“Coming!” he called out, then instantly regretted it because that hurt. Note to self: don’t yell. Getting out of bed wasn’t too much of a problem, but remaining upright proved to be. It turned out his head didn’t feel quite attached, and he brought up his uncasted wrist to hold it in place as he made his way to the door like someone on a three-day drunk. He managed to unlock it, then sagged back against the wall, weary to his bones of the jackhammer going off inside his skull. Everything hurt—his wrist, the burns on his left shoulder, arm and chest…

The door creaked open. “Zach?”

Ah, he knew that voice. He knew what it sounded like when she was in the throes of an orgasm, panting, sobbing for breath. He knew what it sounded like when she was slowly drifting back to him, and his name rolled off her tongue as if maybe, just maybe, he were the best she’d ever had.

At the sight of him, she let out a little gasp. “Zach, you shouldn’t be up.”

“You rang.”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry.” And then her hands were on his waist, gently pulling him away from the wall so she could slip her shoulder beneath his good one and wrap an arm around him, supporting his weight. “Okay?” she asked.

He slung his arm around her and smiled into her face. “Okay.” She was wearing a tank top and capris, looking as if she was learning to fit into the beach world after all. Her hair had been pulled back as usual, neat and tidy as could be, so he tugged on her ponytail, just enough to have some strands slipping free. “There,” he said. “A little messy. I like you that way best.”

“Bed,” she said firmly.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She gave him a look. “What do they have you on?”

“Good stuff.”

“Sounds like it.” One arm was firmly around him, the other hand low on his abs. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she was actually completely supporting him, even though he was a foot taller and probably had seventy pounds on her.

As he’d always known, the little city girl was a helluva lot tougher than she looked.

At the top of the stairs, she kept moving to his bedroom. He was just dizzy and shaken enough to let her put him to bed, although he did attempt to pull her down with him. “You need liquids,” she said. “Water? Tea?”

“A kiss.”

“Both,” she decided, and vanished.

Uptight, stubborn as a mule, know-it-all, anal woman.

When she came back and set a tray on his nightstand, he struggled to open his eyes, surprised to find even that took effort. “I’m cold,” he said. “Possibly hypothermic.”

“I’ll get you a blanket.”