Page 21 of Gilded Locks
She let out a startled squeak as he surprised her by hoisting her onto the cold counter.
He chuckled. “That’ll teach you to run around bare-assed.” He pulled open a drawer and removed a bottle of disinfectant, some gauze, and a tube of ointment.
“Are you a doctor?”
He laughed, ripping open the plastic casing around the gauze. “No.”
Moving to the sink, he wet a folded dishcloth he found in another drawer. Gathering her hair, he twisted the damp strands securely behind her shoulders. “Hold still.”
She did as he commanded, taking the moment to study his face closely as he attended the gash. He was possibly the youngest of the three, but also the most pragmatic. There was a gentleness about him. A nurturer beneath the beast.
Though his appearance—now that she was less terrified—wasn’t beastly at all.
His body was thickly muscled, the kind of chiseled brawn honed from years of physical activity, but his eyes were soft and teasing when he watched her with that arctic blue stare. All sharp cheekbones and sea-glass eyes, his face seemed carved for sin yet tempered by a softness that betrayed something human beneath the polish.
There was something playful about him that the others lacked. She bet he had dimples when he smiled. He was beautiful in a dangerous, quietly devastating way—refined but ruinous. His short, blond hair had a tendency to curl at the ends, underscoring his lightheartedness rather than rigidity.
“You’re not trembling anymore.” Even the way he smiled—lazy, knowing—felt like a secret meant only for her. “That’s good.”
Lost in thought, she could only silently stare, wondering how such angelic perfection could house a truly dangerous soul. Magnetic, masculine, and utterly impossible to look away from, this one was going to require careful caution because he was already gentling her with a false sense of safety she was smart enough to know didn’t exist here.
“It’s not too bad,” he pulled away the cloth, and she sucked in a breath at the sight of blood. “That’s just from cleaning it up. It’s not as deep as I thought.” He blotted gently. “What happened?”
So much had happened in the forty-eight hours, she couldn’t remember what specifically caused that specific gash. “I bumped my head.”
His ice-blue gaze met hers. “You don’t say?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, and he smiled.
“You’re prettier when you tell the truth.” He wet the cloth again and dabbed away the last of the blood.
Were her lies that obvious? “Do you blame me for wanting to protect myself?”
“No.” Setting the cloth aside, he uncapped the disinfectant. “This might sting. Shut your eyes.”
Her lashes lowered, and she wondered if it was stupid to trust someone who basically wanted to keep her as his prisoner. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth when he doused the cut.
“Sorry.”
Idiot that she was, she believed him.
Pressing her lips tight, she tried not to twitch from the sting.
Warm air blew softly over her temple, and the pain receded. “Better?”
She opened her eyes and forgot how to breathe. He was close enough that she could see the stubble under his skin. By night, his jaw would be covered in a golden five o’clock shadow.
He gently swabbed ointment over the gash. “This should help with scarring. You can keep it.” He pressed the small tube into her hand.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“My pleasure…printsessa.” He didn’t back up or reach for the gauze. Somehow, he’d worked his way between her knees without her noticing. But now she was very aware of how close they stood and that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath the sweater.
“Ash…”
He smiled, and she was right about the dimple. “Say it again.”
“What?”
