She shrugged. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t know that you want to kiss me.”
“Would you quit saying that?” Heat rushed up his neck and settled in his face, making him quite uncomfortable. “Turn around so I can tend to the wounds on your back.”
For once, she did as he said without any questions. Thank goodness. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could have put up with the endless questions. It would have been so much easier to smother her lips with his own. And then he’d know if her berry-red lips were as sweet as they appeared.
But this was better. With her back to him, he could get a hold on his rising desire. They were oh, so wrong for each other. She was pushy and demanding. She was definitely not the type of woman he normally dated. If he hadn’t been alone all these months, he wouldn’t even be tempted by her. He assured himself that was the truth.
And then she lifted her shirt, stained with thin traces of blood, to reveal the smooth skin of her back. His assurances instantly melted away. All he wanted to do was run his hands over her body and soothe away her discomfort with his lips, fingers and body.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
His mouth suddenly grew dry. He swallowed and hoped when he spoke that his voice didn’t give away his wayward thoughts. “I—I’m just figuring out where to start.”
“Is it that bad?”
He wondered if she was referring to his level of distraction or the cuts and punctures on her back. He decided that she’d given up flirting with him and was at last being serious. “It could be worse.”
“That’s not very positive.”
He was beginning to wonder if along with his memory loss he’d lost his ability to talk to women. He used to be able to flirt with the best of them without even breaking a sweat, but talking to Gabrielle had him on edge, always worrying that he’d say something wrong, which he seemed to do often.
“I didn’t mean to worry you.” He grabbed a fresh washcloth from the cabinet and soaked it with warm water. He added some soap and worked it into a lather. “Let me know if this hurts.”
“It’ll be fine.”
He wanted to say that the skin on her back was more tender than that on her arms or hands, but he didn’t want to argue with her. It was then that he noticed how her skirt rode up her legs, giving a generous view of her thighs. His hand instinctively tightened around the washcloth as his body tensed.
With great reluctance, he glanced away. It took all of his effort to concentrate on the task at hand. And it didn’t help that the task involved running his fingers over her bare flesh. Talk about sweet torture.
He pressed the cloth gently to the first wound. When he heard the swift intake of her breath, he pulled away the cloth. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just keep going.”
“Are you sure?”
“Keep going. I obviously can’t do it myself.”
And so he kept working as quickly as he could. When her wounds were cleaned, rinsed and dried, he grabbed the antibiotic cream, which, thankfully, had something for pain relief. A few of the cuts had required bandages. The others had already started the healing process.
He lowered her top. “There. All done.”
She turned to him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” He waved off her gratitude. “I don’t deserve your thanks.”
“Yes, you do. You fixed me all up.”
“I’m the one who caused your injuries.” He just couldn’t seem to do anything right these days.
“No, you didn’t. I stumbled and fell. End of story.”
“You stumbled because I startled you.”
Her green-gray eyes studied him for a moment. “You do have a way of growling—”
His voice lowered. “I don’t growl.”
She laughed. “You just growled at me.”