Thomas had never been carried down a mountain at a fast-paced trot, with a broken leg and a gunshot wound jarring horribly at every step—and he sincerely hoped he never would be.
He looked around the room for a place to leave the clothes he’d brought for her—he’d let her continue to sleep while he hunted down a shower—and he saw that the tray table that swung over the bed was filled with bags and empty take-out containers from a high-end steakhouse. Even the remains of the food—baked potato skins and a small piece of what looked like a very nice filet—smelled delicious. The hospital cafeteria cheeseburger that he’d made sure was sent up to her was—rightfully—untouched.
Thomas set the extra set of clothes on the end of the bed, and quietly turned to leave.
“Hey.”
Thomas turned back to see Tasha stirring.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was trying not to wake you.”
“No, I wasn’t sleeping—well, I think maybe I was, but... I was waiting for you,” Tasha told him, covering a yawn. But then she glanced pointedly at the open door, where the guards were positioned within earshot. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Ted yet,” she said, sotto voce.
Okay. That was not great news in terms of silencing the weirdness and the squirrelly voices in his head. Time to carefully watch his words. And no grabbing her and kissing the shit out of her, as much as he wanted to.
Instead Thomas pointed toward the bed. “I brought you some clean clothes.”
“Oh,” she said. “Thank you, but...” As she threw off the blankets and stood up, he saw that she’d already changed out of the grimy, battered jeans and sweater she’d had on for the past four days. She now wore a thick, warm-looking turquoise turtleneck over dark denim jeans, expensive-looking black boots on her feet. And was she wearing makeup...? She was. It was odd—he’d gotten so used to seeing her without any makeup on at all.
He flashed back to that late night on the tarmac in San Diego—they’d both stood there awkwardly like idiots then, too. Tonight, also like then, Tasha’s hair defied her attempts to control it. Some things apparently never changed.
Thomas forced a smile, unsettled by just how disappointed he was that she hadn’t immediately straightened things out with Ted. But he understood—he did. What was she supposed to say to the man? I can’t marry you because I love Thomas! Gotta go, feel better, bye! And when was she supposed to say that, while she ran alongside Ted as he was whisked into the hospital on a stretcher? Or maybe on the way to get an MRI? No way would she do that, not even to an allegedly fake boyfriend, and yet...
The weird, unsettled feeling he’d walked in here with was now blossoming. Her makeup and her new clothes weren’t helping. Plus, they were standing in a hospital room—a place where his discomfort levels always spiked.
He tried to make a joke about her sudden change in appearance, wanting to hear her bright laughter, hoping that would ground him. “Whoa. This hospital must have one hell of a gift shop.”
Tasha only smiled briefly—yeah, it probably would’ve helped if he’d made a joke that was actually funny.
“The queen correctly guessed that my carry-on didn’t survive, so she had her staff pick up all this.” She gestured toward the floor between the bed and the window, and he realized there was a huge collection of shopping bags parked there. Bags from a very upscale mall. “I knew Rio brought clothes for you, so I didn’t ask them to get you anything, but maybe I should’ve—”
“No,” he said quickly, holding up the clothes he was hoping to change into soon. “Nah, really, I’m good.”
“They definitely overdid it,” Tasha said, turning to look again at all the bags, “but it is nice to be wearing underwear again.” She reached out to touch the pants and shirt he’d brought her. “Thank you, though, for... thinking of me.”
For thinking of her.
“Yeah,” he said, unsettled even more by her guards-are-listening careful wording. “No, I didn’t realize...” But he should have. Realized. Her boyfriend—allegedly fake, but come on, look at her, how could Ted not be totally in love with her?—was royalty. His family had staff. And personal security teams. And private jets. Of course Tedric’s mom—the queen—would make sure Tasha had something fresh and clean to wear after abandoning her in the wilderness for nearly a week.
“Thank you for making sure I had food, too,” Tash said. She was standing there, hands clasped tightly together as if maybe this was unsettling for her, too. Like, she had to hold onto herself to keep from reaching for him.
Or, she’d changed her mind after seeing Ted in action, and she was nervous about Thomas fucking things up for her.
“Oh,” Thomas said, hating the part of his brain that had vomited up that gem. But hey, look where he was. A bead of sweat dripped down his back. Last time he’d spent this many hours in a hospital when he’d been neither a patient nor a paramedic, things had gone epically south to full-scale tragedy pretty damn fast. Could he blame that part of his brain for being ready to leap to red alert?
Meanwhile, his silence was dragging on. The guards in the hall were listening, and she’d just thanked him for the shitty hospital cafeteria cheeseburger that she didn’t eat. Say something, King. “Yeah, well, looks like you had that covered, too.” He cleared his throat. “I’m a little surprised the prince was feeling well enough to eat.”
I’m a little surprised you didn’t find time to talk to him while you were sharing an expensive steak dinner.
“Oh!” Tasha said. “No, Ted didn’t eat, he’s still completely out of it. He didn’t just break his leg, he really messed up the tendons and ligaments in his ankle. They’ve got him hooked up to an IV with copious painkillers, so he’s barely conscious.” She glanced over at the remains of the take-out meals. “I’m so sorry, are you starving?”
“Nah, the FBI team leader got us food,” he told her.
“That’s good. That second dish was supposed to be for you, but... I ate it.” She made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry. I was still so hungry and... You were gone a long time.”
That second steak had been for him? Okay, now he was feeling a little less weird. Or was he? She’d gotten him a fancy dinner, assuming, what? That he’d come up here and sit and eat it with her at the prince’s bedside? Or was he supposed to take it and go? God, he wanted to go, he wanted to get out of here, but he also, absolutely, didn’t want to leave without Tasha.
Unless she wanted him to go without her.
“The debrief took a while,” he told her, talking over the crazy in his head. “It was pretty thorough. We had both Uncle Navy and Queen Mom on conference call.”
Her eyes lit up at that. “So, thorough and noisy. I spoke to Alan again on the phone, just briefly. He’s pissed that they just left us there.”
“Yeah,” Thomas agreed. Pissed was putting it mildly. The admiral’s head had been on the verge of exploding.
“He told me casualties in LA and Tampa were much lower than they’d feared—thank God,” she continued. “Oh! And that Mia spoke to Christine. Everyone’s safe.”