“Don’t apologize. You were fighting a threat.”
“You’re not a threat!”
“No, but you didn’t seeme.” His eyes bore into mine, and the calm in them only makes it worse. “I told you before. I’d rather see you fight than cower away.” A maddening, toe-curling smile tugs his lips as he runs his knuckles along my jaw. “I can take it.”
More apologies beeline on the tip of my tongue. I swallow them all because the damage is done. Words won’t fix this, but actions might.
“Let’s clean you up,” I say.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I catch his wrist, leading him into the bathroom.
He doesn’t argue, following me down the hall, words failing us both. The silence between us isn’t awkward. It’s thick with everything that’s happened.
In the bathroom, I pull out the first aid kit and set it on the counter, then motion for him to sit on the edge of the tub. The cuts look worse under the bright lights, angry, red, and raised. My hands tremble as I soak a cotton pad with the antiseptic.
He doesn’t flinch when I dab the first scratch. Of course he doesn’t. Not far from where I scratched him, there’s an old scar. Small, jagged, but close to perfectly round. A bullet wound, if I had to guess. That definitely hurt more than my nails.
“Look at me,” he demands, tipping my head back with two fingers, the intensity in his dark eyes stoking the ever-present fire in my abdomen. “I’m fine.”
“I keep hurting you.”
He smirks. “You’ll find that I don’t mind. You were fighting a ghost and I stepped in your way. I made a conscious decision.”
“You shouldn’t. Next time, stay back and just let me... rage.”
“And risk that you’ll hurt yourself in the process?” His brow lifts slightly. “Not happening. I can handle you spilling my blood, hellcat. But if it’s yours... hellno.”
The tension turns electric, a living thing swelling between us and burrowing deep under my skin. It cinches around my ribs, then runs lower, pooling in my lower stomach the way it always does when we’re this close. Whenever I get a whiff of his cologne, feel his hands on me, or his eyes hold mine hostage the way they do now.
Like I’m something he desperately wants but won’t take.
He drops his hand back to his thigh, fingers flexing against the denim when I press a fresh cotton pad to the bite mark on his collarbone.
“This is bad,” I breathe. “I’m sorry.”
“I saiddon’t apologize, didn’t I?”
“I can’t help it. Ibityou.” My cheeks pink up. “And I keep wondering what you see when you look at me.”
“What do you think I see?”
Nothing good. Not when I’m losing my shit in such an all-encompassing, volatile way.
I desperately want to believe that the way he watches me, how his voice drops sometimes, and the way his eyes linger on my lips isn’t just a byproduct of my imagination. I hope I’m not making things up, but... what if I am?
I mean, who’d want me?
Who’d want this walking minefield? My head’s a warzone and I keep dragging him into it, hurting him just because he’s close. I’m terrified he thinks I’m beyond repair.
“I don’t know. Probably someone you’re scared to touch. Someone you have to tiptoe around. Someone broken, fragile.”
Koby leans forward, catching my chin and angling my face toward his. “I purposely stand in your way when you rage, lockyou in my arms, take your punches, screams, and kicks... and you think I’m scared totouchyou?”
He drags his thumb across my lower lip, pressing it into my teeth. “I’m not scared, hellcat. And you’re not broken. You’re stronger than you think. I try not to trigger you, but not because I think you’re weak. You’re raw, and real, and...” His gaze flicks between my eyes and my mouth, burning with something feral, “...you’re worth being careful with.”
The air around us crackles almost audibly. My throat tightens. I’m on edge, strung like a tightrope about to snap. I lift my free hand, sliding it up his abdomen, feeling the warmth and tension there. My heart beats out of my chest in anticipation as I curl my fingers in the neckline of his t-shirt, daring him to close the distance.
