Page 86 of Crossover

His jaw tensed. I could see he was immediately regretting this decision to let me attend to his wound.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s take your shirt off so I can see what I’m dealing with.”

I slipped his shirt off, careful not to aggravate his injury, and as the wet fabric peeled away, revealing his muscular chest and bleeding arm, I inhaled sharply. This wouldn’t be pretty, but I’d do whatever it took to keep him safe, just as he’d always done for me.

Like I did with my patients in the ER, I kept my face neutral to hide the concern of seeing his injury for the first time. His entire left arm was covered in blood in various amounts, but from what I could tell, most of it was smeared, saturated from his wet clothes.

With a washcloth and antibacterial soap, I got to work, cleansing his entire arm until, finally, the bullet wound was all that was left. The entrance and exit wounds appeared to have cut through his muscle and skin, but the trajectory didn’t appear to line up with the bone. At least that was something.

As I stood here, tending to Grayson’s wound, his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of my own breaths, the heat coming off his body becoming harder to ignore as he stared down at me.

“You should shower,” I decided. “You ran through a muddy forest, so we should get your body clean before we wrap the wound.”

How he could look at me like this right now, like we were alone in a candlelit room, was beyond me. But somehow, he activated every single butterfly in my stomach when he stepped back, removed two guns from his waistband, set them on the counter with a clunk, slowly unzipped his pants, and peeled out of his remaining clothes.

My stupid mouth went slack at the sight.

His magnificent body never ceased to captivate me, an exquisite landscape of strength and power. Almost unconsciously, I reached out and placed my hands on his sculpted chest. Feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing, the heat of his skin beneath my palms, I lost myself in the depths ofhis hypnotizing eyes while memories of his lips buried between my legs sent a blaze of heat crawling down my spine.

“You’re taking a shower with me,” he announced.

“I’m—”

“Covered in mud and risking hypothermia,” he cut me off, placing his hands on my shoulders.

I didn’t want to deal with my own needs. Yes, I was freezing. My wet clothes were sticking to me like frozen Saran Wrap, but I wasn’t the one in danger here. He was.

“You’ve been shivering ever since we left the forest,” he added, making it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I had?

Swallowing, I surrendered to his magnetic stare and stepped back, peeling each layer of my clothing off, one at a time. Hunger flashed across Grayson’s face as he drank in every square inch of my body.

“We need to hurry,” I reminded myself more than him as I started the shower and stepped into the hot water.

“We will, but it’s a long drive, and your teeth are loud when they chatter. I might run us off the road, worrying about you.”

My cheeks heated. Would he ever stop worrying about me? Because a girl could get used to it.

“I meant because of your wound and Daniel,” I clarified. That, and needing to tame the dirty thoughts racing through my head.Time and place, Ivy.

My thighs pulsed with need, making it difficult to shake the thought that we were both alone. Naked.

“I want to get the wounds packed with gauze as quickly as possible,” I managed.

With a smirk that bordered on a challenge, Grayson stepped into the water with me, the hot water a blissful shock against our chilled skin. Grayson lathered up a washcloth and began tenderly grazing it over my body, the gentle intimacy a starkcontrast to our frantic race in the woods. Here, the world narrowed to just the two of us, the water, the steam, and a love so powerful that it made me ache.

Every moment with Grayson felt like living in a panoramic view of the ocean, the world alive with color and beauty all around me. How was it possible for one person to have this big of an effect on my soul?

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he murmured.

Grayson moved the soapy washcloth down my breasts, studying my nipples as they peaked—his body reacting, pressing against my thigh.

He smirked, a dangerously mischievous look in his eyes.

“No,” I said.

“Ten minutes.” He arched a brow, working the washcloth over the rest of my body and having me spin around so he could clean my back.

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