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know how he could have endured that pain without anesthetics. She’d have been dead already.
    She was hesitant to stitch up any other wounds, even though she thought they might need it. He’d only been concerned with the one, and he was a man who’d obviously been through his fair share of fights before. She noticed then, as she looked across his bare chest and toned abdomen, the myriad of scars that crossed his skin.
    And the strange tattoos on his forearms that ran down to his fingers. Ones she was almost sure she’d seen before.
    Who was this guy? And what had really happened to him tonight?
    “Meli,” he said in a rasp, turning his head toward her.
    She used the ruined shirt in her hand to wipe the blood from his face as gently as she could as she bent over him. And out of nowhere, a wave of tenderness she couldn’t contain whipped through her as she looked down at this big, strong, hulking male who was so completely vulnerable to her right now.
    The emotion was completely out of place. She didn’t know him. Didn’t have any tie to him. And yet, she couldn’t have turned away from him if she’d tried.
    Maybe it was because she’d watched her grandmother die only months before. Then she’d been powerless to help. Now she wasn’t. As she studied his chiseled features, ran her fingertips over his silky eyebrows, she felt that flash of familiarity all over again.
    Then again, maybe it was something more.
    “Shh,” she said softly, shaking off the strange thought. “It’s over now.”
    He lifted a hand, as if in slow motion, and ran his fingers over the bare skin of her arm. A shudder ran down her spine, and electricity raced over her skin. “Towels,” he said weakly. “Lavender.”
    “I’ll get them,” she whispered. “Just lie still and breathe.”
    His hand dropped to the mattress as she turned and left the room. In the kitchen, she used tongs to lift the soaking washcloths from the steaming water, transferred them to a colander and squeezed out as much moisture as she could. While they cooled in the sink, she poured juice into a cup and dug through the cupboards until she found a box of bendy straws she’d bought for her grandmother, when she’d been too weak to lift a glass. She put everything she needed on a tray and took it back into the bedroom.
    She laid a damp rag over each of his wounds. Heflinched as the towels touched his tender skin, then sighed in what she could only describe as relief when each of his wounds were covered. Amazing. She’d always loved the scent of lavender, but who knew it could be so totally calming?
    She lifted his head with one hand and gave him a sip of the juice, then placed the glass on the side table as the soothing fragrance wafted through the room. Glancing down at his body, she realized his blood-soaked pants needed to come off, so she went to work cutting them from his legs as carefully as she could.
    It wasn’t easy. And after ten minutes with the scissors, making no progress whatsoever, she went into the garage and came back with wire cutters. The fabric—it was like nothing she’d ever felt before—sort of a cross between leather, superstrong vinyl and…Kevlar. But that didn’t make sense, did it? She looked closely as she pulled the garment free of his body. It was thick. As strong as steel. And he’d torn it with his bare hands? On closer examination she discovered the inside housed unusual holsters for tools—weapons?—in strange pockets she’d never seen in any pair of pants before.
    Okay, that was weird.
    She was about to open the first of the many holsters to see what was inside when she glanced back at her patient and realized…he wasn’t wearing underwear.
    A flush heated her skin as her eyes took in the sight of him there, splayed naked in front of her on the bed. Even beat to hell, bloodied and bruised, he was stunning. Strong roped muscles in his shoulders and arms and pecs, taut abs and trim hips, and lower…
    That flush turned to