Page 18 of Run

His eyes stayed on her face as she unbuttoned her jeans.

“Why does this feel weirdly kinky?” she asked. “Like we’re playing doctor.”

The panty-melting smile was back again. Which didnothelp at all.

She let the jeans fall to her ankles and sat back down with a thump before her legs gave way. The cold enamel edge of the bath bit into the backs of her thighs.

“Here, let me.” David reached for a fluffy white towel and folded it in half. “Lift,” he ordered.

She rested her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as she lifted her backside from the bath. As David leaned in to slip the towel under her, his breath fanned out over her chest, and she swore she could feel it through her T-shirt.

“Better?” he asked when she sat back down.

All she could do was nod and swallow hard.

“This will sting.” He ripped open an antiseptic wipe.

With one hand cradling her calf, he gently dabbed the graze on her knee. She barely felt it as she watched his hands on her skin. Strong, slender hands. Hands that were skilled and capable, yet oh so careful when they touched her.

His thumb stroked her leg as he tended to her wound and Elle found herself wriggling in place. How could one innocuous caress make her want more? It was as though every nerve ending in her body was primed for his slightest touch. The feel of his skin brushing against hers. The warmth of his breath on her bare flesh.

Tingles ran up her leg to the V of her thighs, making her hyper aware that she was sitting in a skimpy pair of lacy blue panties—in front of the man who’d starred in her fantasies for years. Her fingers curled into the cool plastic of the bath’s rim. Holding on tight to stop herself from reaching for him and pulling him closer. She wanted those hands to slide up her thighs as he widened her knees and leaned into her…

“All clean,” he whispered, before blowing on her paltry wound.

The chill of air over sensitive skin made her tug her bottom lip in between her teeth to stop from moaning aloud. All the while her eyes ate up the way his shoulders flexed as he ministered to her. And the solid strength in his thighs as he crouched before her. Her gaze meandered down from his glass cut jaw, over his firm chest, and along his arms until she was back where she started—those glorious hands.

That’s when she noticed his wrists.

With a gasp, she grasped his right hand in hers and pushed up his sleeve. There were bruises around his wrist. Dark, purple, angry bruises. All of the burning desire that’d been building within her was suddenly gone.

“Show me the other one,” she ordered.

Without making a performance of it, he rested his other hand on her knee. She pushed up his sweater sleeve to reveal identical bruising.

“David,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before and will probably happen again.” He removed his hands from hers and continued to clean up her pathetic little graze.

She studied his face as he carefully smoothed ointment over her wound and applied a soft dressing. His focus was absolute.

“Okay, we’re done here.” He stood and turned away to wash his hands in the sink.

Elle pulled up her jeans and refastened them. “Your turn. Take off the sweater.” No playfulness in her voice now; she was genuinely worried about what she might find.

“I can take care of my own injuries, Elle. Go get a drink, and I’ll meet you in the living room.”

“No.” She picked up the scissors. “I’ll cut the damn thing off you if I have to.”

His eyes met hers in the mirror. They both knew she didn’t have a hope in hell of carrying out her threat unless David wanted her to. Slowly, deliberately, he turned to face her. Then, just as slowly, he reached for the bottom of his black sweater and, taking the black T-shirt underneath with it, he pulled it over his head.

She sucked in a breath, tears filling her eyes. There were bruises everywhere. A rainbow of color spread across his ribs and kidneys. She glanced back up at his face, then again at his wrists. He’d been strung up and beaten. The sight made her want to weep and rage in equal measure.

David placed his clothes on the edge of the sink before taking the scissors from her tight fist. She’d been holding them like a weapon. As though she could stab the person who’d done this to him.

“It’s okay,”heconsoledher.“Nothing’s broken.”

“It’snotokay. Nothing about this is okay. Who did this to you?” The words came out clipped as anger coiled around her throat.