Page 13 of Final Reckoning

7

Discovery

“Where’s the first aid kit?”Panic sharpens my voice.

“Everything’s in the back.”

I beep the back open and find it’s been neatly packed with all the essentials for survival. Food, water, a sleeping bag, clothing. The first aid kit is a good-sized one and I breathe a sigh of thanks as I yank it free.

Matteo’s chosen a camping spot with a picnic table. “Over there,” I tell him, and stick by his side in case he needs help. He gets there without assistance, but I’m sure it costs him.

“Don’t sit down yet. I need to get your coat off.” He leans against the table, ever so slightly, while I’m easing it off his shoulders, which tells me how shaky he’s feeling.

Setting the kit on the table, I open it and survey the contents. “There’s a pair of scissors in here, but they’re not really meant for cutting heavy fabric. Do you have anything else?”

“There’s a knife in the SUV.”

I find it, a brand-new hunting knife with a gleaming edge. “Okay, hold still,” I tell him when I bring it back. Carefully, I cut his shirt away, the blade parting the fabric with an ease that’s frightening.

When I’ve got it entirely removed, I wince at the ugly gash along his ribs. “The bullet scored the flesh, but that’s all. Half an inch further in and it would have shattered your rib, at least.”

He squints at me. “You got medical training?”

“Just basic first aid stuff. Dad made us all learn that, along with how to handle a gun.”

“Smart man.”

“He was.” I take out the supplies I need. “I’ll do my best to be gentle.”

“Do what you need to.” He sits stoically while I get the blood off his torso and then disinfect the wound, apply ointment, and cover it with a bandage.

My worry about his injury has kept me focused … but now I’m free to see what I’ve been tending. His beautiful body laid bare. All that smooth muscle under gleaming skin, tempting my fingers to touch, and the tantalizing happy trail leading down into his jeans.

“You’ve, uh, got blood on your jeans.” My voice comes out hoarse. I can’t meet his eyes.

When he doesn’t answer, I look up in time to see him staring at me, raw hunger in his eyes. Heat flashes between us and now I can’t look away. I’m at his mercy; I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to.

A muscle bunches in his jaw before he turns his head, breaking the connection. “I’ll go get changed.”

I scramble out of the way as he stands up and makes his way to the back of the SUV. I stay where I am, my view of him blocked by the vehicle. For a few moments there’s silence. Then he hisses out a breath.

I’m halfway to him before I’m conscious of moving. Forcing myself to stop, I say tentatively, “Can I help with anything?” A man like Matteo wouldn’t appreciate being babied or fussed over.

There’s a long silence before he answers. “It’s surprisingly difficult to change clothes with this type of injury. Bending and twisting are pretty much off the menu.”

Taking that as an invitation, I come around the end of the SUV.

He’s got his jeans unzipped, and them and his underwear partway down, enough to expose a portion of his hip. There’s more dried blood caked on his skin.

But what I mostly notice are that the garments are riding just above his cock.

Lust tugs low in my belly. “I’ll just ...” I gesture toward the SUV, hoping he’ll understand what I mean since all the words seem to have dribbled out of my brain.

“Baby wipes.”

There’s a strange note to his voice. I don’t dare look at him. I find the wipes and move to his side, dabbing carefully at the blood, then scrubbing as gently as I can when it doesn’t come off easily.

My eyes keep darting to the six-pack of his belly and the hair below, taunting me with what’s just out of sight. “There’s more blood,” I say when I have what I can reach cleaned off. “Down your leg.”

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