Page 12 of Forever a Thief

I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. You don’t have to pay me.” I can’t help but wonder if he’s used to paying everyone in his life for things? Surely, a man this worldly and attractive must have a ton of friends who’d help him out.

Yet, if that’s true, why did he call on me, a complete stranger?

“At least stay a while. Have a glass of champagne and enjoy the ocean view.” He stiffens, gingerly touching the bandage covering his side. Then his nose wrinkles. “I need to change and wash up.”

“You can’t get your stitches wet,” I remind him.

“I’ll manage.” He reaches for a fresh pair of pajama pants, and there’s no missing his grimace of pain.

Before I can think too hard, I blurt, “C’mon. Let me help you.”

What the hell? What am I thinking, making such an insane offer? But I did, so I push my shoulders back and march over to the ensuite. Laurent follows me into the big bathroom which is just as luxurious as I expected. Cream marble floors flecked with gold, a vanity with double sinks below a gold leaf mirror and a huge sunken tub. There’s a stack of fresh towels on a shelf, and I reach for a washcloth and run it under warm water. After pulling in a steadying breath, I turn to see Laurent casually leaning his perfect ass against the counter in front of the other sink.

“Okay, um, let me just clean up some of this dried mud.” I lift the washcloth then hesitate. “If that’s okay?”

Bright green eyes lock onto mine, and there’s no trace of the mirth he’s displayed so far. “That would be very helpful.” His velvet voice holds a huskiness that wasn’t there before, and my stomach does that telltale flip-flop which signals one thing.

Dammit. I’m attracted to this scoundrel.

Pushing inappropriate thoughts away, I twirl a finger, and he obediently turns, presenting me with his broad back. He grips the counter while I very carefully clean places he’d have to stretch to reach. Taking my time, being extremely thorough, I make sure to wipe away every last trace of grime. The crusty remnants of tonight’s deadly encounter long washed away, I find myself still dragging the washcloth over his smooth skin. Specifically, his strong, toned, tanned back and shoulders. His muscles flex, and I glance into the mirror where our eyes lock. Green fire sparks in his irises, and I take an unsteady step away.

“All done.” My throat is so dry, I practically choke out the words. Moving to the other sink, I rinse the washcloth, my attention moving over the neat row of bottles lining the counter. Remembering his incredibly soft skin, I’m expecting to see a dozen facial products, but there are just three neatly lined-up bottles—a Kiehl’s face wash and moisturizer, and what I’m guessing is a very expensive cologne called Maison Francis Kurkdjian Baccarat Rouge 540. Wow, that’s a mouthful. It’s also quite a noseful, because I really like the way he smells.

I glance up and meet his gaze in the mirror. Again my stomach takes a dive. He’s looking at me intently, and there’s no missing the heat still burning in those gorgeous eyes. Clearing my throat, I wring the washcloth out and carefully lay it on the edge of the sink.

“I think you should stay here tonight,” he murmurs, making my pulse hammer harder. “It’s safe.”

Safe. Right. I give my head a shake, hoping to clear it. Which option truly presents more danger? The possibility that whoever followed Laurent to my restaurant will figure out who I am and track me down at home? Or staying here with a man who’s already making me feel things I have no business feeling? Do I really want to take the chance at home? By myself? I mean, whatever he’s mixed up in was serious enough for him to get stabbed, and he does have a pretty nice place here, locked up behind secured gates, so…

“I don’t want to intrude—” When he winces, I reach for his elbow. “Are you okay?”

“Perhaps I should pretend I’m fine so you think I’m a tough badass, but I’m not going to lie. Getting stabbed hurts.”

“You need to change out of those dirty pants and get into bed,” I admonish, my reluctance to stay here shelved for the moment. “C’mon, I’ll help you.” Grabbing the soft, silky pajama bottoms, I move past him, briefly squeeze my eyes shut, and wonder when I became Florence freaking Nightingale.

Back in the bedroom, I nod to the bed. “Sit,” I order, striving to sound brisk, in charge, and like I’m not a quivering mass of jelly inside. He obediently drops his firm ass on the bed and gives me a mischievous look.

And I quickly realize it’s going to be hard getting his pants off while he’s sitting.

“Um—”

Before I can humiliate myself, he reaches out, long fingers wrapping around my wrist and his lips twitch. “As much as I like the idea of you taking off my pants, I think I can handle it from here.”

My face burns and I must be the color of a fire engine. Oh, my God. What is wrong with me? I’m so rusty when it comes to being around a man and dealing with an attraction, it’s embarrassing. “Of course,” I mumble.

“I hope you’ll stay until morning. We can manage everything else tomorrow with fresh heads. It’s late, and the couch is more comfortable than a cloud.”

His words make me feel relieved and disappointed at the same time. “I’ll stay. In case you need me,” I quickly add.

“Thank you, ma chérie. You saved my life tonight.” He gives me a panty-melting smile, and I don’t miss the dimple in his left cheek. It’s like kryptonite, and I wonder how one tiny indent can make me melt so thoroughly?

“You’re welcome. I’ll just be out there.” I start walking backward, and hike a thumb over my shoulder. It’s starting to get awkward again, but he merely nods.

“Bonne nuit,” he murmurs.

“Night,” I whisper back, a little put out by how throaty my voice sounds.

Turning around, I ease out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut, but not closing it completely. Not because I’m hoping for a peek, but, you know, in case he might need me at some point.