Read Online Expecting the Boss’s Baby by Christine Rimmer - Free Book Online Page A

And she knew how to do it.
    Grabbing the kit, she scrambled between the front seats again. When she got up there, she set the kit, open, on the passenger side.
    â€œZoe?” He sounded worried.
    â€œI’m right here. Keep the pressure against the wound. I know what I’m doing.”
    He made a low sound. A chuckle—or a groan? “Of course you do.”
    She smiled at that. Even now, with a gash the size of Texas on his forehead, he could manage to both tease and reassure her at the same time. She found the butterfly bandages and gazed at them longingly. If only they would do the trick.
    But the wound was too deep. Maybe they could help to hold the edges together while she stitched him up.
    She still wore her fake engagement ring. During the crash, the stone had scratched up the fingers to eitherside of it. She was clearly the lucky one. A few bruises, some scratches. A goose egg on the back of her head. No gash so deep the bone showed—and really, they were both lucky.
    Lucky simply to be alive and in one piece. She had to remember that.
    She yanked off the silly ring and shoved it into a pocket of her shorts. Then she rubbed disinfectant on her hands and laid out what she was going to need: the butterfly strips, tweezers, more disinfectant, sterile gloves, absorbable thread, scissors, the creepy little curved needle, the dressing she would use after, along with a tube of antibiotic ointment—and extra gauze. There was nothing to dull the pain of what she was about to do to him. Nothing stronger than acetaminophen—wait.
    There was codeine. She almost kissed the little bottle of pills before she screwed off the cap.
    â€œDax, did you get knocked out, even for a few seconds during the crash?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œI’m afraid to give you a serious pain killer if you’ve been unconscious.”
    â€œNo,” he said. “Something sharp flew by and sliced my head open, that’s all.”
    â€œExcellent.” She took his free hand, dropped two of the pills into his palm, and closed his lean fingers around them. “Here.”
    â€œWhat are they?”
    â€œCodeine.”
    â€œI don’t think so. It doesn’t hurt that much. Head wounds usually don’t.”
    If it didn’t hurt now, it would when she went to work on it. “Dax. Take the pills.”
    He blew out a breath, opened his mouth and tossed them in.
    â€œPerfect. Thank you.” She grabbed for one of the water bottles that had escaped the baggage area, and gave him a sip.
    â€œMore,” he said low. She let him have the bottle. He drank half of it, then handed it back. He was eyeing the other seat: the scissors, the needle, the pile of white gauze, all so carefully laid out. “You’re actually going to try and sew me up, huh?”
    â€œThat is the plan—and I’m going to do much more than try.” She cleaned her hands again, then put on the gloves. “Okay, let’s take another look…”
    The console between the seats was in her way, but she lifted one knee and braced it on his seat to get in close. He tried to scoot over a little, to give her room to work—and gasped.
    She frowned. “What? Your leg, too?”
    â€œMy ankle…” He hissed through his teeth, panting, getting through the pain. He reached toward it but got nowhere, with her practically on top of him. “I think it’s just a sprain.” He let his head drop to the seat rest again and swore low. “What a screwup. Bleeding all over the place—and I don’t think I can walk.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” she told him, not because it was true, but because there was nothing else to say. “The codeine will help with the pain and we’ll deal with the ankle once we take care of your head.”
    He grunted, tried a grin but didn’t quite make it. “Nurse Bravo, I’m at your mercy.”
    â€œHmm. Could this be the right