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I arched an eyebrow.

His lips curved into a smile, and he crossed the distance between us, his hands settling on my hips. “Do I need to help you undress?”

“Oh, definitely.” Shirts actually were a bit of a pain—I could do it, of course, but I’d much rather Taavi do it for me.

His fingers traced my stomach right above my waistband, lightly brushing over the skin and sending shivers through me. Unfortunately, that also made me wince.

Goddamnit.

Taavi immediately pulled his fingers back. “Val, I’m—”

“Don’t you dare stop,” I told him, my own hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, it will hurt a lot more if you stop.”

His expression was incredulous.

“Ow?”

That got me a laugh, and his hands returned to rest on my hips, although I could feel tentativeness in the lightness of his fingertips against my skin.

I let my hands scoop his face toward mine, bending carefully to capture his lips with my own. It pulled a little against the stitches in my skin, but I ignored the discomfort, needing Taavi’s mouth far more than I needed to not pull on my stitches. I wasn’t in any danger of ripping the damn things, but I was very much in danger of going insane if I didn’t kiss him.

He pulled back, his hands more firm on my hips. “Val.”

“What?”

“Don’t bend like that.”

I made a face at him.

He pressed one finger into the center of my chest. “Behave yourself.”

“Or…?”

“Or I walk out of this bathroom.”

I frowned down at him.

“Now hold still.”

He gently lifted the hem of my shirt, easing it over the gauze bandage on my side.

“Arms up.”

I obediently put them up, although not over my head, because Taavi’s too short to pull off a shirt another foot-plus over my six-four height. He worked my shirt over my head with some muttering, having to stand on his toes and tug a bit. I couldn’t help the smile that pushed its way onto my face, although I managed to suppress any sort of snort or laughter.

He dropped my shirt on the floor. “You can put them down now.”

I let them fall back to his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his body through the cotton fabric of his shirt, which was just as covered in flour and sauces as mine had been.

“You should take yours off, too,” I pointed out reasonably.

“I thought I told you to behave.”

“I didn’tdoanything,” I objected.