I smile slowly, and I step between his spread legs. “I’d love to undress you.”
I trail my finger along his jeans, then watch his Adam’s apple work up and down when I drop to my knees.
“First,” I say softly, sliding my palms up his T-shirt. His stomach rises and falls beneath my touch, abs tightening as I work my way higher. Reaching his shoulders, my fingers slither under his hoodie, and I start to slip it off. “Your jacket.”
His eyes are heavy-lidded on mine as I slowly pull the sleeves past his biceps and down his arms. I lean close to pull the material from behind him, allowing my cheek to brush his jeans, right below the button. He hisses in a breath, drawing a warm flutter of satisfaction from low in my belly. Except the sensation doesn’t stop; it grows heavy with the weight of his attention on me, and I’m suddenly too hot, too clammy.
“Your shirt too,” I breathe. “Let’s take it off.”
A low sound rumbles up his chest as I start at the bottom and take my time hiking the material up slowly, so slowly. He shudders with the glide of my touch on his bare skin, eyes settling on my breasts as I rise to pull the shirt over his head.
I open my mouth to tease him when my attention finds the marks on his skin—one a clean vertical line starting between his rib cage and ending above his belly button, while the other is messy, horizontal, and stretches from the right side of his waist to his back. I suck in a breath, lowering to my knees again and trailing a finger alongside each wound that’s sure to scar. Warmth for him overwhelms me, stealing my heartbeats and making them skip. He promised to keep me safe, and he did. Even when it meant almost losing his life in the process. My lungs constrict as the full weight of what he did for me sinks into my pores, and the longer I look at his marks, the more I believe in the nurse’s words: scars really can be beautiful.
“Easton,” I whisper shakily. Leaning forward, I close my eyes and press soft kisses to the one leading to his back. He trembles slightly against my lips, fingers threading my hair. “I don’t think I ever said thank you.”
When I tilt my head to peer up at him, he’s watching me so closely I shiver. His brows are slanted, eyes soft yet severe with an emotion I can’t read.
“I’d do it all over again,” he says. “You know that, don’t you?”
With a swallow, I nod. There’s not a doubt in my mind he would. Stealing my resolve, I press a final kiss to his abs, then stand up. “I’m going to be the best take-care-of-you person who ever existed. Stay here.”
Cocking a brow, he stays seated as I turn and head toward the mini kitchen area. When I return, I’m balancing a salmon dish in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other. I carefully set them on the coffee table and remove the lids.
“So, I know the doctor said you don’t need a special diet, but WebMD has suggestions for keeping your remaining kidney strong.” I squint and glance away, trying to remember what the hell I memorized. I might not know what I’m doing, but I know I can’t mess this up. “For example, we need to focus on high-fiber foods and less carbs. Did you know there’s also such a thing as too much protein? Apparently, consuming too much can make your kidney work too hard.”
He looks at the dishes before him, staring at them hard, then settles his focus on me. “You did all this for me?”
I smile sweetly, touch a finger to the Amex card at the edge of the table, and slide it toward him. “I can’t take all the credit.” He doesn’t look at the card. He doesn’t look away from me at all. I inhale, clasping my hands in front of me, and nod toward the food. “It looks good, right?”
His gaze grows heavy with something I can’t place—something that makes my stomach flip, palms dampen.
For the second time in my life, I find myself fidgeting, and both occasions are totally Easton’s fault. “Or, if you’re not hungry, I can get the essential oils going.” I suppress a cringe at hearing those words leave my mouth. I wouldn’t even be saying them if it wasn’t for Whitney.
Before I left the hospital, she came to my room. After she explained who her dad is, I felt sick. She was the first girl to hold my hair back while I puked. Then, she apologized so much I almost puked again. When she suggested essential oils, claiming they could help my nausea disappear, I looked it up. I can tamp down my pride if there’s a chance they’ll help Easton feel better.
“I guess we just ... sit and breathe them in?” I ask, not bothering to hide how stupid that sounds. “I don’t know how to use the diffuser thing, but I’ll figure it out, and there’s even a meditation channel on the TV. There—there’s also a spa, or we can do homework. I’m caught up on the stuff your mom sent from school, so I could help you—”
“I’m thirsty.” The words are rough and dipped in heat, inflaming me until my knees are unsteady.
“Okay ... um, I have cold-pressed kale juice in the fridge.” Head buzzing, I turn around to grab it, but Easton’s hand catches my wrist, stopping me. My heart pounds, and I look over my shoulder.
Still holding my wrist, he shakes his head slowly. “I want orange juice.”
My throat goes dry. On his lips, the drink sounds dirty and wanting and filled with hidden meaning only we would understand—everything those dark whiskey irises confirm he intended. “Technically ... technically, orange juice is on the forbidden list.”
He cocks a brow, tugs me close, closer, until I fall onto his lap. A strong arm slides around my waist, his other hand finding my jaw and guiding my face toward his. His gruff voice curls low in my stomach. “Then it will taste that much sweeter.”
He takes my mouth in his. His tongue tangles with mine, palm sliding to the nape of my neck, and he kisses me like he needs me—with deep strokes and breathless promises. He’s kissed me every day I’ve spent with him in the hospital, but this time’s different. This time, he does it with abandon, without limitations, without restraint, and eachpull, suck, nip, sends an overwhelming rush of liquid heat between my thighs.
His hands coast down my back, around my hips, then he squeezes, effortlessly adjusting me so my legs are wrapped around him. My breath catches with the brush of his erection between our clothes, a tremble coursing through me, and his throaty groan makes me grind against it.
He breaks away from my mouth to trail slow kisses along my jaw, my neck. I can’t take it.
I want to give him everything.
I want it so badly my next words sting my tongue. “You’re ...” My eyes flutter shut when his teeth pull gently at the base of my throat. “You’re supposed to rest.”
“I’ll rest tomorrow.”
