Page 18 of Dangerous Devotion

Hawk grunted and followed Vince, who moved toward the bed and settled down.

Hawk began to clean the wound.

“You know,” I mused, unable to resist teasing them further, “for two grown men who deal with life-or-death situations on a daily basis, you’d think you could handle a little first aid without all the macho posturing.”

Vince winced, whether from the antiseptic or my words, I couldn’t tell. “We weren’t posturing,” he grumbled.

I snorted. “Oh, please. You two were one step away from beating your chests and grunting.”

Hawk chuckled, his hands steady as he prepared to stitch the wound. “You clearly love a challenge, Salvini. These Donnelly girls really are something else.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Vince muttered, but I could see the amusement in his eyes.

I leaned in to get a glimpse at Hawk’s suture kit. It looked like it was well-stocked.

Vince slung his arm around one thigh—making me acutely aware I was not wearing panties. And the look he sent me told me he suddenly became aware of it, too.

Thank God his shirt fell to mid-thigh for me.

He pulled his arm back, then slung it around my waist and carefully pulled me into his lap.

“Wha—”

“I need some additional weight to hold me down,” Vince said while resting his hand on top of my covered crotch area.

I crossed my legs, turned my head, and met his gaze. “Sorry, but weighing someone down is not one of my superpowers.”

That got a laugh out of both of them, and the tension in the room dissipated.

As Hawk lifted the needle, Vince reached out, took my hand, interlaced our fingers, and gave me a gentle squeeze.

I squeezed back, surprised by how natural it felt.

I watched as Hawk carefully stitched up Vince’s wound. Vince sat there, stoic and unflinching as if he were merely getting a routine check-up.

But I knew better. I could see the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows that betrayed his facade and showed his discomfort.

Without thinking, I cuddled into him. Our eyes met, and in that moment, I felt a surge of…something powerful.

Something like love.

I focused on our intertwined fingers. His skin was warm, his hand so much bigger than mine and rough with calluses. He didn’t show any signs of pain, not even the tiniest flinches.

I lifted my gaze to Vince’s face and caught him staring at me.

The sharp angle of his jawline, the fullness of his lips, the intensity in his dark eyes—he was truly handsome, especiallyup close. How had I not realized I was falling head over heels?

Or had I known, deep down, and just refused to admit it?

Suddenly, the skin around his eyes tightened, and I could feel pain radiating through him, not in any outward display, but in the subtle changes in his eyes. They darkened like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Yet he remained silent, enduring.

He was good at that. Good at masking his emotions. Good at pretending. I always thought he was cold and hard, but I’d been wrong.

He was just so much better at hiding his feelings than anyone else.

Hiding the weight of how much he was carrying on his shoulders.

The safety of his family, his responsibilities, and now me…quite literally. We kept our gazes locked, and I saw the pain. He didn’t try to mask it, didn’t look away or hide. He let me see him vulnerable, if only for this moment.

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