"You can tell us later," I whispered, putting my hand on his back, while Haven handed him a wad of Kleenex. It was too much, making him relive it so soon.

"Thanks," Jack said gruffly after a minute, blowing his nose and letting out a sigh.

"Here you are." A strident, accusatory voice came from the doorway, and we all looked up to behold a stout, redhaired nurse with a ruddy complexion, pushing an empty wheelchair into the waiting room. "Mr. Travis, why did you run off like that? I've been looking for you.'

"I took a break," Jack said sheepishly.

The nurse scowled. "That's the last break you'll get for a while— you're getting a new IV needle put in, and you're going for your MRI, and I may think up some extra tests to pay you back for scaring me half to death. Disappearing like that. . ."

"I completely agree," I said, urging Jack to stand. "Take him. And keep an eye on him."

Jack shot me a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder as he shuffled to the wheelchair.

The nurse stared incredulously at his scrub pants and T-shirt. "Where did you get those?" she demanded.

"Not telling," he muttered.

"Mr. Travis, you need to stay in your hospital gown until we're finished with all your tests."

"Bet you'd like that," Jack retorted, "me wandering bare-assed around the hospital."

"With all the backsides I've seen, Mr. Travis, I doubt I'd be impressed."

"I don't know," he said reflectively, easing into the wheelchair. "Mine's pretty good."

The nurse wheeled him around and pushed him through the doorway while they began to trade insults.

TWENTY-THREE

After jack's tests were finished, the hospital kept him for six hours of observation. After that, the nurse promised, he could go home. They let him shower and wait in a private suite, one of their VIP rooms. It was decorated with maroon wallpaper and a mirror with an ornate gold frame, and a TV housed in a Victorian armoire.

"This looks like a bordello," I said.

Jack irritably flipped his IV lines so they didn't catch on the bed rail. One of the nurses had detached him from the IV long enough to let him take a shower, and then she'd hooked him up again despite his protests. "I want this needle out of my hand. And I want to know what the hell's going on with Joe. And I've got a bitch of a headache, and my arm hurts."

"Why don't you take one of those pain pills they keep trying to give you?" I asked gently.

"I don't want to be out of it, in case there's news about Joe." He flipped through the TV channels. "Don't let me fall asleep."

"Okay," I murmured, standing beside him. I reached out to stroke his clean, damp hair, letting my fingernails lightly scratch his scalp.

Jack sighed and blinked. "That feels good."

I continued to sift through his hair, scratching gently as if he were a big cat. Not two minutes later, Jack was completely out.

He didn't move for four hours, not even when I periodically smoothed more salve onto his lips, or when the nurse came in to change the IV bag and to check the monitor readouts. And I sat and watched him the entire time, half-afraid I was dreaming. I wondered how I had fallen so deeply in love with a man I had known for such a short time. It seemed my heart had been set on full throttle.

By the time Jack finally woke, I was able to tell him that his brother was out of surgery, and was in stable condition. In light of Joe's age and health, the doctor said, he had a good chance of recovery without complications.

Overcome with relief, Jack was unusually quiet as we went through the discharge process, signing a stack of forms and receiving a folder filled with burn-care instructions and prescriptions. He had dressed in a pair of jeans and shirt Gage had gotten for him, and then Hardy drove us to 1800 Main. After dropping us off there, Hardy would return to Garner to wait with Haven, who wanted to stay in the ICU with Joe for a while.

Jack's quietness persisted as we went up to his apartment. Despite the rest he'd gotten at the hospital, I knew he was still exhausted. It was half-past midnight, the building hushed, the elevator beep piercing the stillness.

We entered the apartment, and I closed the door. Jack seemed dazed as he glanced at his surroundings, as if he'd never been there before. Feeling the need to comfort him, I went up behind him and slid my arms around his waist. "What can I do?" I asked softly. I felt the rhythm of his breathing, faster than I'd expected. His body was tense, every muscle knotted.

He turned and stared into my eyes. Until then I'd never seen Jack, so eternally self-assured, look so lost and uncertain. Wanting to comfort him, I stood on my toes and brought my mouth to his. The kiss was off-center at first, but he gripped the back of my neck in one hand, and slid the other low on my hips, pressing me against him. His mouth was hot, urgent, tasting of salt and need.

Breaking off the kiss, Jack took my hand and pulled me to the dark bedroom. Panting, he tugged at my clothes with a frenzy he had never shown before.

"Jack," I said in concern, "we can wait until—"

"Now." His voice was strained. "I need you now." He tore at his own shirt, flinching as it caught at the burn wrap.

"Yes. All right." I was afraid he might hurt himself. "Go slowly, Jack. Please—"

"Can't," he muttered, reaching for the waist of my jeans, fumbling in his roughness.

"Let me help," I whispered, but he shoved my hands aside and dragged me to the bed. His self-control had vanished, eroded by exhaustion and emotion. My jeans and panties were stripped away and tossed to the floor. Kneeing my thighs apart, Jack lowered between them. I lifted willingly, opening to him, both of us intent on one goal.