Page 61 of The Hunter
“Why not?” he asked alertly.
Tipping the bottle to moisten the cloth, she set it down and reached for his arm.
A shock of sensation bloomed over his entire body when her fingers found his skin and cupped his arm in her small, gentle hand.
Argent was a man used to holding still. Used to waiting silently for his prey to step into his trap. But this time, he froze for an altogether different reason.
Like a seasoned hunter, he could feel the hesitant anxiety within her, and knew that though she ventured close, any sudden movement or harsh word would send her skittering for safety. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had reached for him with something other than the intent to harm.
And, though she was about to inflict pain on him, the pleasure of the gentle press of her fingers as she steadied his arm surpassed any anticipation he’d had thus far.
“This is going to burn,” she warned, avoiding the question.
“I know.” He’d irrigated deeper wounds than this with alcohol. He was quite familiar with the teeth-clenching pain of it.
Stretching the wet cloth over her fingers, she was the one to wince when she dabbed it on the cut. But to him, the searing sting did something it had never done before, singed its way down to his already turgid erection. Tightening it. Flexing it.
Argent bit down against a wave of lust so strong he had to swallow a groan.
Setting the cloth aside, she took the needle from him, her fingers grazing his, almost intertwining, and he had to stop himself from grabbing her hand. Holding it. Threading her fingers through his until—
“I’m going to do my best to be gentle. I know you men tend to fear stitching needles more than bullets.” With a slight smile, she exerted a negligible amount of pressure in order to make the two edges of the flesh come together before she quickly but elegantly pressed the needle through them both.
“I don’t fear stitching needles. I’m rather used to them.” He’d meant the words to encourage her, but he could tell by the way her frown deepened, they’d had the opposite effect.
“No doubt,” she murmured, not looking up from the row of tiny, precise stitches she was building. “I realize, Mr. Argent, that I haven’t properly thanked you for saving Jakub tonight. This injury was sustained on his behalf, and for that, I don’t believe I can ever repay you.”
Argent didn’t know what she meant. Shewasgoing to repay him, as soon as his wound was bandaged. Indeed, as he sat there in her thrall, his arm captured in her gentle grip, he was beginning to believe that, though he’d saved her life, he was still getting the better end of the bargain.
Her body. Her pale, perfect body would bend over for him. Expose herself to him. Providing him a warm, soft sheath in which to lose himself for a while.
“Is there anything that frightensyou,Mr. Argent?” she asked.
He gave the question due process. What did most people fear? What had he to fear that he hadn’t already experienced and survived? Starvation, torture, rape, pain, beast or man? “I can’t think of anything,” he answered honestly.
Skepticism glimmered up at him for a scant moment before she returned to her work. “Not even death?”
Only if he died before tasting her again. Only if he was denied the ecstasy he would find between her thighs before he kicked open the gates of hell to claim its throne.
“Death is inevitable. To fear it is to waste energy.”
She let out a soft sound of disbelief. “So you’re a suicidal assassin, then?”
“Not particularly. I take precautions. I don’t stay in one place for an inordinate amount of time. I don’t eat at the same establishment twice, or visit the same whore, or establish a routine whereby I could become complacent. Or ambushed.”
He could see that she fought an emotion from declaring itself through her expressive features; he wondered what it was. “That’s certainly no way to live,” she whispered.
Argent shrugged. “It’s an excellent way to not die.”
“But… but what about loss, don’t you fear that?”
“What have I to lose?”
She jerked a little harder on the current stitch than the previous ones, but he didn’t let on that he’d noticed as he watched her discomfiture grow with every passing moment of silence. “Don’t you have family?”
He shook his head. “Dead.”
“Loved ones?”
