My immature sense of humor bubbles back up from where I tried so hard to stuff it down earlier.Maybe his word choice was on purpose? Maybe we’re flirting, and I’m just so out of practice that I’m missing the cues?
I glance up quickly, and all I see is the pinch of concentration.
I roll my lips between my teeth and bite down, trying hard to act my age.
With a groan, I push at the bottom of the lumber until Miles huffs out, “That’s it, right there,” and then it’s all over for me.
I step back and slip on some scattered screws, falling to the floor. My knee lands smack in the middle of a handful of screws, and pain radiates through my leg. “Shit. Damn it. Ow, ow, ow,” I say, half crying, half laughing as I tip over onto my butt.
Miles jumps down from the platform and skates his hands down my back. Across my arms. Barely making contact until his palm meets the knee of my leggings and comes away, smeared with blood.
“Hold still,” he says.
He grabs the cotton and pulls. And just like that, my leggings rip, giving way as Miles wrenches the material apart, not stopping until the edge of my panties is exposed. He ignores my gasp of surprise as he whips off his shirt and gently dabs at the broken skin. A stinging pinch, and then the slight burn dissipates as he pours water from a half-empty bottle over the cut. After the aggression with which Miles destroyed my pants, his gentle and delicate touch is almost unexpected.
“Can you bend it?” he asks softly, sliding one hand around my calf and the other up to support my thigh.
How can such big, calloused hands be full of so much care?
“I can,” I rasp.
When I try to stand, Miles adjusts his hands, applying pressure to keep me in place. “I asked if you could bend your knee, not if you could stand up.”
There’s heat in his eyes that reflects my own. He moved me. Kept me where I was, where he wanted me. He manhandled me in the most delicious way.
Our eyes lock as he scoops me up into his arms. He stands, cradling me close to his chest as if it takes no effort at all, and makes his way through the garage and into the kitchen. Feeling the muscles I was ogling earlier bunch and shift against my body has me hot, bothered, and swooning, all at the same time.
Miles sets me on the kitchen counter, placing my injured leg along the breakfast bar. “First aid kit? Need to get this cleaned. Sterilized.” The efficiency of his words matches the efficiency of his movements.
“It’s in the half bathroom, under the sink,” I say, breathless from the way he palms my leg before stepping away. My fingers curl around the edge of the granite, holding on for dear life, because the things I’m feeling right now have me reeling.
Miles returns, clearing a space on the counter, and sets to work, inventorying my kit. “We need to restock this thing,” he mumbles half to himself. He scrubs his hands twice over, steam billowing from the faucet. “Need some gloves in here. Better antiseptic that’s not past its expiration date.” He turns back to me, wedging himself between my thighs, his attention on the blood spilling from my knee. He dabs and blots and then shifts me, so my injured leg spans the sink. He leans into my leg that’s hanging off the counter, essentially trapping me there. “Deep breath,” he says.
As I fill my lungs, he opens the tap, directing the water at my gaping wound. And if that isn’t bad enough, he pulls at the edgesof the split skin, opening things up and dousing it, cleaning it even more thoroughly. I whimper pathetically. Tears spring to my eyes, and I start to pant with a bastardized version of Lamaze breathing.
“Almost done. Switch to box breaths. In for four. Hold. Out for four. Hold.” He glances up, locking his gaze on mine.
“I know what—” My lips slam shut as he pumps antibacterial soap onto his hands and dribbles the suds over my leg, lighting it up with fire yet again.
“Breathe.” He pulls a slow breath in, holds it, and then blows it out through perfectly pursed lips. He nods on the next breath when I match his inhale, completing several rounds of the exercise. “Helps, right? SEALs use that to reduce anxiety and stress.” His fingers work deftly, drying my skin, pinching it together, and applying a neat row of butterfly closures. He gathers the trash and throws it all away before washing his hands, and then he leans into the counter next to my foot. “You doing okay?”
His eyes bore into mine, assessing. The deep brown pools pull me in, and once again, my breaths come in shallow pants. His hand slides along the outside of my leg, skimming lightly along my bared skin. He moves forward, following the path his touch maps on my leg, wedging his hips closer to me with each step.
TEN
Miles
Chloe’s lips are a breath away from mine. Her eyes are hooded, and her chest rises and falls as she sucks in each shallow breath, panting it back out. I slide my hand to her hip, fingertips toying with the tattered edges of her leggings. My other hand threads through the curls at the back of her head.
She gasps as I tilt her head and brush my mouth across hers. Her lips are soft and lush, pliable. The kiss is sweet but scorching. Familiar and, at the same time, exciting and new. For the first time in ages, I feel like I could drown in a woman. Not a woman,thiswoman.
I pull back, just enough to check to see if Chloe is as caught up in this as I am. Her lids flutter open, revealing deep pools of sapphire. Never in my life have I seen eyes like hers. Like the night sky when there’s just enough light to give the blackness a tinge of blue. Like the ocean just before the depth sucks all the color away. Truly like the deepest blue gems.
I want her.
I press my mouth to hers and swipe my tongue at the seam, begging for entrance. When her lips part, granting me exactly that, I surge forward, pulling her tight against me. Any space between us is obliterated, incinerated in an explosion of lust and desire.
Her fingers dig into my flesh as she grips my biceps. Hips rock against me, and another whimper escapes her, this one decidedly different from earlier.
