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breakfast. And to care for the sick. I helped care for my papa when he was suffering with cancer. Now eat every bite. You need your energy.”
    “Are you always so bossy?” He couldn’t deny the food looked delicious, even the stuffed tomato, which he’d never tried for breakfast.
    “I get my way, yes.”
    He liked how she said that—unapologetically. Feeling that dark and dangerous stirring low in his groin again, he took the fork she was holding out and began to eat. She watched him for a minute as if waiting for him to throw the plate against the wall like an angry toddler. When he didn’t, she nodded and went back into the kitchen. A minute later she returned with hot coffee and a small glass of juice.
    “Are you going to eat?” he asked.
    “I had breakfast before coming here.”
    “Jagger sent you?”
    “Well…” a pink flush climbed her high cheekbones, leaving a warm glow on her tawny skin, “I went by the station to find out how you’ve been. The hospital wouldn’t give me any details and my friends who are nurses didn’t know anything.”
    He stared at her, touched that she’d asked about him. That she’d visited the station to find out more.
    “Eat.”
    With a smile playing at the corners of his lips, he took a bite of buttery egg. The flavors melted on his tongue, and his stomach growled, demanding more. He polished off the whole egg while she told him about Jagger giving her his address and revealing that he was recovering alone.
    “You needed a day nurse at the very least. Don’t you realize what it takes to heal after you have a surgery like yours? Let alone that injury?”
    Yeah, he did. He just wasn’t going to admit it.
    “Are you done giving me lip service about my decisions? I realize I’m not in top shape, but I’ve been doing fine.”
    She eyed him, her mouth opened as if to disagree. Then she snapped her lips closed. “How is your wound? Does it open at all? Any seepage around the site?”
    “Jesus, can I eat or are we discussing seepage?” His tone of irritation was far from what he’d wanted to come out of him. But exhaustion and too many days of not feeling like himself was stealing most of his control.
    A smile crept over her face—a ray of sun cast over his dark days. “I’m sorry, Corey. I’ll let you eat in peace.”
    He wanted to tell her not to go, but she put the drinks on the coffee table within his reach and started revolving through his apartment, tidying things. As she did, she hummed the same tune.
    “Where are you from?” he asked between bites. All the bacon was gone and he almost wished for more but wouldn’t ask. She’d done enough.
    “The Dominican Republic. I expect you hear it in my voice.”
    “Yes, and in the song you’re humming.”
    She stopped before the sofa, her arms full of discarded bandages and empty water bottles. “It’s a song from my childhood. I woke with it in my head today. I’ve been thinking a lot about something my mother said to me the other day on the phone.”
    His gaze met hers. A sweet pressure on his heart made him lower the fork. “Oh yeah? What did she say?”
    Sarita blinked. “It’s nothing.” She was off again. He heard her rattling around in the kitchen. The water ran and he knew she was washing dishes. He picked at the stuffing of his tomato, trying to figure out what to do with a woman like Sarita invading his space.
    He liked it—too much. They were virtual strangers yet she’d come to his aid. What did he have to offer in return? Grouchy conversation and a mess left by a helpless man.
    The cheese and herb stuffing was delicious. He scarfed it down and sliced up the tomato too. When he’d polished off every bite as well as his juice and most of his coffee, Sarita returned.
    Her white top was damp where water must have splashed on her. He stared at the ring, aware of her dark skin showing through the damp fibers. What would it feel like to lift her top and feel that silky spot of skin? To taste