Birch startled. Bleeding. He looked down and to the side. Just his stitches. Who cared about a few drops of blood? “I was taking the stitches out and accidentally punctured my skin with the scissors.” He smiled wryly as if it hadn’t hurt. “I need a mirror so I can visualize them clearly.”
Allison nodded. “Okay. I’ll help you.”
“I don’t need assistance.”
“You stop being a stubborn oaf and let me help you,” Allison jabbed right back at him.
Birch was ready to show her exactly how stubborn he could be when she stunned him into silence by stepping closer, placing those warm, incredible palms on his waist, and pushing him toward the kitchen counter.
“You sit right up here and I’ll get your stitches out,” she said all soft and appealing, “bandage you up, and then I’ll let you be a stubborn mule who ‘don’t need assistance’ again.”
Birch stiffened. He’d been trained to speak properly at all times. Is that really the way he’d sounded? He allowed her to push him to the massive granite island in the kitchen, simply because he was trying to get away from her feminine hands on him again. If she kept touching him he’d falter and do something incredibly stupid like kiss her until they both had to fight for air.
Shaking that thought from his head, he planted both hands on the counter behind him and jumped up, sitting on the cold granite.
“Good boy,” Allison said, patting his leg.
More unwanted feelings arose from her simply touching his leg. He was losing control and he hated that. Steeling himself to her touch he sat up rigidly and shot at her, “I am not a dog.”
Allison grinned at him. “Thank heavens. You’d be the worst dog in history, all bark and an even meaner bite.”
She lifted her hand toward him to take the medical supplies but he found he couldn’t resist as he quickly bent toward her hand and let out a loud, snarling bark.
Allison jumped and squealed. Birch laughed. She put her hands to her face, turning a pretty shade of pink and giving him a well-earned glare. “Oh, that was funny was it?”
Birch chuckled but tried to stop his laughter. “I apologize, I couldn’t resist.”
She gave him a death glare but her lips were twitching up, revealing she thought it was at least a little funny. Holding out her hands she demanded, “Give me those scissors and we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”
Birch’s own eyes widened as his grip on the scissors tightened. “Despite how tough I appear, I am not a masochist.”
She smiled but she also looked him over again. “You do look tough, prove it by being man enough to give me the scissors.” She held out her palm.
Birch had no choice. She’d called out his manliness. He set the scissors in her open hand, but had to have the last word. “Those were sterile when I took them out of the package. Now you’ll probably infect my stitches.”
She smiled as if he were a cute little boy and asked, “Where’s the medicine cabinet?”
He pointed, then enjoyed watching her walk over and pour alcohol over the scissors, setting them on a paper towel before washing her own hands. You’d think with how much he’d watched her on surveillance videos the past six days he’d be immune to the smooth way she moved, the alluring curve of her hips, and how soft her hair and skin looked, but it was even more tantalizing to view it up close and personal. Especially as a clean, womanly scent also seemed to drape over him.
She picked up the scissors by the handle and walked back to him. Every step was fascinating, the look in her eyes was so charming and seductive he forgot his own name. He tried to mentally slap himself, remember she was an actress and pulling men in by fake charm was just what they did, but he couldn’t seem to hit himself hard enough to do anything but stare with a slightly open mouth as she approached.
She reached him and unfortunately got straight down to business. “Turn toward me and move that arm out of the way.” Not unfortunately. Business was good. He was here on business, on a job, he wasn’t falling for his client, especially not an actress client.
Birch did as instructed, studying her as she examined his wound and furrowed her smooth brow. She looked up at him. She was so close, pressing against his outer thigh with her abdomen. If he leaned down and she leaned up he could taste those tempting, full, luscious—
“I don’t think we should do this.”
“Do what?” He was confused. Why shouldn’t they kiss?
“Take these out while you’re still bleeding.”
“Excuse me?” Birch blinked and passed a hand over his face. Stitches. Not kissing. Stitches. He scowled, mad at himself for forgetting his purpose so quickly. He wasn’t upset with her, but he must have had a fierce glower because she leaned slightly away from him. “It’ll be fine. They’re only bleeding because I perforated the skin. If you don’t take them out, I’ll do it myself.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Now that is a threat I can’t help but respond to. You’d poke yourself and scream like a girl and drip blood all over this gorgeous house.”
“I do notscream.” He shook his head as she grinned and he realized he was playing right into her toying with him. “Did I really drip blood?”
“I don’t know. We’ll play maid later, after I play doctor.” She pumped her eyebrows at him.