I wanted to bring her straight to her room. She seemed exhausted.
Her eyes were heavy and shadowed in purple. She couldn’t have slept much since she left. She’d only been at the safe house one night before turning around and coming back.
When we reached her door, I hesitated. I took her in, her bandaged hands and her lovely face.
Damn, I had missed her. She wasn’t even gone that long and I had felt her absence like a gaping wound inside my chest.
Even though she was tired and exhausted, my gaze dipped to that perfect mouth.
The memory of kissing her surfaced. I hadn’t expected her to come back, hadn’t considered standing this close to her so soon.
She smelled like the shampoo I’d used to wash her hair.
My stomach clenched, the confusion and guilt contorting my insides.
Palmer stood very still.
I knew what I wanted to do. But wanting wasn’t the same as what was right. Logically, I knew that kissing Palmer—that wanting Palmer in every way a man could want a woman—did not diminish my love for Jess.
But why did it still feel like a betrayal?
I let out a slow breath through my nose and subtly leaned back, putting a fraction more space between us. Something flickered in her expression…disappointment, maybe. I ignored it.
“Let me see your hands,” I said after clearing my throat.
She let out a breath and offered them to me. I cradled them carefully.
My hands dwarfed hers. I held them for a moment, inspecting the bandages. They were a little dirty and loose; she’d probably been using her hands more than she should.
“Let’s get you taken care of.” I pulled her into her room.
When we made it to the bathroom, I started to slowly unwrap them. She stood very still, watching me silently.
At least her wounds did seem better. The blisters hadn’t grown as big as I’d feared. The skin was healing. I checked for redness and signs of infection before cleaning them. I was focused as I applied antibiotic ointment and rewrapped them. We didn’t speak about Jess, or the dorm fire, but it hung between us like a veil of uncertainty and grief.
When I was finished, I didn’t let go right away.
Instead, I slid my grip from her palms to her wrists. My thumbs brushed the inside of her sweater under the fabric at the cuffs, grazing her bare skin.
At first, she didn’t react and I let my thumbs move higher, brushing up along the inside of her arms.
She tensed and jerked her arms away.
Avoiding my gaze, she wrapped her arms around her chest.
“Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. You didn’t.”
I waited for her to explain, but she remained quiet. She probably didn’t want me touching her like that. I shouldn’t be touching her like that.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. I dropped my hands to my sides.
Sighing, I tilted my face up toward the ceiling. “You really shouldn’t have come,” I said quietly.
She was silent for a long time. When I lowered my chin, she was staring at me with so much guilt that I almost reached for her again.
My face softened. “But I’m glad you did anyway.”
