Sexy First Aid

Heather pointed to the chair Josh had just vacated. “Sit.” She made sure that her voice sounded strong, capable, no-­nonsense. “Take off your shirt.”

She turned on the faucet, and while the water warmed, she located the first aid bin. She took a washcloth from the drawer next to the sink, filled a big bowl with steaming water, then dropped the cloth in. Before she turned around with the bowl in one hand and the first aid supplies in the other, she steeled herself for what she already knew would be a compelling glimpse of gorgeous man.

Oooh, mama. Her imagination didn’t do him justice.

Perched on the chair across from him, she poked through the contents of the first aid box, setting out a bottle of Betadine, a tube of Neosporin, a roll of gauze, and a dispenser of first aid adhesive tape. She wrung out the cloth, then dispensed some Betadine into its folds.

Finally, she met his eyes. Closer than she’d ever been to him before, she noticed that one of his dark-­blue eyes had a chocolate-­brown occlusion across the top third of the iris. Sitting this close, she could see the shadow of his beard beneath the clean-­shaved skin of his square jaw and strong chin with a slight cleft in the center. He smiled at her, a gentle, soft smile that brought out the dimples in his lean, tanned cheeks. Then he closed his eyes and leaned forward. “Do your worst,” he said. “I can take it.”

As gently as she could, she cleaned the scratches then took the bowl to the sink and dumped it. When she turned back, he was watching her, his eyes heavy-­lidded, his long dark lashes obscuring the brown spot in his left eye.

She smiled.

He didn’t.

He just watched her with that smoldering, sexy gaze.

She felt like a gazelle being studied by a lion. Her cheeks heated.

Snatching the tube of Neosporin off the table, she moved to stand behind Adrian, where she could escape his steady gaze. Her fingers shook as she twisted the lid of the slippery tube.

“You okay back there?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

She dangled the tube over his shoulder. “I can’t get it open.”

Wordlessly, he reached back, took it, uncapped it, and plunked it into her outstretched hand. She applied a bead of the medicine to one of the scratches, dragging her fingertip lightly down his bare skin. He shivered.

Now there was nothing but the intimacy of her skin touching his. She smeared the antibiotic cream on the angry red welts, then covered the worst gouges with gauze and tape. Self-­sticking bandages would have been easier, but the scratches were too long for those.

She came around to sit in front of him. Keeping her eyes focused on each scratch as she applied the cream, she managed to get through the process without blushing. She finished applying cream to the last remaining wound and reached back for the gauze.

He covered her hand with his, pinning it between his palm and his warm, hairy chest. “That’s good enough.”

Startled, she knocked the gauze onto the floor. “Huh?” She would’ve leaned down to grab the gauze—­Weren’t medical supplies subject to the three-­second rule?—­but he didn’t release her hand.

He kept her hand pressed to his chest. She could feel his steady heartbeat, his slow breaths in and out, his warm skin heating her palm. Her heart started doing that fluttering thing again.

“That tape isn’t gonna stick. It’s fine to leave it uncovered.”

“Oh.” She drew her hand back and put it in her lap. “Okay.” She realized with a shock that until now, with the exception of a few brief handshakes, she had never touched a man’s bare skin—­other than her husband’s, of course.

No wonder she’d felt so unsettled.

She was still pondering when Adrian leaned in close…

Her fluttering heart flopped over in her chest. Anticipating the kiss, she sat frozen in place, unable to protest or flee when…

He reached past her to take his shirt off the table, then leaned back to slip it over his head. Her lungs started working again about the time his head emerged from the neck of the shirt.

A slow, sexy grin grew slowly out of the knowing smirk on his lips.

Heart hammering, cheeks flaming, her breathing more shredded than his shirt, Heather pushed her chair back and bolted for the bathroom.

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