind, eager to get this shit over with so there’s no bad blood. It’s time she knew more. The red folder is still on Jonah’s desk. I grab it from his office and carry it back to the kitchen.

She looks up the second I step into the room, and her eyes narrow when she sees what I’m holding.

“Drake–”

“Hold up and listen. Please.”

With a heavy sigh, she crosses her arms, cautious eyes becoming a what-the-hell-ever glare.