Page 28 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

I wrap my hair in a towel and twist another around my torso. Shifting the fabric, I catch a glimpse of red staining the white towel beneath my arm. When I lift it, a warm trickle of blood traces over my skin, dripping to the floor.

“Fuck.” I grab a dark wash cloth and press it to the wound.

I can’t replace the bandages myself. My gaze drifts to the door. I hate asking for help, especially after everything he’s done for me. But I need him. I can’t do this alone.

After cleaning up my mess, I exit the bathroom and peer through the cracked-open door leading to the living room.

Grant’s leaning against the window frame, staring out into the night. He turns when the door creaks open. His jaw clenches, and those dark eyes narrow. Everything softens when he sees my hand covering the wound on my arm.

“What the hell did you do, kid?” In two strides, he crosses to the kitchen and pulls out a first aid kit.

“I need the bandages replaced.”

My mouth snaps closed. He knows exactly what happened.

“Sit down.” He gestures to the couch and opens the kit on the coffee table.

The towel rides up my thighs when I sit. I can’t fix it, but I whisper a prayer for the extra-long fabric to hold tight where I tucked it.

“Turn that way.” He points to the far wall. “I should have warned you about the bandages.”

The couch depresses, pulling me toward him, when he sits beside me. His hand covers mine over the cloth, and a bolt of awareness shoots through me. I shift uncomfortably and tug the towel tighter to ensure it doesn’t unravel like my sanity seems hell-bent on doing.

“Too late now.” I bite my lip to keep from saying anything to antagonize him more.

He angles my arm back, and my hand grazes the inside of his thigh. I ball my hand into a fist as he peels off the soaking bandage.

Every press of his fingertips against my skin leaves fire in its wake. I press my eyes closed and breathe deeply, ignoring the building need in the pit of my stomach.

It’s been too long since I’ve let anyone touch me, since I’ve basked in the bliss of a simple brush of skin against skin. I bite my lip to suppress the moan nestled in my throat.

He’s so gentle, so tender for such a gruff, jaded man.

Grant places a fresh bandage over the wound and tapes it in place. “Doesn’t look like you tore the stitches, but it’ll be tender. Try not to overextend your arm.”

Words completely fail me. I nod dumbly as he grasps my shoulders and angles me so he can focus on the bandage on my shoulder. A whimper escapes at the soft caress when he tenderly removes the old bandage.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“For what?” My voice cracks, and I curse my touch-starved body.

“Hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

I glance over my shoulder. His brows are drawn together in concentration, his lips parted, and soft breaths caress my neck. He meets my gaze, understanding reflecting in his brown eyes. He refocuses on cleaning the area before applying a fresh bandage.

“Someone did.” His fingers trace old scars on the opposite shoulder and down my spine. “Looks like you’ve gotten into some scraps.”

“A few.” My body hums at his innocent touch. I want him to trace every inch of me with his fingers, with his tongue. Anything to keep this desire burning inside me. With it to warm me, the vacant cold has no hold to pull me into the darkness.

I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

“The murderer really did a number on you, kid.” His fingers tease along my collarbone, where the skin is turning purple. “You’re lucky you got away.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.”

I shift beneath his scrutiny. I might as well be completely naked. Grant sees me more clearly than most, and the thought doesn’t scare me like it should.

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