“What?” Cami asks. “Why?”
“Nothing,” I say with a shrug, realizing he might not want people to know about his injury.
As Declan and Cami pull out the breakfast spread, Shane asks, “Is he supposed to keep the laceration dry?”
“Yeah,” I say without looking at them. “For twenty-four hours at least.” I busy myself by layering some thin strips of salmon and cream cheese on a toasted bagel.
“We thought you were both okay?” Cami says.
I glance over. Her brows are pinched together with concern.
“We are. Yeah.”
After a beat, Cami says, “Hey, Shane, can you help me connect to the flatscreen? I’ll load some materials we made.”
Materials? What’s she talking about?
“After breakfast,” Declan says.
“I’ll just set it up. My partner has a habit of taking off before meetings are over.”
Her partner.I suppress a smile. I find it cute that Erik calls her by her last name and acknowledges her as his writing partner. It’s obviously important to her.
“I doubt that’ll be an issue this morning,” Shane says, slathering honey nut cream cheese on a multi-grain bagel.
“No?” Cami says, glancing at him.
Shane smirks. “His reason for taking off isn’t dressed to go out.” His gaze drops to my bare feet, and the others follow suit, making me feel strange and self-conscious.
“Socks don’t go with this outfit,” I say, glancing down at my navy blue toenail polish.
“That anklet is beautiful,” Avery says, studying my tanzanite and dark gray moissanite ankle bracelet. It was a gift from my nanna on a shopping trip in Boca Raton.
Cami’s brows rise. “Well, you look amazing. As usual. I don’t know how you have the headspace after last night.”
“Arya,” a deep voice says.
We all turn to look across the living room. The Viking descends the stairs in unbuttoned jeans and no shirt. He’s got a tin and a t-shirt in his hand, but I don’t notice at first. Despite having seen him naked, his shirtless chest continues to make an impression.
Right now, he’s full-on “Motorcycle Thor stars in a porno,” with shower water beading on his chest and his eight-pack exposed down to the “v” pointing toward his groin.
Jesus, he’s gorgeous.
My eyes rise to the Celtic Viking tattoo. His shoulders are so big no one but Atlas is entitled to them.
“Whoa,” Cami says, eyeing him.
Trying to cover my lust, I give him a pointed look and frown. “You showered?”
“Yeah, I needed to.” He holds out the tin, which I take. Turning, he pushes the edge of his jeans down, so the slope of his muscled ass is showing.
I move to block everyone’s view as I glance at the wound. “You’re the worst patient. If I was an actual physician, I’d fire you from my practice.” Pressing the wound’s edges, I’m happy to see there’s no separation.
Opening the tin, I find the antibiotic ointment, gauze and tape. It takes me less than thirty seconds to dress the wound.
“Done,” I say.
The Viking pulls his v-neck shirt on and turns toward me as he buttons his jeans. “Thank you.” His huge hand drops to my bare stomach. “Where’s the rest of your shirt?”
