When Erik climbs in the back seat, I shake my head at him. “If we’d known you were going to come down with enough luggage for a trip to Europe, one of us could’ve come in to help you.”
“The princess carry something?” His low voice is skeptical. “Inconceivable.”
That causes me to smirk. “Well, Shane could’ve come to help at least.”
“Shane was busy.”
My gaze slides to the driver’s headrest and the back of Shane’s head. I realize Shane stayed in the car to guard us.
“How’s your laceration?” I ask. “Did you feel any of the stitches pop?”
The Viking shakes his head.
“Lean forward. Let me check the dressing.”
He rests back against the seat, shaking his head. “If I was bleeding again, I’d feel it.”
My palms turn up in a gesture of relinquishing responsibility. “Suit yourself.” My fingers pinch the skin on top of his hand to emphasize my annoyance.
Without looking at me, he flips his hand over and closes his fingers around mine. With my fist trapped in his, he strokes my hand with his thumb. The clandestine touch seems to say what he doesn’t. That he’s going to do exactly what he wants, but he appreciates my concern. And that we’re together in this.Just us.
My gaze skims the back of Shane’s head again before I turn my head to stare out the dark window. The Viking is not one for fuss or public displays, but he’s capable of more emotion than he lets on. As long as he’s left to express it on his own terms.
It’s enough. At least for tonight.
22
ERIK
When I return to Shane’s guest room from the bathroom, Arya is wearing a silky blue nightgown that reaches her mid-thighs and tents over her nipples. No matter what goes on, she always looks incredible.
The bed is small. A double, I guess. Tonight I’ll mind that less than if I was on my own. I remove my clothes, and she moves closer to get a glimpse of the bandage. I’ve reached back a couple of times to be sure it’s dry, and it has been.
A look over my shoulder tells me it’s all right because she walks away.
I toss pillows into a mound at the head of the bed. When I climb in, I recline against them, watching her.
Arya’s face is make-up free, which makes her look more vulnerable. It’s a different kind of beautiful. Private. Exclusive.
She rubs lotion into her elbows and throat. The scent conjures images of the tropics. Of places I’d travel to if she wanted to go. Deserted places where clothing is optional.
Her fingers massage the lotion along her collarbones and beneath them.
My eyes lock on her nipples, and the edges of her piercings under the thin fabric. My cock hardens in response. She is so sexy, all the fucking time, without even trying.
“Don’t go too low with that.” My voice is gruff, roughened by arousal and impatience to have her in the bed. Tonight’s near-death experience has left me with the urge to prove I’m alive.
She glances at me with furrowed brows. “What?”
“Don’t get that on your breasts. It smells good, but I don’t want to taste it.”
Her slack-jawed expression causes the corner of my mouth to twitch into a smirk.
“You seem to have forgotten you’re on the bench, Sorensen. On the injured list.”
“Benched? Nah.” I put an arm behind my head and am rewarded for it when her eyes lock on my biceps.
She loves the muscles more than she’ll admit. I’ve never worked out to attract women, but the way Arya looks at my body is new motivation to hit the weight room.
