When he didn’t move, I lifted my gaze and met his angry glare. “Turn. Around.”
He still didn’t move. Unfortunately for him, I was feeling like pissing someone off after my talk with Malena. I ignored his death glare and grabbed the disinfectant and a few cotton pads, then stepped around him, facing his back.
The gasp I was trying to hold in earlier finally escaped.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said, not moving away like I expected him to.
“You just keep telling yourself that,” I said and got to work. “This might sting.”
He didn’t so much as flinch when I doused his back in antiseptic. The wound wasn’t as deep as I first thought. It looked like someone had dragged a knife across his back but didn’t get a chance to go very deep.
“Almost done. Can you pass me the dressing?” I said, holding out my hand.
Another sigh, but he leaned forward and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed, and a very inconvenient tingle shot through my body.
I finished in silence. Once I was done, I paused to admire my work.
“You finished or you want to stare at it for a bit longer?” Sebastian asked, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror when I looked up.
“I’m good. Just had to make sure I remembered how long it took to patch you up. You know, for next time I feel like hurting you. This image will stop me from so much as stepping on your toe.”
“Noted,” he said, not sounding angry for once.
I stepped back, wringing my hands in front of me. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he responded, his hungry gaze eating me up.
I stumbled back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention.
Besides, there was still some cleaning to be done, so I scurried back to the kitchen. It was just after eleven, but I wasn’t tired thanks to the adrenaline swirling through my blood following the bathroom encounter.
Sebastian came in a few minutes later wearing tracksuit pants and no shirt. There were only a few bruises on his chest, and if I hadn’t seen his back, I’d think he was fine. Don’t judge; I only looked to make sure he was okay. Well, mostly.
“Why are you cleaning in the middle of the night?” he asked, getting a glass of water out of the freshly scrubbed cupboard.
“The house was dirty,” I said, eloquent as ever.
“Right.”
“How’s the water?” I asked.
He frowned but flinched when it pulled on a cut on his eyebrow that I hadn’t noticed before.
“That doesn’t look like you cleaned it,” I said, pointing to his face. “And you should put something on it to hold it together.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Stay there. I’ll get the disinfectant,” I said, ignoring his growl.
He was leaning against the kitchen island when I came back, his arms crossed, his jaw tight.
I stopped in front of him and reached up to his face. I couldn’t stretch up enough to reach his brow without falling against him. And he wasn’t helping at all, making my task much harder.
“Do you mind leaning down?” I asked through gritted teeth after he only stared at me.
He didn’t move. “I told you it doesn’t need cleaning.”
“And I told you it does.”
