Page 7 of Scorned Beauty
I tripped on one of the steps and nearly sent us careening backward.
“What the—” he muttered. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Believe me, that’s the last thing I want.” We reached the fifth floor and thankfully my apartment was the second door. I had three other neighbors. All of us had one-bedroom apartments. It was a relief when I let us into my place. I turned on the hallway lights, took off my hat, and swiped the perspiration off my forehead. I was a tad out of breath.
“Okay, let me see.”
Dom just stared at me. His hands by his sides.
“What?” I pointed at his side. “Let me see.”
He quirked a brow. “No foreplay?”
“Dom,” I growled. “I’ve had a trying night, all right? Having to take care of a prima donna don wasn’t on my bingo card tonight.”
“Are you saying I’m high maintenance, Miss Scott?”
There went my nipples with the seductive way he saidMiss Scott.What is wrong with me?
Thankfully, he started stripping. Rather, he shrugged off his suit jacket, and, even injured, he made it look sexy. Mentally shaking off my attraction to him, I focused on the task at hand. His upper left arm was bleeding too, and he was slow in unbuttoning his shirt.
I stepped forward. “Let me do it.”
He didn’t argue, and I did my best to ignore the heat emanating from his body, the way his breath feathered my hair or how my heart rate accelerated because of it. When his white dress shirt came off to reveal an undershirt, I helped him out of it, too. I slid into clinical mode, even when it was hard to ignore all the tanned skin and glorious ridges of muscle.
“I’ll throw this in the laundry for you. Your dress shirt is probably ruined. Come on.”
I dragged him into the bathroom where the lights were brighter and left him standing there to retrieve my emergency kit from under the sink. I hadn’t turned away from him two seconds before the sound of the shower turned on.
His fingers went to his trouser buttons.
“What are you doing?” I snapped.
“Getting clean.”
“Let me check your cut first.”
He rolled his eyes and waited for me to walk back to him. His arms hung loosely by his sides. I laid my kit on the counter and flipped the lid open to retrieve the mag light.
“You’re a terrible patient, you know that?” I shined the light on the slash at his side and palpitated the surrounding area.
“Any pain?”
“Not really. It just stings.”
The cut was still oozing blood, but it had slowed. It was deep, but not deep enough to do internal damage. Dom’s ab muscles saved him.
“You’re lucky.”
I grabbed a single-use soap from the kit. “Use this to clean yourself. It’s antibacterial.”
All the while, I avoided looking at his expression, but it was getting too obvious that I was uncomfortable to be alone with a half-naked Dom. I lifted my gaze, deliberately bypassing his exposed chest—damn those corded muscles of his shoulders—and settled on his face.
“You need me to help you remove your pants?” I gritted.
His eyes were glassy, and for a moment, I sympathized with him, but the arrogant smirk forming at the corner of his mouth chased away all my goodwill.
“It’ll help. Also, maybe you want to throw my boxers in the laundry too?”
