I forgot I slipped on the concrete and look at my knee. Blood is trickling down my shin. “Oh, shit.” I whisper as the adrenaline is wearing off and my palms start to burn and ache.
“What?” Abbot asks as he looks over my face.
I wince as I look up at him. “Promise not to get mad?”
His eyebrows pull together as he continues to stare at me.
“I’ll get a new one. I promise. So don’t get mad.”
Letting go of his shirt, I hold my hands up to show him the bloody scrapes on the pads of my palms just over my wrists. I look at his cream-colored shirt and see the blood spots sprinkled through the wrinkles in the fabric where I grabbed it.
Holding his arms out to the sides, he looks down at his shirt. “What is it with you and shirts?” He mumbles as he looks back up at me.
Swan laughs and shakes his head as he turns back to the house. “I’m going home.”
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Abbot says and waves his hand toward the back door, gesturing for me to go first.
As we step across the threshold into the house, the air conditioning cools my body, and my nipples pucker under my little bikini triangle from the cold. Even under the towel, I have goose bumps all over me. The bitch in me decides to have a little fun. He deserves it for avoiding me for two days.
“The first-aid kit is in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. I’ll get it.” He says and walks past me. His voice sounds strained.
Hopping up on the counter next to the sink, with the towel open and barely hanging on my shoulders, I rock on my butt to get comfortable, letting my legs stay open a bit. When he turns around, his eyes rake over my body, pausing on my nipples and my belly button piercing, and then stops on myknee.
He steps up to the counter next to me, keeping space between him and my leg, his head just inches away from mine, and opens the box. I watch his face as he sorts through things, setting little packages on the surface next to me.
His beard and mustache are cut perfectly around his lips, and his brown eyes are laser-focused on the task at hand. Almost like he is avoiding looking at me.
His khaki-colored pants are hugging his hips and ass, and the material of his shirt I just ruined is stretched across his shoulders. At this angle, I can see the thin cloud of dark hair across his chest.
“How was work?” My hands are palms up on my thighs, and the blood around my knee is drying.
He doesn’t look at me. “We got one of the guys you saw outside the club last week.”
Does that mean I’ll be going home soon?
Part of me is happy to get back to my normal life and my family, but part of me is sad to leave him.
“What about the other one?” I ask.
His eyes flick to mine and back down to the box. “Still looking.”
“Oh.”
Pulling a small rag from a drawer under the cabinet, he turns the hot water on and holds his hand under the stream, waiting for it to get warm.
“How was your day?” His attention is on the water stream and then the rag as he runs it under the hot water.”
“I made something for you.” I casually wave my hand in the easel’s direction.
His eyes snap to mine and then flick over to the eleven by fourteen canvas by the dining table. He sets the rag on the counter next to my leg and walks past me to get a closer look. “You painted that for me?”
“Don’t touch it, it’s still wet.”
He stands there for so long that I get antsy. Does he think I crossed a line? Is he angry? “It’s okay if you don’t like it, that technique isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I’ll just post it on my website, and someone will buy it.”
“No.” he barks over his shoulder.
Needing something to do, I pick up the wet rag he sat on the counter next to me and start wiping the blood off my leg. Goosebumps erupt all over from the water turning cold on my skin, even though the rag is still warm.
