Page 32 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

"No, not at all. That was a good fuck." I close my eyes and savor his touch.

Archer scrubs all around my head, even getting the base of my skull and around my ears. It's fucking pure bliss, and I don't want it to stop.

"Other than your arm and leg, what's wrong with you? So I know." His question completely pulls me out of the blissful moment. Leave it to him to ruin something so damn good.

"What?" I peek through one lid at him.

"Your injuries. Clearly, you're worse off than I thought you were."

"Oh. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad, London, your entire body is one giant bruise."

"If I tell you, will you let it go?"

Archer rinses my hair, covering my forehead again to save me from the splatter. "Maybe."

I exhale and think through my list of injuries. "Fractured right leg, left wrist, skull. Bruised and collapsed lung, I mean, it's not anymore. Um, what else? Broken ribs, some cuts and scrapes, nothing too crazy." I lick at the inside of my lip, where it's still a little swollen. "I think the stitches on my lip have already dissolved."

Archer stops everything, his mouth hanging open when I glance up at him. "London…"

I roll my eyes and point to my head. "If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to do the same to you. Now, finish my hair or I'm going to do it myself."

"Do I even want to know where that scar on your stomach came from?"

I sit up, wincing from the abrupt pain. "I'm done."

Archer carefully puts his hand on my shoulder, his tattooed touch burning through me. "Okay, I'm sorry, let me finish."

Reluctantly, I go along, because what other choice do I have? It's not like I can do my hair myself, at least, not well.

He applies conditioner from mid-length to my ends, combing his fingers through and cautiously tugging the tangles out.

With the conditioner sitting in my hair, I reposition my neck toward him. "I think it's only fair you show me a scar or two. I mean, you just saw me naked. We need to make this even."

Archer raises a brow and plants his hands on the edge of the counter. "You want me to get naked?"

"You wish I'd want to see you naked."

"You don't want to?" The muscles in his arms flex and it's everything I can do not to shift my attention from his face to study his chiseled body.

"Archer, are you flirting with me?" I wink at him. "I didn't think you had it in you. Is that why you stormed into the shower to get a peek?"

"I did not storm in there."

"What else would you call that?"

"Okay, well, it wasn't to look at you. I thought something was wrong."

"You always think something’s wrong. What's with that?"

"I think it's time to rinse…" Archer reaches for the faucet and rinses my hair, spending way more time than I expect him to on it. He grabs all my hair into his fist and squeezes any excess water out before grabbing the towel he had sitting off to the side and ruffling it around my head.

I sit up, carefully, and reach for the towel, our hands grazing in the process. "Come on. I think I earned at least one scar. Or hey, maybe tell me about one of your tattoos."

Archer sighs and runs his hand through his own hair, the dark locks falling back onto his forehead. He lifts his shirt, only slightly, and points to a puckered, inked stained spot on his stomach. "Here."

Not caring at all that I'm a towel away from being naked on this stranger’s counter who just washed my hair, I extend my hand and press my finger along the raised spot. "Gunshot?" I ask him, even though I can't imagine it would be much else.

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