He shakes his head, hands settling on my hips, squeezing gently…tenderly. “No. No, Adhira. That's—” He huffs out a breath. “That's not what I meant.”
Silence stretches between us.
“I wasn't rushing home to make sure you were okay. I just wanted to be with you.”
Now my heart is shredding apart for a totally new reason, and I don't quite understand it. I've enjoyed spending time with Elijah, especially now that I'm being honest with him, but it feels different from when I'm with my other friends. It's…new. Not unpleasant. Just different.
“Okay,” I whisper, busying myself with wetting gauze in warm, soapy water. “I'm going to clean you up, princess.”
The corners of his lips twitch. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
Butterflies swarm my belly as I take a seat on the edge of the coffee table and lean into his space, nearly suffocating in the warm, clean scent of his freshly showered body. I take my time cleansing his wounds, drying them, and applying Steri-Strips and skin glue to close them without sutures. I don't trust my basic medical knowledge enough to stick a needle through already torn skin, and I wouldn't want to risk marring his pretty face.
When I'm finished, I sit back with my hands on my knees and admire my handiwork.
“Good as new.”
“I've got one more wound. Would you mind taking a look at it?”
I shake my head, tongue growing thick as he slides off his suit jacket and begins unbuttoning his black button-down.
The fabric falls to the sides, exposing his toned abdominal muscles and a hematoma just below his lowest ribs that steals the breath from my lungs.
“Elijah, this is huge! You could be bleeding internally!” I all but shriek.
He shakes his head. “It's nothing I haven't had before. I'll be fine, Adhira.”
“If you’re so sure, then why did you want me to inspect it?”
He stands, towering over me, and brings our bodies impossibly close. I lift a trembling hand to his side, running the pads of my fingers over it. His chest stills at the sudden contact.
“Sorry, my hands are always cold.”
“It-it’s okay.”
I inspect every inch of his upper body, looking for injuries anywhere his skin is exposed to me, and when I'm done, he drags in an unsteady breath.
“I think you'll live.”
He releases a strained chuckle. “Glad to hear it.”
“Elijah?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you want me to look at it if you knew it was fine?” I repeat.
I search his hooded gaze, shadows falling over his sharp cheekbones as he stares down at me. He reaches out a hand and whispers, “Is this okay?”
A shiver rolls down my spine. I nod.
With trembling fingers, he cups my jaw and swipes the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. My core tenses, and my body flushes.
“Will you kiss it and make it better, sweetheart?” he asks, the words a broken whisper spoken in the safety of the darkness shrouding us.
Pressing my palm to his side, I lean in and press the softest of kisses over the bruise blooming beneath his skin. He sucks in a breath, and neither of us moves for a long beat.
A car horn from the street below us snaps us into reality, and I pull away.
