I looked him square in the eye, so he knew how serious I was. “With all due respect, Elliott, you might be Chanel’s father, but she’smywoman. And I don’t let anyone—family, friend, or foe—hurt the people I care about.”
He stared at me. My eyes remained unflinching on his. “I’ll take that under advisement as well,” he finally said.
“See that you do.” I released his hand and made my exit. I said everything I’d come to say.
****
Chanel
“Why’d you and your fiancé break up?”
“Shit!” I yelped as I sliced through the skin of my pointer finger. Bright red blood squirted onto the white marble cutting board I’d been using to cut the onion and green and yellow peppers for stir fry.
“Damn,” Xavier cursed, grabbing my injured hand and guiding me toward the sink to wash the blood off. “Hold it there for a second. Don’t move.”
“It’s fine. I—”
“Don’t move,” he ordered in a way that froze my hand right where it was. I grimaced as the initial shock of the cut started to wear off, and the actual pain increased. Even with the pain, I was grateful for the distraction it created from Xavier’s question just seconds before.
“Here, lemme see.” He didn’t wait for me to show my finger, turning off the water and inspecting my finger. He’d come back with a small first aid kit and a clean dish towel.
“No,” I protested, attempting to pull back my hand. “You’re going to get blood on your dish towel.”
He gave me anare you fucking serious?look, keeping my hand in his grasp and applying the towel to stop the bleeding. I swallowed the lump in my throat at seeing the look of concern on his face. I’d become familiar with that look the night of Anne Marie and her son’s murders and the weeks following. It felt good to know someone cared so much for my well-being.
Too good.
“It’s not that deep.” He removed the towel, inspecting the cut. “Bleeding stopped so you won’t need stitches. I’m going to put some ointment on it and a Band-Aid to keep it from getting infected. Does it hurt?”
He seemed so clinical, as if he was a physician addressing a patient. His eyes never even left my finger as he ensured the bleeding had ceased.
“No. It’s fine.”
“It’s notfine,but it’ll heal up soon.”
I rolled my eyes. I swear, he treated me with kid gloves so often. As if I was a porcelain doll that would break if touched too hard. I hated and loved that treatment at the same time.
“It’s just a little cut, Xavier. How’d you get so good at treating wounds anyway?” I asked as he finished bandaging my little ol’ cut and picked up the discarded wrappers to throw away.
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “I’ve owned and operated more than twenty-something restaurants for close to fifteen years now. I’ve seen my fair share of knife injuries. Once I had to hold an employee’s hand as his finger was damn near dangling off to stem the blood flow as another employee drove us to the hospital.” He shook his head.
“How was he?” I asked, picking up the glass of red wine I’d been sipping on.
“Doctors were able to save his finger. He still works for me. That was seven years ago. He was a trainee at the time,” he added cavalierly. “How about you sit your ass over there while I finish doing the cooking. We don’t need any more blood in our dinner.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” I replied sarcastically, but grabbed my wine and went to the center counter in his kitchen to happily sit my ass down. Cooking was not my forte. Not that I didn’t know how; I just didn’t prefer to do it.
“Now, back to the question that almost caused you to lose a finger.” His eyes glided up from the second cutting board he’d taken out to finish cutting the vegetables.
I took a sip of wine as a lump began forming in my throat. “What question was that?” I feigned innocence, keeping my eyes on his strong hands as he moved on to cut and devein the raw shrimp. I couldn’t help but marvel at the strength of his hands. They moved quickly, looking effortless as they wielded the knife, slicing through the shrimp back, plucking out the vein, discarding it to the side and moving on to the next. While I could never get enough of marveling at his lips, his hands were moving up in the long list of my favorite parts of Xavier’s body. Well, those and the long, thick anatomy that rested in between his…
“Chanel,” he called, and my eyes shot back to his face.
“What were you saying?” I murmured, pulling another sip of wine from my glass.
“Your fiancé. Why’d you break up?”
“Oh, right, um…” My leg began to bounce against my seat. I shrugged in an attempt to play coy. “I’m surprised you even remember that.”
