I nod, getting the sense that he probably wants to change the subject. I think about how Conner and Isaac cracked jokes after I almost drowned to lighten the mood. I don’t think a joke would be appropriate right about now, but I could probably distract Sin with more injuries to treat.
My back is still aching from the other scratches, and I start to pull off my shirt, intent on ensuring they don’t need stitches as well.
Sin’s response is immediate. “Kitten, what the fuck,” he growls, stepping forward to grab my hands and yanking my shirt back down.
I fight against him for a second. But he has a firm grip.
My ego is totally okay with the fact that Sin is appalled at the thought of me undressing.
Still, mission accomplished because he doesn’t look sad anymore, and the vibe in the room has completely changed.
Yes, the vibe is sexual harassment. As in, Sin likely thinks I’m sexually harassing him.
I stop fighting him and sigh, “Don’t flatter yourself.” I echo his words right back at him. “There’s another scratch going down my back. I can feel the blood still dripping.” I lock eyes with him, feeling smug at his thunderstruck expression. “Unless you’re ready to send back Magnus and Damien, I’m going to need to take my shirt off.”
Finally.
Finally, I feel like I have the mic drop moment with this man.
Sin doesn’t let me go, but steps closer. Gently, he turns me so I’m facing away from him.
He starts peeling up my shirt, and I bite down the whimper that wants to come out. The fabric is stuck to some of the smaller scratches that have dried up. The cuts open again as Sin slowly takes my shirt off.
He’s close enough that I can feel the heat of him against my thin booty shorts. I clench my thighs together at the sensation, hoping Sin doesn’t notice. He pulls my shirt over my head but doesn’t touch me again.
“Lay down on your stomach.” Sin’s voice comes above my ear, sounding more gruff than usual.
I notice his hands are fisted at his sides as he waits for me to obey. I take a second to look over my shoulder at him, wondering if he’s gone back to being angry. He’s only inches from me, and I have to crane my neck to see his face.
He looks like he’s in pain. My mortal cooties must be driving him crazy.
“You don’t have to keep patching me up. I don’t mind. I’m sure a hot shower will sort me out,” I start, trying to give him a pass out of here.
I like annoying Sin, but I feel bad if he’s this uncomfortable.
At my comment, Sin mutters something about the universe having a sick sense of humor before his hands come around my waist, and he lifts me onto the lounge chair.
I yelp, landing on my hands and knees and quickly lie down to cover myself. Sin lets out another blistering sigh.
“You don’t have to be so upset about it; I’m only trying to help,” I grumble, turning my head to frown at him.
Sin kneels next to the lounge chair, his fingers gently prodding at the scratches. “If you want to help, stop getting beaten up.”
I scoff. “Like it’s my fault.”
Sin reaches for another towel and soaks it in hot water. He starts cleaning the cuts, and I hiss.
“It’s your fault you let yourself be vulnerable to attack,” he mutters, continuing to clean me up.
The sting is fading, and I close my eyes. He finishes cleaning my back and moves to the injuries on my shoulder and arm. His fingers trail over the scars that pepper my skin, causing goosebumps to run down my body.
I fight my immediate urge to cover them up. Whatever, he’s seen them at this point.
If he thinks the scars are hideous, that’s ahimproblem.
“So, tell me, kitten,” Sin continues cleaning my shoulder, but his other hand trails up to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing a scar just below my ear. “Who did this to you?”
A shiver runs down my back, and I bite my lower lip, wondering how much I want to say. Sin was honest with me about his family, and I also want to be forthcoming. Since we’re going to be working together, we may as well find a way to get along.
