Page 40 of Tribute Act
I expected him to demand I tell him exactly what we’d been talking about then, but he didn’t. He frowned. “Listen, don’t worry about me and Derek. It’s not your problem, okay?”
I put the knife down and turned to look at him properly. His expression was guarded, and he had his arms crossed over his chest, hugging himself. I found myself remembering that first night again. How he’d asked me to hold him. Did anyone else ever hold Mack? Were his grandparents affectionate in that way? Any of his boyfriends?
Had he even had boyfriends in that way, or had he just fucked around? He’d never mentioned anyone significant to me.
I clenched my hands by my sides to stop myself reaching for him. “He feels bad, you know? About the past.”
Mack gave a short, astonished laugh. “You don’t really believe that, do you? My dad’s a dick, Nathan. He wanted nothing to do with me when I was kid. Don’t go getting ideas into your head about fixing us.”
I took a deep breath. “I totally understand why you feel he didn’t care about you, I do, but I also don’t think that’s necessarily true. Maybe if you two talked—”
“Jesus, will you take a hint?” he yelled, eyes blazing. “I don’t want you to get involved in this! The whole world is not your fucking responsibility!”
Stung, I snapped back. “Okay, understood! I’ll stay out of your business. I just wanted you to know someone fucking cares. Excuse me for giving a shit.” I turned away and picked up my knife again, grabbing the pepper, but as annoyed as I was, I failed to pay proper attention and sliced into my index finger.
“Fuck!” I dropped the knife, crossing to the sink, yanking on the tap, and sticking my hand under. The cold water sluiced away the blood as I examined the cut.
“Jesus, are you okay?” Mack asked, coming up behind me. He stuck his head over my shoulder. “You’re bleeding a lot.”
I peered at the cut. “It doesn’t look too bad. Can you get me a plaster? There’s a box in one of those drawers.”
While Mack rifled through the drawers, I pressed on the cut with my thumb to stop the bleeding. He found a dog-eared box of plasters, which he upended onto the counter, shuffling through them to find one the right size.
“Show me your finger.” He ripped the outer packaging of a plaster open.
“Just give it here,” I said, holding out my other hand. “I can do it.”
“Calm down, Mr. Control Freak. I’m not going to mess up. Show me your finger.”
Huffing a little, I held out my hand, gingerly lifting my thumb. The bleeding had slowed, revealing a cut that was small but deep. Mack carefully laid the white gauzy bit over the cut and wrapped the sticky ends neatly round my fingertip.
“There,” he said, and his voice was strangely husky.
I glanced up.
I think I meant to say thank you. Say it and step away and go back to chopping vegetables. But Mack’s face was closer than I’d expected it to be, and his dark gaze was on me, his expression strangely tender. Unguarded.
And somehow it seemed like a good idea to kiss him.
It was a brief kiss. Short and warm and—for me—heart-stopping. Till he pulled back, simultaneously pushing at my shoulder with one hand to make sure we broke apart.
Shit, I’d read him wrong.
My stomach turned over sickeningly, and I opened my eyes reluctantly, expecting to see regret, maybe even horror on his face. Instead, to my surprise, I found him gazing at me questioningly. No, more than questioningly. Flirtatiously, with one eyebrow raised and an amused look that said Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
I whispered, “This could really complicate things.”
He smiled. “Only if we let it—and I don’t intend to. Do you?”
I just stared at him helplessly, and he moved in closer, pressing his hips against mine. His already-hard cock prodded mine, and I couldn’t suppress a groan.
“There’s no reason we can’t just have some fun,” he said huskily. “We’re both grown-ups. I fancy you, and I think you fancy me . . .”
Fucking understatement of the year.
“I do,” I agreed, sighing. “Kind of a lot. Have I been really obvious?”
His eyes widened as though my words had taken him aback. “Not at all.”