Page 182 of Midnights
“Oh, right. I just… thought I’d pick up the broken pieces so no one else would cut themselves.”
He looks down at my hand, at the tiny bead of blood, and the sharpness in his face dulls for half a second. “Seems like you’re the only one who keeps getting hurt.”
His voice is gentle, but it’s laced with something that looks a lot like concern. And that sends an odd thrill through me.
I straighten too quickly, brushing off my dress, waving it off before he can look at me like that again. “It’s nothing,” I say, but my body has other plans, because even as I dismiss it, my pulse refuses to slow the fuck down.
But unfortunately, Kane doesn’t let shit slide. I try to walk away, but his fingers catch my wrist.
“Let me see.” His voice dips to that tone that says arguing is pointless. He’s got that look that says he's already decided, and I’m just along for the ride.
I huff out a laugh, “Oh, what, are you suddenly a doctor now?”
“Let me have a look.”
It's softer this time, but no less insistent.
I sigh dramatically, holding my hand. “Fine, Dr. Kane. Knock yourself out.”
His scowl melts into a slow smirk, looking far too amused. When he takes my hand, I forget the sting entirely.
“It’s not that deep,Princess. No need for dramatics.”
Then he winks. I swear this man is so insufferable.
Without any kind of warning, he drags me toward the sink like this is an emergency situation. It's a good thing I have fast reflexes or I would've tripped. And, of course this damn room has its own sink, why wouldn’t it.
I start to argue, but he grabs a towel and runs it under the water. My hand is caught in his and before I can pull back, his fingers settle around mine.
“You know,” I murmur, desperate to focus on literally anything else, “I could’ve done this myself.”
Kane makes a quiet noise, while his thumb presses slightly against my wrist. “Sure you could’ve.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t ignore the way his touch sends tiny jolts of awareness through me. Or the way his fingers are slightly rough and seem to have way too much power over my breathing.
He looks up and the heat in his eyes is enough to make my pulse trip over itself. I know he's hot, and it's obvious that I want him, but fuck. I need to get a grip.
I look away immediately, determined to keep my cool, but it’s too late. Because when he pulls my hand from the water, and wraps it with the damp towel, his eyes are already trailing up my arm, pausing at my chest, and settling on my lips.
My grip tightens around the counter, but I catch myself too late. His eyes snap back to mine and something dark slides across his face.
“You’re staring again.”
“Still enjoying the view,” I manage, forcing a shrug, but my voice is quieter than I want it to be.
His eyes narrow slightly, and whatever intensity was there before, doubles. He devours me with his eyes and he isn't subtle about it.
The terrifying part is how much I don't hate it. Being pinned with the full weight of his attention is a thrill I shouldn't crave this much.
I’m caught in his pull, while my pulse hammers in my ears. My hands start to tingle just enough to remind me how far gone I am, and all I can do is stare back, completely captivated. The sensible part of my brain is nowhere to be found.
He moves closer, lifting his hand as his fingers slowly brush against my cheek as he unties my mask, the silk unraveling effortlessly beneath his touch. He slides it off, sets it down, and I forget how to breathe.
The world narrows to what little space is left between us and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to close the damn distance and take what I want.Which is a scary thought, because I don't know where that came from.
“You are a wild one, you know that?”
His voice sends a thrill pulsing through me and I swear I could come on the spot.Also a terrifying thought.
