“Good girl.” He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.
The small touch ripped through her with the force of a dangerous tide. Her legs wobbled again. She blinked. “So. Maybe you should lie down?”
“Yeah.” He handed over the needle and turned to sprawl on the bed, resting his face on his arms.
The towel dislodged enough to reveal the top of his very fine ass. His long legs hung over the edge of the bed, and even his feet were masculine and sexy.
Wow. She set a knee on the bed and gently began to pry the bloody paper away from the wound. It was a deep gash already filling with blood again. Her hands shook, and she took several deep breaths, forgetting about his butt. “Okay. It’s okay.”
He didn’t move and seemed almost asleep. “Just take your time,” he said drowsily.
How much blood had he lost? “I can do this.” Her hands trembling, she pressed the sides together. He didn’t so much as twitch, but it had to hurt. “I’m sorry,” she croaked.
“I’m fine.”
There was an intimacy in caring for him that gave her pause. Something feminine in her, something real, wanted to soothe him. Heal him. She gingerly slid the needle in, surprised by how much his flesh fought her. Her temples started to ache. Then she twisted and tried to draw it through. The angle was wrong. She shifted closer to him, her knee hitting his hip. Nope.
“You’re gonna have to straddle me, darlin’.”
She could’ve sworn that was amusement in his deep voice. Her gaze slid to his narrow waist and powerful back. “Right.” Taking yet another deep breath, she shifted closer and lifted one of her legs over his hips. To avoid the wound, she had to shimmy back and sit squarely on his butt. Her skirt rode up her thighs and put her skin flush against the towel, which then rode up toward the wound. She tried to lever up and shove it down, but it was trapped beneath him. “Um.”
He sighed, partially lifted, and yanked the towel free to toss on the floor. She landed on his bare butt this time. She gasped. God. His skin against hers. A totally unwelcome and insistent humming set up between her thighs. Heat flushed through her. All of him was so damn tight and muscled. Was he real?
“Anya? We’ll have to pay extra if I bleed all over the bedspread,” he said, his voice hoarse.
The poor guy sounded pained. “Right. Okay.” She leaned forward and clasped the wound, drawing the needle through. From her new vantage point, it was a lot easier. A lump filled her throat. She blinked away tears.
He relaxed beneath her, and her hands steadied as she sewed the wound together. His skin fought her, but she prevailed. Man, he was tough. Who could take needles through their skin without flinching? His strength, his very masculinity, stole her breath.
Finally, she tied a knot at the end and snipped the string free with the tiny sewing kit scissors. “Done,” she breathed out, sitting back. Sweat dotted her forehead, and she wiped the back of her hand across her skin.
“Thank you,” he rumbled.
“No problem.” As gently as she could, she slid off his body and tried not to stare at his stunning ass. Fights, blood, and stitches shouldn’t be a turn-on. Yet there was something about his obvious maleness that made her feel soft. Needed. Feminine. “We should get a bandage or something.”
“There should be something in my bag.” He turned his head to face her, his hair rumpled, his eyes lazy, his body stretched out like a satisfied lion. “Make sure it isn’t wet, though.”
Wet. He’d said wet. Her nipples peaked. Man, she was out of her depth. “Sure.” She rushed for his bag and almost kicked it out of the way before bending down and drawing out a dented box holding bandages, quarters, and a couple of condoms. Talk about prepared. She hustled back to him, securing the bandage against the stitches. She kept her movements gentle.
“Thanks,” he said, his gaze warm on hers. Then his hand took over. “I’ve got it.” He slowly started to roll over toward her, muscles rippling beneath his smooth skin.
Panic grabbed her. “No!” She lifted a hand and fell back, tumbling off the bed. Her butt hit the floor with a loud thump. Heat flared into her face.
He leaned over, just his head visible. “You okay?” Laughter made his eyes glow a deep green.
“Fine.” She primly pushed herself to stand. “I, ah, just will take a shower now.” Keeping her head high, she reclaimed her yoga pants and camisole before striding into the bathroom. Yeah. It would be a very cold shower.
CHAPTER
13
Heath gingerly stretched his side, making sure the stitches remained in place. His ribs ached, but he could live with the pain. The shower started in the other room. He forgot all about his wound as his mind flashed to the idea of Anya in the shower. Naked.
He groaned and turned his face into the pillow. Minutes before, she’d been straddling him. His groin tightened. Sure, she’d been stitching him up, but still.
His eyes ached, and he shut them. He wanted to stay awake until Anya returned to bed, but the earlier blood loss took its toll, and he dropped into an uneasy sleep. That quickly, he was right back in hell at the boys home.
The storage room, the one for beatings, had taken on a surreal glow. Ned, the owner, stood over a dead kid—Ralph—while Denver bled in the corner.
