Page 41 of Merciless Daddy

“Sit,” I said.

His brow lifted.

“Do not make this into a power struggle. You’re bleeding on an expensive bathroom.”

For one second, the corner of his mouth threatened that impossible smile.

Then he sat on the marble counter.

He was still in the dark shirt, but he had unbuttoned the top three buttons. His throat was bare. The hollow at its base. A glimpse of warm olive skin and dark hair at his chest. His shoulders filled the space behind him. His knees spread slightly so I could stand between them without touching him.

His hands went behind him on the counter.

Deliberately visible. Deliberately away from me.

I opened the trauma kit with fingers that were steadier than I felt.

“You don’t have to hold yourself like a saint,” I muttered.

“I’m not.”

“You look uncomfortable.”

“Well that’s becuase I’m uncomfortable, Eintsein.”

That made me look at him.

His eyes were on my face, not my body. His pupils had widened. His jaw was tight.

Heat slipped under the cashmere.

I wet gauze and cleaned the blood away. His cheek was warm beneath my fingertips. Warmer than it should have been. His stubble scraped softly against the pads of my fingers as I steadied his jaw.

He smelled clean. Soap. Something darker underneath. The faint spice of his cologne, restrained enough that I noticed only when I was close enough to feel his breath against my wrist.

My heart beat too fast.

“You should have ducked,” I said.

“I did.”

“Poorly.”

I pressed the wound closed. He did not flinch. I set the first closure across it, then the second. My knuckles brushed the hard line of his jaw.

His breath changed.

So did mine.

I focused on the final strip. One more. Press. Hold.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The words were quiet. Unplanned.

They went through me like a live wire.

My breath caught. My thighs tightened under the leggings. A small, humiliating pulse opened low in my body, sharp enough that I nearly dropped the strip.