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"I'm wounded."

"Your lungs aren't."

His eyes narrowed, while mine probably sparkled. Then he inhaled before he could stop himself. His entire body went rigid beneath my hand.

There it was. A strange little thrill went through me. "You can smell me."

It wasn't a question, and Guy closed his eyes. "Robin."

I had never heard my name sound quite like that before.

Low. Strained.

Almost a warning.

My pulse jumped.

"What?"

His eyes opened.

"Finish the stitches. Please.”

I should have listened. Instead I leaned slightly closer. "That's not an answer."

He gave a soft sigh. “You already know the answer."

"Maybe I'd like to hear you say it."

His gaze dropped to my mouth and once again, warmth pulled in my belly traveling lower.

"You're playing a dangerous game."

I swallowed. "You rode into my forest alone. I think you lost the right to lecture me about dangerous games."

His eyes came back to mine. "Fair."

Neither of us moved. Then my hand shifted against his ribs. His breath caught. And suddenly I was painfully aware of every place we touched. My palm against his bare skin. My knee against the bed frame. His thigh inches from mine.His face close enough that I could see the darker ring around his irises.

Close enough that if I leaned forward…

I pushed the needle through his skin.

Guy hissed. "Christ, woman."

I smiled sweetly. "Smaller stitches, was it?"

That broke the tension that had started to take up way too much space in such a small cabin.

Barely.

Neither of us said another word about it. I finished the stitching, bound it with clean linen and a yarrow poultice, and got water into him. Then I pulled the one chair across the room, set it facing the bed just out of his reach, and sat down with my dagger across my knee. I was not threatening him. I simply had not decided anything yet, and I wanted him to know I had not decided.

"Start talking," I said.

"Charming bedside manner."

"William Locksley."