I stared at my hand, blood welling up again, and weighed my options. I could wait for Cade or one of the men to get back from town or grab something from the barn and wrap it up tight and hope for the best.
Or go inside and ask Amber for help.
Every instinct screamed to avoid that option. But I was bleeding and couldn’t bandage it on my own.
Fuck it.
Anger was riding my tail as I walked into the kitchen knowing I shouldn’t be doing this. I laid my hat on the counter and took off my coat. “Amber?” I called out.
“In the office.” Her voice drifted down the hallway.
I made it three steps before she appeared in the doorway, laptop in hand, reading what was on the screen as she walked. When she finally glanced up, her eyes went wide when she saw my makeshift bandage.
“Oh my God. What happened?”
“Barbed wire. It’s fine. I just need—”
“That is not fine.” She set the laptop on the counter and crossed to me in three quick steps. “Sit down.”
“I don’t need to sit—”
“Dalton. Sit.” Her voice was firm. No-nonsense. I recognized it as one I used on her. It made me want to either argue more or kiss her. Maybe Both.
Did she feel that way?
I sat down. Partly because she’d asked. Mostly because standing this close to her was making it hard to think straight, and sitting meant I could at least hide what being this close wasdoing to my body. I was hard with wanting. Damn, when was the last time that had happened?
“Where’s the first aid kit?” she asked.
I motioned with my good hand. “Under the sink.” My voice came out clipped. Cold. Good. Just the way I wanted her to see me.
She bent low, her jeans pulling tight across her ass. Fuck. I was staring at her ass while bleeding all over my kitchen. This was a new low.
I looked away. Stared at the wall. Tried to think about anything other than the fact that Amber Maxwell was so close I could count the freckles across her nose if I let myself look.
She set the kit on the table and gently unwrapped the blood-soaked bandana from my hand. “Well,” she breathed when she saw the cut.
“It’s fine. Just needs to be wrapped.” I pulled my hand back slightly, but she held on. Those small fingers wrapping around my wrist.
She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me for a second and gently removed my makeshift bandage. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”
She removed a small bottle of alcohol from the kit along with several gauze pads. “This is going to sting,” she warned.
Then her hands were on me, and I forgot how to breathe. Her touch was gentle as if she gave a damn if it hurt. No one had touched me like that in five years.
I hissed through my teeth but didn’t pull away when the alcohol hit the wound.
“Sorry,” she murmured. Her thumbs brushed the inside of my wrist—just a whisper of contact but it was enough to remind me why allowing her to help me was a mistake. This was exactly what I’d been avoiding—her hands on me, her standing close enough that I could smell that citrus scent, her treating me likeI was something other than the cold-hearted bastard I’d worked so hard to become.
Her hands were soft. Small. They made mine look massive and rough and completely out of place cradled in her palms.
I’d made a lot of bad decisions in my life. Letting Sarah into my world. Thinking I could trust someone who only wanted the fantasy version of ranch life. Believing promises that were never meant to be kept.
But this—letting Amber touch me, letting her this close—this might be the worst decision yet.
Because Sarah had wanted the idea of me. The cowboy. The ranch. The romance.
Amber didn’t seem to want anything except to do her job and get paid. She’d made it clear from day one that she was here to do a job. Only her job.
