His mouth twitched as he slid the bar out of the box and set it on my palm, then he lifted his chin in thedirection of my cock and hand. “Planning my demise seems to be a major turn on for you.”
I held the soap to my nose, inhaling as I let my eyes drift over his thick brown hair and broad shoulders. “Not gonna lie, it kind of is.”
“Then you and my ex-husband have a lot in common.”
I laughed despite myself and let go of my cock. I didn’t know what I’d intended to accomplish with that little display, but Rafferty was a law-and-order man through and through.
“Be right back,” he said, his smile widening. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”
“Wait,” I said as he slipped out of the bathroom. “Where are you going now?”
He chuckled to himself but didn’t answer.Dick.
I gingerly soaped up my bits and rinsed the blood off my face, listening intently as he rummaged around in the small cabin. By the time I finished showering, I decided to stop fucking with Rafferty and just get through the night. I grabbed a surprisingly fresh towel from the closet and was drying off when he stepped back into the bathroom.
It was worth noting that Rafferty had lost his shirt and shoes, but he’d found a sandwich, a spool of bright green thread, a Dopp kit, and a fucking handle of vodka.
“Dude, what kind of party you got going on here?” I asked, eyeballing his powerful, furry chest as I accepted the white-bread sandwich. In all of my jerking off, I hadn’t imagined that much chest hair.
God, I wanted to run my fingers through it.
He set the Dopp kit on the windowsill, then held up the vodka and the spool of thread, which had a needle sticking out of it. “No party. I just need to take care of that lac on your head.”
“Care to explain why you have to do that shirtless?” I ask, polishing off the simple ham and cheese.
“That was the only long-sleeve shirt I brought with me, so I hung it to dry on one of the kitchen chairs. Figured I should stitch you up before finding something else to wear.”
He handed me the vodka, which reminded me of the question I’d asked earlier.
“How drunkareyou?”
“Not so much drunk anymore,” he answered, sticking his tongue out as he threaded the needle. “Too much adrenaline.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you’d think,” I retorted, trying to hide how nervous the whole needle and thread situation made me. “Why don’t we save the backwoods surgery for when you’re fully sober?”
“Nope. I can see a sliver of your skull, and it’s making me queasy,” he said as he gestured to the vodka. “Take a few good swigs of that.”
I checked the mirror again and…ah, fuck. That white line through my brow was my skull. Great.
“Fine.” I drank directly from the bottle, enjoying the burn. “Just don’t stab me in the fucking eye.”
“Roger that.” He grabbed my hip, his handhalf on the towel and half on my bare skin as he pivoted me. “Let’s get you into the light.”
“Hey,” I squawked. “Careful with the goods.”
He pursed his lips as he absentmindedly thumbed the knot on my towel. Blinking, he pulled his hand back, staring at it as he flexed it, shaking his head as if arguing with himself.
I can work with that.
His eyes drifted up to mine. “Apologies for the manhandling. Just wanna make sure I don’t mess up your pretty face.”
You can manhandle me anytime, Detective.
Before I could say that, though, he placed a hand over my eye and splashed a bit of the vodka in the gash.
Mother…fucker.
“Sorry,” he said, his hand returning to my waist. “Thought it might be better if you didn’t see it coming.”
