“If my wrist gets treated, then so does your hand,” she insists.
You know what happens when you assume…
She wasn’t disgusted by me. She was making sure I got help as well. That’s new.
Too stunned to reply, I stand there with a blank stare.
Raven takes my silence as consent. “I’ll grab the first aid kit.” She’s out the door and back before I can even form words. She sits at a stool beside the stainless-steel counter and motions for me to join her.
Sitting on another stool facing her, I lay her hand flat and gently place the ice pack on her wrist. Now that the adrenaline is gone, I can feel the softness of her skin. My cock begins to harden in my jeans. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her midnight-black waves cascade down her back. My eyes wander over her full breasts and thighs. Fresh ink peeks out from under the thick straps of her tank top: two small crowns side by side.
Her spirited blue eyes meet mine, and I watch as her pupils grow. Raven’s breathing increases, and I decide to push my luck. I flip her hand, exposing the inside of her delicate wrist, and run the pads of my fingertips over her pulse. She lets out a small gasp, and goosebumps spread over her skin. Holding back the smirk that attempts to take over my face, I place the ice pack back on her wrist.
Raven clears her throat. “So, you must be Knox.”
“Must be.”
“I’m Raven,” she declares and holds out her hand for me to shake. I oblige and command my dick to calm down when her eyes roam my face and she bites her lip.
“Nice to meet you, Raven.”
She smiles. “Nice to meet you too, Knox.”
The sound of my name on her rosy lips just about has me undone. No woman has ever had me this mesmerized. I’m thirty-eight years old and can honestly say I’ve never longed to know how a woman’s skin tastes or how she sounds when she comes.
The energy around her is addictive. I could easily lose myself in Raven Henry. Her fire, her heart. It’s beautiful. I want to capture that beauty and whisk her away to keep it all for myself.
But she’s an employee. The Wandering Raven doesn’t need a sexual harassment lawsuit attached to its name.
“It already feels better,” Ravens claims, removing the ice pack. “Your turn.” She opens the first aid kit and pulls out the supplies she needs. As she touches my hand again, guiding it to her face to inspect the injury, my body develops a mind of its own. My thumb runs circles over the back of her hand, and her breath hitches again.
Forcing myself to stop, my muscles go rigid.
Being around her is going to be more difficult than I anticipated.
“That kind of thing doesn’t normally happen.”
Her brow raises. “You punching someone in the face?”
Raven’s sass drives a laugh out of me. “No, I mean employees being harassed and assaulted. Underage kids never ask for drinks because we know who is of age and who isn’t.”
“Huh,” she says more to herself than she does to me as she runs an alcohol wipe over my broken skin. “Word must have gotten out that you hired a new bartender.”
My shoulder raises and lowers. “Probably. That’s small towns for ya.”
“Guess so.” She shakes her head. “But I had it handled.”
My answer is to give her a look of disbelief.
“I’ve worked in a bar before, and it was more dangerous than The Wandering Raven.” She rolls her lips inward as if she’s said too much.
My head angles to the side. “Where? It wasn’t on your resume.”
Her jaw tightens for a moment. “It was a long time ago, and the owner wouldn’t give me a good reference even if he remembered me. He didn’t like me slapping customers when they were drunk and wanted to play a game of grab ass.”
“Sounds like an asshole of a boss,” I comment.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she replies as if an ugly memory floated to the surface.
