She pushes her chair back with a yelp. I glance down at the blood that drips from my palm. It’s curiously bright.
"Oh, your poor hand." She grabs the paper napkin, and presses it down on my hand. Within seconds, the blood has blotted through it. "We need to take care of this."
I watch her face, take in the concern in her features. The way the color has leached from her cheeks. How her lips are parted in concern. How she’s cradling my hand in hers. The emotion on her face runs the gamut from worry to anxiety to determination. She sets her jaw and looks up at me. "This needs to be seen to, Liam."
"Okay."
"Okay?" She jumps to her feet. "Is that all you have to say?" She grabs another napkin, places it in my other hand and brings it down on the injured one. "Hold your arm up above your heart and keep this there, please." I oblige. She tugs on my shoulder. "Get up. Let’s go inside, please."
I rise to my feet.Does she know she can ask me for anything and I’ll give it to her? I’d set the world itself on fire for her.I shake my head. Maybe the cut is more severe than I thought. It’s the only explanation for why my thoughts are turning so sentimental.
She slides her arm around my waist, and urges me forward. As if I’m an invalid, and she needs to support my weight. My lips quirk, then I wipe the expression off of my face. I put my uninjured arm about her waist, but I keep the other elevated so she won’t yell at me. Yep, I’m taking advantage of her nearness, but if this is the only way I’m going to be the focus of her attention… So be it.
"Where’s your first aid kit?"
"In the kitchen, in the cabinet on the right.”
We head in that direction.
"Sit." She points to a chair at the dining table on the far corner. I raise my eyebrows, but decide to play along. And only because I’m enjoying her attentiveness.
She grabs the first aid kit, then turns and walks over to me. Meanwhile, I sit down on the stool and hold my hand above my heart. She sets out what she needs, then reaches for my palm. To clean it, she has to get closer, and to get closer, she has to step into the space between my thighs. Also, when she reaches for my hand, it thrusts her chest right in my face. Nice. My groin hardens. A thrill of satisfaction runs through me.
Holy shit. Being this close to her is more exciting than chasing the next million dollar deal. I am well and truly fucked. I knew it, but this…right here—her in my space, focused on my injured palm as she presses a wad of cotton to the wound, quickly cleaning the wound, blowing on it, and apologizing for hurting me when I wince, while concentrating on taking care of me—is a heady feeling. It’s more of a turn on than watching porn. It’s almost as arousing as undressing her, which I’m doing with my eyes right now.
I drag my gaze down her back to the curve of her butt. She reaches over for the ointment, and the hem of the dress she’s wearing rises up her thighs. I reach and place my palm of my uninjured hand on the exposed skin. She freezes. For a beat, another. Then continues with her ministrations. She spreads the ointment on my cut, then begins to wrap a bandage around my palm. "Maybe we need to take you to a doctor. You might need stitches."
"The wound has stopped bleeding already. Also, the only thing I need is you kissing it and making it better."
She shoots me a sideways glance. "Aww, you big baby."
I allow my lips to turn down. "I’m hurt. I need some TLC."
She bites the inside of her cheek. "I think you’ve been acting all this time. You aren’t really in much pain are you?"
She tightens the bandage and pain flashes up my arm. This time, I wince for real.
"There, all done." She admires her handiwork.
"You still haven’t kissed it," I point out.
"And I still think you need to get stitches."
"I barely felt the cut," I admit. "There was more blood than a small wound warrants." I slide my hand further up her skirt, and she shivers.
"Liam," she warns.
"LadyBird." I smirk.
I brush my fingers against the edge of her panties, and she draws in a sharp breath.
"Liam, don’t," she says in a low voice.
"Why not? I’ve already fucked you. I’ve taken your arse. I’ve owned your mouth. I’ve taken every hole in your body that counts. So why can’t I touch you?"
"Because" —she reaches for the sanitizer and rubs her palms with it— "I haven’t changed my mind. I think this was a mistake. I think we should head back to the mainland, and go our separate ways."
"Look at me when you say that, Isla."