Page 23 of Canvas’ Muse

"So, you walking up here to see me? That means something. But you bleeding through your bandages because you're stubborn? That pisses me off." She's unwrapping the gauze now, checking the stitches underneath. "You're going to heal properly if I have to tie you to that medical bed myself."

"Kinky."

She smacks my good shoulder lightly. "Don't make me laugh. I'm trying to be stern with you."

"Is it working?"

"Not even a little bit." But she's smiling as she cleans the small amount of blood seeping through. "Stitches look okay. You didn't tear them, thank god. But you need to be more careful. These take time to heal."

Chapter 7 - Eden

He's bleeding through his bandages, sitting on my borrowed bed looking like he just climbed a mountain, and somehow he's more handsome than ever.

Davis walked up a flight of stairs with a bullet wound less than two days old just to see me. When has a man ever gone through so much for me? The answer comes immediately: never. Not even close.

My ex cheated on me more than once. Before him, there was a string of men who were fine: adequate, forgettable, the kind who showed up but never really *showed up.*

And then there's Davis, who took a bullet for me after knowing me for three hours and just dragged himself through a clubhouse to make sure I'm okay.

"This can't happen again," I tell him, rewrapping the gauze around his shoulder. "You bleeding through your bandages because you're too stubborn to stay in bed. From now on, I'll come to you until you're better."

He chuckles, and the sound vibrates through his chest. "That's not very gentlemanly of me. Making you do all the work."

"You were a gentleman when you covered me with your body and took that bullet." I tape down the bandage, making sure it's secure. "Now it's my turn to take care of you."

"You're relentless." But there's admiration in his voice, not complaint.

"I believe in doing what I think is right." I meet his eyes, finding them locked on my face. "Always have, always will."

"I agree." His good hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "I believe in doing what's right too."

And then he's kissing me.

His mouth crashes against mine with purpose, claiming, demanding. His hand slides into my hair, gripping tight enough to make me gasp, and he uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

I kiss him back with everything I have, my hands fisting in his hair, always careful of his injured shoulder but needing to touch him, to feel him, to confirm he's real and alive and here. The kiss is desperate, hungry, like we're both trying to prove something, that we're alive, that we survived, that this thing between us is real and worth the insanity.

He kisses me like he's been thinking about it since I walked into his studio. Like he's been wanting this just as much as I have. His teeth catch my bottom lip, tugging, and I moan into his mouth.

I don't want this kiss to ever end. As long as we're kissing, everything is perfect. It's just the two of us in our own little bubble where bullets, motorcycle gangs and danger don't exist. Just his mouth on mine, his hand in my hair, the heat building between us.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are wide open and he's smiling, a real smile that transforms his entire face. He chuckles, breathless. "Had to do what I thought was right."

"You're an idiot," I tell him, but I'm smiling too, my lips swollen and tingling. "But I'm glad you kissed me."

"Is that all you want? A kiss?"

My body responds before my brain catches up, heat pooling low in my belly. "You're not in condition for anything else."

"You'd be surprised what I can still do without a shoulder." His voice drops lower, rougher, and the sound goes straight between my thighs.

I raise an eyebrow, taunting him even as my pulse races. "Show me."

Davis moves fast for someone who got shot two days ago. His mouth finds my neck, thick lips pressing hot kisses along the column of my throat. I tilt my head back, giving him access, and he takes full advantage. His teeth scrape against my pulse point, his tongue soothing the sting, and I'm already breathing hard.

He uses the momentum to pull me down until I'm lying on the bed, him leaning over me, supported by his good arm. His dark eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with desire.

"At least I'm not wearing a shirt already," he says, voice playful despite the heat in his gaze. "But it's time for you to take off yours."