Thankfully, the bandage was still in place, and there was no sign of him bleeding through it. Darting a glance at his face, I noted his relaxed features. Clearly, he wasn’t in too much pain.
Since he wasn’t dying or suffering, it would be okay topeep him a little before I hightailed it out of there. Right?
Right or not, my eyes were already peeping. His body was a roadmap, and suddenly, I was a car in need of direction. Starting at his narrow waist, I roamed over the defined ridges of his abdomen to drag upward to his broad, sculpted chest. The tattoo I’d hated on sight was still there, still reminding the world he wasborn to die.I stared hard at those black letters, wondering all over again why he would put that on his body and wishing I could rip it away.
I thought vaguely of finding a Sharpie and crossing out that lifelong typo just so I wouldn’t have to look at a reminder that he was not mine.Death can’t have him either.
Forcing my attention away, my eyes drifted to the large scar on his stomach that I’d felt that night two years ago and now could see. After a quick glance to make sure he was still sleeping, I leaned over to get a closer look. It was big, the size of a silver dollar, the tissue hard and raised. It was shinier and had a mottled purple undertone compared to the rest of his golden skin. There was another smaller circular scar higher up on his waist, but it wasn’t as severe.
There was actually a plethora of scars decorating his body, one on his arm that looked like a knife wound, and another similar slash on his side.
Was this why he thought he was born to die? Because he’d been near death more than once?
“If you’re waiting for me to do a trick, I only do those on Sundays,” he drawled in a deep, sleepy voice.
Startled, I jolted back, nearly rolling all the way off the bed.
I gasped, pushing up but trying to keep the momentumand scramble the rest of the way off the bed. “You’re awake?”Time to go.
“It’s hard to sleep when someone is boring a hole through you.”
“I wasn’t,” I protested, my face flaming because, in fact, I was. The very tip-tops of my toes brushed the floor beside the bed, and I knew freedom—only to be yanked back onto the mattress, feet practically going up over my head.
“Hey!” I objected.
His chuckle was a warm rumble above my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn’t look at him.
Looking at him was a disastrous idea.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his hand still wrapped around my upper arm like he knew I’d beat it if he let go.
“I’m leaving.”
“Not until you answer some questions.”
“I’d rather fight a rabid raccoon in a pitch-black alley!”
“I told you to stay out of alleys,” he growled.
“You aren’t the boss of me.”
“And yet here I am, pinning you to the bed.”
His voice was soft but dangerous, making my mind and body fully aware that I was completely at his mercy. In any other situation, with any other man, I would have panicked and fought.
But not with Hiro.
His power was magnetic, taunting me like an addiction and luring me into submission. The moment I lifted my gaze,the sucker punch that was his espresso eyes fixated on me through the curtain of inky strands falling over his forehead and grazing his cheeks. The beautiful deep-blush color of his lips seemed too pretty to be natural but obviously was. Paired with the way he loomed, it fluttered my stomach with anticipation.
I told you. Looking at him led to bad decisions.
I guess if I’d hoped the hurt of him ghosting me two years ago would dull his effect on me, I now knew hope was a shameless liar.
He must have smelled my defeat—at least I hoped it was defeat and not proof I needed to shower—because he smirked those perfect lips and effortlessly dragged me closer.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded like he wasn’t affected by my presence at all.
Jerk.
