I untucked the bottom of my black shirt out of my trousers but was promptly stopped when Scott wrapped her fingers around my wrists.
“What are you doing?” she asked, eyes wide.
The smirk tugged at my lips again as I answered her, “I can’t roll my sleeves up any higher. If you want blood, I need to take off the shirt.”
She let go of my hands quickly and turned away, busying herself with prepping the materials she needed. Rattled again. With a blush spreading from her cheeks down her neck, the heat emanating from her, those deliciously dirty thoughts had returned. And I enjoyed how well everything fell in my favour.
Slowly, I unbuttoned my shirt, feeling several pairs of eyes on me, but my focus stayed on Scott. Shrugging the clothing from my shoulders, I sat on the stool and folded the shirt across my lap before clearing my throat.
Scott turned back to me. I heard the faint hitch of her breathing and, if possible, she grew a deeper shade of red. The dark pupils dilated, eclipsing the almost black ring of her irises. She took two quiet steps towards me, suddenly lost for words, and avoided looking at my face.
Her gaze travelled along my left forearm, taking in the tanned skin and thick veins that pulsed steadily beneath it. She wrapped the tourniquet tightly around my bicep and pressed her fingers into the crook of my elbow, attempting to find a suitable vessel.
The entire time she worked, she made a point to ignore me, but I was the only thing on her mind; professionally and unprofessionally.
Ripping open an alcohol wipe, she dragged it across my skin and equipped herself with the needle.
“Be gentle now, Scott,” I whispered, taunting her quietly.
Her face remained passive as she pressed her fingers along the crease of my arm again. When she was happy, she drove the needle in, giving no warning. I didn’t so much as flinch to her disappointment, I imagined, and she attached the tube and watched as gold liquid spilled down the sides, filling the container.
“You have a terrible bedside manner,” I informed her haughtily.
“Lucky I’m not a doctor,” she quipped back, finally finding her voice.
“I’m not a doctor, but I’ve been told I have an impeccable bedside manner.”
The suggestive tone in my voice made her cheeks heat as she swapped the tube for another one, working quickly. She wanted to escape the embarrassment, but it amused me. Every logical part of her hated me and with good reason. But her basic biology, the subject she’d mastered, betrayed her at every possible chance.
“You can’t help but think about it, can you?” I asked her, keeping the conversation between us.
Scott refused to answer me.
When the tube was full, she disconnected it before ripping the needle out of my arm. Unfortunately for her, it didn’t do any damage. She handed the tube over to James. The gold blood glinted in the light and contrasted wildly with the black flecks that swam through it. With the tube in hand, James walked off to prepare for the first round of experiments they’d planned.
“I have what I need for now,” Scott told me, sharp and business-like. “Charlotte wants to see you for the rest of the afternoon.” She snapped the tourniquet off my arm.
“What does she want?” I asked.
My question made her stop and look at me, but I focused on Charlotte, who was speaking to Holden and gesturing wildly with her hands. There wasn’t a moment where those two weren’t in some argument.
Scott dropped the tourniquet into the tray with a small clatter and peeled the gloves from her hands, shrugging.
“She’ll just ask you some questions, I imagine. Charlie’s job is to figure out what goes on inside your head and why you behave the way you do.”
I barely allowed her to finish the sentence when I asked, “What will she do with that information?”
“Sorry?”
I focused on Scott again, unfolding the shirt from my lap. The show was for her. To disarm her. I didn’t plan to become a circus for unworthy mortal gazes.
Her eyes flicked to my arm, where there wasn’t even the smallest scratch where the needle had punctured my skin. Not a single drop of blood was wasted.
“She asks me questions, and she observes me, and then what?” I asked impatiently.
“It adds to our body of evidence.”
“It helps with your proof,” I said to her.
