Page 51 of Blame it on the Kiss
He lifted his arm and sure enough blood dripped down his index finger. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” She popped to her feet and took his wrist to tug him to the sink. With his hand over the porcelain bowl she studied the wound. “You cut it on the drain?”
“Yes.”
“When was your last tetanus shot?”
The corners of his mouth lifted. Nurse Honor was damn adorable. “Hell if I know.” He flinched when her fingers got a little too close to the action.
“You need stitches.”
“No way.”
“Way.” She put his finger under the faucet and washed it with soap and warm water.
He clenched his jaw. Jesus Christ, that hurt.
“Here’s what you’re going to do. Jump in the shower really quick to get warm, I’ll find some sweats of Cooper’s for you to put on, and then I’m taking you to the ER.” She turned off the water and dropped back to the floor to wrangle his pants and underwear off him.
With only one night to do all the things he planned to do to her, the last thing he wanted was to waste time with a trip to the hospital.
Her warm breath fanned over his cock and it sprang to life.
“Bryce! This is serious.”
“As a hard on.”
She stood, put her palm over his heart. The skin there heated. “Do what I asked and I’ll take very good of that later.”
Hard—no pun intended—to argue with that, especially when her sexy voice carried soft-heartedness that he felt deep in his chest. He got in and out of the shower, put on the clothes she gave him and pressed some gauze to his finger to try and stop the bleeding that refused to let up.
“Okay, let’s go,” she said from the bathroom doorway. She’d slipped on knee-high black rain boots with white polka dots on them and a black trench coat with a belt cinched around her waist.
“Looking at you, I want it to rain every day.” He didn’t hide his top to bottom perusal. Covered from head to toe she still stole his breath.
A blush fanned across her cheeks. “Quit stalling and come on.” When he didn’t budge, she titled her head to the side and studied him.
“I really think a Band Aid will do,” he asserted.
“Trust me. It won’t.” She stepped closer like maybe she understood what he was really trying to say. The idea that she recognized his unspoken thoughts on the situation threw the night completely off balance. He was here for one night of sex. The last thing he wanted was her inside his head.
“How do you know?” he ventured anyway.
She gulped. “Coop’s had more stitches than I’ve had sneezes.” She ran her fingers through his damp hair. “You don’t like hospitals, do you?”
“Not really.” His heart hurdled to the back of his throat. She got him.
“What happened?”
“Bike accident when I was sixteen. Broke both my legs.” Her eyes widened, not with sympathy, but awe. No one had any idea unless he shared it. “I don’t talk about it, but if I can avoid hospitals, I do. They remind me of a rough time.”
She took a deep breath and his injured hand in hers. Her gentle touch sent tingles racing down his spine. “Okay. We’ll do it here.”
“Do what here?”
“Stitch you up.” She guided him down to sit on the closed toilet seat.
“You know how to do that?” he asked surprised.
