Anger mushrooms in my chest like a bomb just detonated inside me, and I’m fuming all over again. “I saved you, and you repaid me by acting like a complete asshole,” I snap.
“You followed me out of the country, and I don’t trust you. I did what I thought was right in the moment, but I never intended to hurt you.”
“You could’ve let me sit in the car or put me in a different vehicle with one of your men. You didn’t have to shove me in the fucking trunk!”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“Well, I don’t forgive you.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’ll never forgive you for it.”
“You’ve made your point.”
“Good. Don’t forget it.” I glare at him, but my anger is already fading.
“I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have let anger and frustration cloud my emotions and inform my decisions.”
“Okay, enough with the apologies. It’s making me ill. Shout at me or give me one of those grumpy glares so this stops feeling weird.”
His eyes jump to mine, and he smiles. A real genuine boyish smile, and I get a glimpse of what he must have looked like when he was younger, and I’m ensnared. What is Drew Manning doing to me? I have the worst case of emotional whiplash when it comes to him, and my emotions are ping-ponging all over the place. This guy seriously messes with my head. Presently, I’m floating through the clouds outside the window, mesmerized by this enigma of a man.
“I’m not gonna shout, even if I’m still angry with you.” He presses cotton wool to the rubbing alcohol while maintaining eye contact with me.
“I get that.” All floaty feelings evaporate when he swipes my arm to clean it, and I hiss through gritted teeth.
“But I don’t like that I hurt you. It pains me to see you in pain knowing I caused it.”
“You mean that.”
His sinful brown eyes hypnotize mine, and we’re leaning toward one another without realizing it.
“Yes.” His brow puckers. “It’s confusing as fuck.”
A laugh tumbles from my mouth, and his gaze lowers to my chest for a nanosecond before he looks away. “That makes two of us,” I quietly admit, having no clue what is happening here.
“Hold still,” he says, dabbing the cotton wool against my arm again. “I need to patch you up and get your clothes back on before I do something we’ll both regret.”
“Speak for yourself,” I blurt before I can shut my mouth.
His eyes drill into mine, and I barely remember to breathe. “You don’t know the kind of man I truly am. If you did, you’d reclaim those words in a heartbeat.”
“I know enough, Drew.” I reach out and cup his face, and my heart melts behind my chest when he closes his eyes and leans into my touch. “I think the things I saw today were glimpses into your soul, and none of it scared me away.”
His eyes pop open. “Then you’re as fucked up as I am.”
My lips curl into a wide smile. “Guilty as charged.”
His eyes sink to my mouth for a few delicious anticipatory seconds. When he averts his eyes and returns to my arm, I try to dampen the surge of disappointment swelling in my chest, reminding myself I still don’t know what this man’s goal is, and he could still be a threat to my brother.
The thought is instantly sobering.
We don’t speak as he seals my wound closed with paper stitches and cleans the torn bloody skin at my wrists, wrapping gauze around both of them. He keeps his gaze on my face as he helps me back into the shirt before walking behind me to gather my hair and pull it into a messy bun on top of my head.
The feel of his hands in my hair is so incredibly good, and I’m high from the experience.
“What?” he asks, dropping back down on the bed beside me and fixing me with a curious expression.
