A blunt butter knife would be much more satisfying on my part.
The hard panes of his chest are bare, exposing more of him than I’ve ever seen. Dark lines ink down his shoulder and upper arm, catching my attention for a moment. His bulky frame is made up of pure strength and tense posture.
His gaze never leaves me as he takes slow strides to the refrigerator. One more glaring look passes my way before he opens the door. The bright light halos his bronze skin. It intensifies every scar slicing through his features. Pink scar tissue tears across his throat, piquing my curiosity about the deadly man before me even more. A fresh, open wound gouges through his left brow; probably from a match with Tylin. It makes my stomach twist looking at it.
“You should really tend to your wounds better.” I don’t say it but half of the thin lines cutting across his features would be insignificant details if he knew how to take care of himself.
“You should really mind your own fucking business.” He cracks the top of a beverage, swinging the refrigerator door shut behind him. His attention bores into me as he tilts the drink to his lips. His throat works hard as he takes long drinks from the can.
It clinks against the countertop as he continues to stare a hole through my damn face.
“What’s your deal? Out of everyone, you’re just… so fucking welcoming.”
His big hands push against the granite of the counter as he takes up as much space as possible. The muscles of his arms tense with the movement and I do my best to pretend not to notice.
“My deal is, you’re just a phase. What we have here has been in effect for years. We’re working toward something that we’ve been plotting for nearly a decade. You’re just a shiny toy of a distraction. You’ll be gone soon enough.” His rumbling voice lowers to a promising tone. “And we’ll do what we set out to do with or without you.”
My lips purse into a nonexistent line. The last few days of his forced civilized behavior hasn’t been friendship. It’s just been a job to him.
I’ll win. I’ll make him see me as a teammate if I have to shove my friendship down his throat.
I stalk toward him. His trained attention watches me every step of the way. As my arm brushes his, his gaze falls, just slightly. But I notice it. I notice the way his dark eyes just skimmed across the curve of my breasts.
Hmm, seems he doesn’t hateeverythingabout me.
I arch against the counter behind him, stretching to reach the small white box placed neatly atop the refrigerator.
He doesn’t move an inch as I bring it back and place it beside his drink. My bare leg brushes against his soft sweatpants and I try not to think too much about how warm he feels against my side.
In silence, he watches as I rummage through the little first aid kit. The gauze and tape I used days ago take up most of the space. Thin papers and tiny boxes skim over my fingertips before I finally find what I’m looking for.
I hold up the two small butterfly bandages.
His pretty eyes narrow on them but he doesn’t refute, so… I guess that’s an invitation. My long fingers start to open the first one. I try not to peek up at him, but the small cut along his lower lip keeps pulling at my attention too.
He’s a mess. Can’t take care of himself at all it seems.
I set my open bandages down on the cool granite. His big body is poised at my side, waiting quietly for me to help him.
He cursed at me less than five minutes ago and now he’s content to let me baby him.
Asshole.
Nonetheless, I can’t stand the thought of this deadly assassin getting a simple infection because he’s too stubborn to admit he has a fucking boo-boo.
The alcohol soaks the cotton, tinging the air with the sharp scent of it. With slow and careful movements, I raise it toward him. He stiffens from my closeness, assessing every single thing about me.
Is it awful that I want to rub it directly into his judgmental eyes right now?
I don’t, of course. I press it slowly to the open wound dividing through his brow. It’ll scar. But with my minor help it’ll be a small flaw among many on his body.
My arm brushes against his chest, pushing even more tension into him and an odd but consuming tingling sensation through me. It steals my breath away as it washes over me.
It’s… his power. An addicting but dominant feeling claws through my chest. Tendrils of his power toy with mine, and I breathe through the feelings, allowing myself only a small taste of his energy. It settles deep within my chest, barely a hum as it vibrates through me.
With steady hands, I place the first butterfly to the wound. His eyes close on contact when I pull the wound together. I feel like a good friend right now. Not to pat myself on the back, or ask for a medal or anything, but I am doing him a real favor without complaint. Not that he’s acknowledging the good deed.
When I’m done, he tenses, staring down on me as my hands linger against the wound, trying to judge if I need one more or not.
