“Cash is on his way from Boston. He’s coming for the fair and to see our progress.”
I look up at him from where I’m squatting. “Cash McGraw?” Raiden’s godfather, substitute dad, and mentor. I can hardly miss meeting him.
“The one and only.”
“For the Ashleigh Lake Fair?”
“Yep, he’s from here. He usually comes around this time of year…it’s a tra-tra-tradition of sorts.”
I glance up. Raiden stuttered there and nowadays I pick that up as a signal of an undercurrent of emotion he doesn’t reveal in any other way. This morning he wasn’t talkative at all, and when he said something, it was all business. “If Cash is coming for the fair, I can’t miss it, can I?”
“Nope,” he says with a dry chuckle. “You’re good there? I have one empty slot left.”
“Yep. This is the last one.” I press down on the two-by-four to make the fiberglass insulation as thin as possible and cut through it with my utility knife. I stand and wipe the sweat off my brow as I hand the block to him.
It’s just after lunch and for once the heat is getting to me. Raiden insisted he’d cut the insulation, but I am being a hard-ass about it. He can focus on installing it as I have no experience with insulation, but I’ll do the cutting. Now I’m covered in a long sleeve T-shirt with gloves, protective glasses, and a mask. I bet if he were cutting it, he wouldn’t have bothered with half the protective gear.
I peel off the glasses and mask, needing to cool off with a sip of water. Next go the gloves, but I’m still holding the utility knife in my hand, and as I bring my hands together, I flinch. I’m so hot and bothered, I forgot to retract the blade. I’ve nicked my skin at the base of my hand, and it stings.
Raiden is on me in a second. “You okay?”
I can already hear his head churning. Of all the places to cut yourself, Miami. We’ve had a few situations that called for a Band-Aid, but nothing this bloody yet.
“It’s just a nick.” Blood is running to my palm, but it isn’t flowing in rivers. “It’ll be okay.”
“Let’s get that cleaned up.” He reaches for our first-aid kit and comes over to where I’ve sunk down into a chair.
If I were honest with him, I’d let him know that I’m exhausted. Last night’s interlude left me rolling around in bed for a long time, but it wasn’t only that. It’s the relentless work as we try to keep to my schedule, and the pressure of wanting something I can’t have. Delayed gratification is overrated, especially if gratification isn’t ever coming my way.
Raiden opens the medical box and takes out everything he needs. I can do this on my own, but he sits down on the extra chair we brought along and holds out his hand. “Here, let me see.”
I scrape my chair closer to him, as I’m too tired to hold my arm stiffly in his direction, and our knees bump. Then my hand is in his. This isn’t the first time he’s touched me since we kissed; every now and again there’s a brush of hands or fingers in the work we do, but this…this is soft and tender. He’s taking care of me like I took care of him last night.
Our heads come together as he wipes the wound clean with disinfectant. Once the cut is exposed, it’s clearly not that deep.
“Miami luck. Missed a blood vessel by a quarter inch,” he mutters as he reaches for the ointment. “Could have been much worse. We almost had to rush to the ER.”
“Such a stupid mistake. I’m just tired. I forgot to close—”
“I know.” He glances up at me as he applies pressure to the cut and for a moment we sit quietly. He holds my hand as he studies my face, and his gaze eventually rests on my lips. “Last night won’t happen again.”
My breathing stalls. He does remember. When I lick my bottom lip, he tears his gaze away and opens the ointment to put some on my wound. “A Band-Aid and you’re all set.”
That was going to be the only reference then. “Yay.”
The way his fingers hold me, gentle and soothing, his thumb stroking idle circles on my palm, makes my legs go all wonky. I could blame it on an adrenaline rush, but it isn’t from the injury. It’s this—it’s him. It’s his touch. It’s everything about him.
Time slows down as he unwraps a Band-Aid and covers the cut, which is hardly bleeding anymore. His care is somewhat extra and inwardly I smile. He might be keeping his distance, but Raiden Logan cares. A lot.
His face is so close to mine, I could count his lashes. I can smell his cedar-scented shampoo and his latest bathroom addition, a beard oil called Electric Cowboy that has a clean woodsy scent. When I met him, he had a three-day scruff. Now he has enough beard that all I want to do is dig my fingers into it and feel its scratch on my skin. In places other than just on my shoulder, like last night.
At the thought, a moan escapes my lips and already my legs inch wider, pressing against his knees, getting closer to him where our bare skin touches and my body burns with longing. Raiden lets go of my hand and packs away the first-aid things on the desk. He shifts against me but doesn’t pull away.
“You good?” he asks, no longer looking at me.
“No.” I’m too hot with him this close. I reach for the hem of my long sleeve T-shirt and pull it over my head. There’s immediate relief now that I’m only in a black tank top with thin straps.
Raiden seems to be frozen in his chair, but I stand, and with us sitting this close, my legs are anchored between his, my breasts in his face.