I can’t stop staring.
And not only because I’ve never seen a better-looking man in my life. It’s because it’sthisman. The king. Powerful and commanding and bitter and cold. Instinctively I knew he was mortal. I knew that beneath his beautiful cut-from-glass features and glacial eyes were flesh and blood and bone. But seeing him like this…
Heat rises through my body, and I wonder if he can see it on my face. I don’t know how to make words come out. My tongue is tied, and I can’t speak or move. I frantically search my brain, trying to remember if I’m wearing something see-through and that’s why he’s staring so hard. I’d look down to check, but I can’t tear myself away from him.
“Sebastian?” I finally question when he doesn’t move or speak.
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?” I practically squeak the word but somehow remember to whisper at the same time.
“Your toe. It’s bleeding.”
“Oh.” I glance down, and, yep, it certainly is. I had forgotten about it, but now that he brings it up, it starts to ache and throb. “I heard Zayer scream and got out of bed a bit too quickly.” I look back up at him. “Were you standing there the whole time?”
A nod. That’s it, but his expression is one I can’t read. Broody and intense, yes, but there is something else there. Something that makes it feel like the breath is being stolen from my lungs. Our text chat from earlier swims to the forefront of my mind, and I blush instantly, still that girl with a silly, ill-placed crush on her sexy older boss.
A palpable pressure swirls the air. One that’s a bit too heavy for me to handle right now when I already feel vulnerable and exposed to him.
I move to brush past him, but he doesn’t shift from the doorway, not even as I advance. I can feel the heat of his body, the smell of his skin. I want to touch him. I want to look up into his eyes when I do, just so I can see what my touch does to him. Would he be repulsed and push me away? Or would he be turned on and ask for more?
I clear my throat, anxious to leave this room and this man before I act on my thoughts. “I’ll go take care of it and I’ll clean up the mess I made on the floor in the morning.”
He shakes his head and takes my forearm to guide me down the hall, away from Zayer’s room. He pulls me through an empty guest room until we’re in the bathroom. The lights flip on, momentarily blinding me, and before I know what the hell is happening, he grasps my hips and lifts me. A gaspflees my lungs as he sets me down on the gray stone counter.
“Wait here and do not move.”
Then he’s gone, and all I can do is blink after him, confused and turned on. I glance down and realize I’m wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Not as short or as transparent as what I wore the first time he saw me like this, but it’s very obvious by the tightness of my nipples that I’m not wearing a bra.
I don’t bother covering up. I just force myself to take several slow, even breaths, and by the time I think I have my raging hormones and thoughts under control, he returns with a first aid kit in his hands. He didn’t put on a shirt, I notice.
He ignores me, something he’s professionally good at, as he sets the kit down and flips it open to remove the cleaning solution and a Band-Aid.
“I can do this myself.”
Nothing. No response, but it’s clear he’s not having that as his hand gently grasps my foot and holds it up so he can examine it. “Does it hurt?”
“A little,” I admit, though all I can feel at this moment is his hand on my foot. With more tenderness than I would have imagined him capable of, he presses around the wound, checking my expression each time. I’m staring at him, and I know he’s aware of it.
“This might sting. The cut doesn’t appear too deep. I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”
“Okay.” I don’t care in the slightest.
He fills a gauze pad with freaking rubbing alcohol and presses it to my wound, and, yeah, that does fucking sting. I hiss out a breath and close my eyes, turning my face away from him.
“Oh come on,” he teases. “I thought you were tougher than that.”
Jerk. I smile. “You want me to slice open your toe and pour rubbing alcohol on it and see how much you like it?”
“I could find some lemon juice instead.”
I laugh because that was actually funny and because I know he’s trying to distract me from the pain. I open my eyes and look at him. He’s smirking at me. And fuck, with him this close to me, shirtless, smiling at me as he takes care of me…I don’t stand a chance of not falling for him. My heart is already beating so wildly in my chest, anxious to tear through my body and leap into his. All I know is that I’m in so much trouble.
“How about we forego the torture and bandage me up instead?”
“Whatever you desire.”
And no, he did not just say that to me. Gah! “I like this look on you.”
