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I glance up at my sister-in-law, catching her tight expression of genuine concern.
“Lucian sent men for me again. Lance stopped them.” I probably should explain more, but I really want to get a better look at that cut—and clean and dress it. I don’t like how long Lance has been bleeding. So I drag him upstairs to my room without further hesitation.
“Shirt off,” I command as I pull my sewing kit out of its drawer.
He does as I say, heading into the bathroom to avoid making a mess on my bedroom floor. And as I sanitize a needle, then my hands, Lance rests his hips against my counter, planting his bloody palms on the white quartz edge.
Taking a deep breath, I will my hands to stop shaking. The danger’s over, and now I have a job to do. Turning to Lance, I get to work cleaning the cut with fresh gauze soaked in antiseptic. I dab at the cut, and he doesn’t so much as flinch from the burn I know he must feel.
“Good news,” I say after a moment. “It looks like you’ll only need about fifteen stitches this time.”
“Goodie,” he jokes back, and he watches as I thread the needle and get to work.
He’s always watched this part, and I don’t understand how he can do it.It’s one thing to sew someone else’s skin up, but to watch his own get pulled back together? And to feel every time the needle goes in?His nerves must be made of steel. Most people would lose their stomach just from getting stitches without a numbing agent.
Thankfully, the familiar task of cleaning and sewing his wound helps calm my nerves, so my hands regain their steadiness as I tie the first knot closed. “Watching to make sure I’m doing it right?” I tease.
He chuckles. “I trust you. You’ve got good hands,” he says.
Heat pools in my cheeks at the compliment, and my heart warms. I chance a glance up at his handsome face as I smile. “Good hands?”
“You just got threatened and nearly abducted and they’re already steady,” he points out. “For most people, the adrenaline takes longer to fade.”
“Hmm.” I turn my eyes back to the task at hand, looping several precise sutures as I consider that. “I find this kind of task calming. I guess I don’t really have time to think about anything else when I’m focused on patching you up. And considering how often you hurt yourself, I’m starting to think I could do it in my sleep.”
“You make it sound like this was my fault,” he teases.
My eyes snap up to his dancing blue gaze. I love when Lance jokes with me. It doesn’t happen often, but it sets giddy butterflies loose in my belly.
“I guess I can’t blame you for this one,” I admit, my lips quirking as I get back to work. “I just hate seeing you hurt.” The confession comes out on a breath, and I hadn’t anticipated saying it out loud. But it’s true. Watching Lance bleed is awful. It always makes me wonder if, one day, I won’t be able to fix what’s wrong. And if that day ever comes, I’m not sureIcould survive it.
“I don’t mind it,” he says, his tone light enough he must be joking, and it pulls me from my dark thoughts.
I glance up to scowl at him, letting him know I don’t think he’s funny. But that beautiful smile steals the air from my lungs.
“No really,” he teases. “It’s my best excuse for letting you touch me.”
My heart flutters at the sweet statement. Because, as much as I know Lance wants me, he’s never given any indication that he might have felt something for me in the past. And a tingling relief sweeps through my body at the thought.
That combined with the fact that he’s going to be okay after his daring rescue tonight makes me feel almost giddy. Finishing off his last stitch, I snip the thread and straighten. “You don’t need an excuse for me to touch you,” I breathe, stepping closer.
And as I peer up into his deep-sea eyes, Lance cradles my face and leans in to kiss me softly.
21
LANCE
Quinn’s kisses are irresistible.
They awaken a hunger in me that I’ve never known before. Sure, I’ve slept with women before. And they often seem drawn to me for some inexplicable reason. But Quinn’s the first woman I can’t seem to resist.
And as her soft lips mold to mine, parting at my tongue’s request, I feel the deep, intense urge to bring her pleasure. I hated the way those men spoke about her. The way that theylookedat her. It makes me want to wipe the memory of them from her mind and only leave me in their place.
“I have to wash my hands,” Quinn murmurs.
She’s holding them between us, palms up to avoid getting more blood on my chest. And I’m certain she would prefer I wash off as well. So I turn her to face the sink, and as she turns on the faucet, I wrap my arms around her, running my palms beneath the water that cascades from hers.
With my lips pressed close to her ear, I savor the feel of her warm back against my bare chest. The way her hips brush lightly across mine as she scrubs her palms clean—and then mine.