“I’m aware of that fact,” Wolfe returned, unable to move away from Dana. An invisible force kept him in place, his muscles tight, his chest heated. He didn’t like himself at the moment, and that regret could later join his constant guilt when he regained control. The fact that he’d gotten Mal shot was yet more proof that everyone around him was in danger, and that definitely included the angry journalist trying to stare him down.

Her nostrils widened and she reached for the bottom of his T-shirt, her gaze daring.

He began to step back, and she tightened her hold, the soft pads of her fingers brushing his bare abs. A jolt shot through him, and he may have growled.

She sucked in air and her delicate jaw tightened. She yanked him toward her with the cotton and pulled it up, giving him no choice but to duck his head so she didn’t choke him. Oh, the stubborn woman was asking for it. What, he had no clue—but everything in him wanted to give it to her.

The shirt came over his head, and then she gentled her movements, making a sound of distress as his wound was revealed.

The soft noise pummeled straight to his heart and he shut his eyes against an unwanted wave of warmth. As soon as he made sure she was safe, he had to distance himself. Completely, even though she was a good friend. Temptation was a killer.

Then she held a towel to his arm. Pain centered him, and he took a deep breath, opening his eyes to survey the wound. “The bullet cut along my bicep but didn’t go in.”

“You need stitches.” She gulped and then looked up. Her eyes were the color of a spring meadow against her suddenly pale skin. She wavered.

He grasped her arm just as Mal kicked out the adjacent chair, and then he settled her down. “You’re okay.” Sometimes he forgot that not everyone was accustomed to blood and bruises. “Honest. I’m fine.” After making sure she was steady in the chair, he glanced down at his arm, which ached but wasn’t that bad. “A couple of stitches should do it.” He didn’t even need Mal’s help with that. “First, are you sure you don’t want to go to the doc, West?”

Mal nodded. “Just stitch me up, slap a bandage on me, and I’ll tell Pippa it’s no big deal.”

Oh. He was worried about frightening Pippa. Of course. “Stitches are stitches, so what’s the problem?” Why not have a doctor do it?

Mal swallowed and the blood on his throat cracked. “There’s a difference between having to go to the hospital and just having you bandage it. She won’t worry this way.”

Man, Wolfe really didn’t understand women. “You’re messing with your pretty looks,” he warned.