Page 14 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

“A knife, a metal piece, a laser beam gun, a demonic salamander claw, the Kraken?”

Holy shit, I’m going to die because of my big mouth.

A part of me finds it extremely entertaining, and another part wants to blend into the floor tiles. He pauses and looks at me. Then, a smile forms on his full, rosy, and oh-so-tempting mouth.

“Broken glass.”

“Okay,” I respond with a steady voice.

“The less you know…” He trails off, his tense muscles shouting the seriousness of the situation.

I nod. “The better.” I recognize this tune. True crime podcasts at their best.

A laugh rumbles deep in the hitchhiker’s chest, and he shakes his head. He returns to the seat, raising his right arm to expose his ribs to me. Muscles roll smoothly beneath his skin, and my knees flinch. That man is an anatomical bombshell. He has a huge phoenix tattoo on his left shoulder blade, a blend of precise lines and blurred splashes in hot colors.

Good god, that’s sexy.

It’s sweltering in the room. Sweat is beading on my forehead. Why isn’t the air conditioning working?

I need to focus on the wound, but all I can think about is how close he is. He needs a shower, but a faint smell reminding me of forest fire lingers.

I grab bandages, gauze, and adhesive tape from my kit, ready to play nurse. “Look away,” I instruct him while I put on gloves.

“I’m looking atyou.“

I giggle. With a sharp tug, I pull the tape stitches from his wound, barely masking my sadistic enjoyment at his pained grunts. “This is going to hurt.”

“What are you talking ab—Ah!” he exclaims as I clean his wound.

The sight of the clean-cut flesh is lovely. It holds a strange, twisted beauty that captures my attention and makes me smile.

“You think it’s funny, huh?” he asks.

I can’t help but enjoy this a bit too much. He looks so tough, yet he flinches just like everyone else. All rosy flesh inside.

“Shame on you, laughing at a wounded man,” he scolds.

“You don’t look defenseless to me,” I whisper, holding his gaze.

I have no idea what he’s thinking. He keeps gaping at me, and his breath grazes my face. But the thick cloak hiding his true feelings is well in place.

I clean the cut, enjoying the way he grits his teeth. He groans, but I can tell he finds a strange pleasure in it because the veil in his eyes fades a bit.

Weirdo. I love it.

As I examine the wound further, my fingers brush against something sharp and unfamiliar. “You have a piece of glass in you. I’ll remove it.”

His eyes expand as my thumb circles the area, searching for the small offending shard. I take the tweezers from my kit and push them into the opening.

His breath hisses through his clenched teeth. “Stop! Stop, dammit!”

I step back as he tries to regain his normal composure, muttering incomprehensible swear words.

“I need to remove the piece. You don’t—”

“All right!” he yells, running a shaky hand through his hair. He inhales. “Okay. Go ahead.”

The cramped space of the public restroom makes me do something perilous. I sit on his right thigh. My chest blocks his view of the wound, and I now have a perfect angle to get things done.

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