Page 46 of The Torturer's Target

The procedure was a success, and a lot quicker than what she could have done. Tesiera hadn’t spoken a word since she gave her thanks, and Max knew that she was probably lost in her mind.

He silently wished she’d ease up around him a little; he wished her rigidness would fizzle away and they could start on a clean slate. But then again, she was this way with everyone. She was a socially detached and broken yet scarily fierce woman.

As he carefully bandaged her wound, he couldn’t help but notice how enticingly soft her skin was—a contradiction for a woman like her. He almost expected her flesh to reflect the strong and cold exterior she presented.

Max lost his self-control and let his gaze study every detail of the red-headed woman in front of him.

It was just the two of them. But this time she wasn’t trying to kill him, or he trying to capture her. Now, the air was clear between them.

He was seeing her in a brand-new light, and he was fascinated. He could get used to this side of hers; it was thrilling. She was thrilling.

He’d never met anyone who withstood pain better than she did. He’d just removed fragments of bullets from her shoulder blade without anesthetics, but she had swallowed the pain. No wonder she was The Torturer.

The woman was breathtaking. Gorgeous. Despite her swollen and bruised face.

His dick hardened in his pants. “Shit,” he cussed underneath his breath.

“What’s the matter?” She craned her head around, trying to look.

“Nothing,” he muttered, pasting a smile on his face. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed and awkwardly cleared his throat.

You’re attracted to a woman who nearly killed you twice, man. It doesn’t get more stupid than that.

You shouldn’t be attracted to her. You shouldn’t, he told himself firmly.

Perhaps, if he said that enough, he could kill the damn feeling before it fully took hold. Right?

CHAPTER 20. WAVES AND CURRENT.

“All done,” Max announced, delivering a soft pat on the fresh bandage he’d wrapped around her wound.

Tesiera looked down at her injured arm and then back at her boss. “Thank you, sir.”

“I know you struggle with that word,” he said, turning her around to face him. He smiled a little, picked up a clean hand towel, dipped it in the bowl of water resting on the nightstand, and began to wipe the cuts and bruises on her face.

Tesiera had forgotten all about the bruises she got from her fight with Bose. The silence between them was almost deafening as he worked.

“You can call me Doc instead of sir,” Max offered as he pulled out a small bottle of antiseptic solution. “This will sting a bit,” he warned before applying the solution to her cuts.

Despite the stinging sensation, Tesiera didn’t flinch. She found herself looking into Max's eyes, noticing the smoothness of his face and the shape of his mouth.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she looked away and cleared her throat. “I can’t call you that. You’re my boss.” Why the hell do I keep getting distracted by him; what the hell is wrong with me?

“Well, now you’re also my patient, so it’s fitting,” Max responded with a little smile. He took a good look at her unsmiling, tired face and then took a deep breath. “Call me anything you want, Tesiera. Doc, sir, whatever. I want you to be comfortable.”

Tesiera didn’t say anything, but Max didn’t expect her to. He knew she wasn’t much of a talker, and that was perfectly fine with him. It was a welcome change from his loquacious bodyguards, Bose and Clinton.

“I’ve never worked for anybody before. I work alone—always,” Tesiera finally said.

“I know,” Max said, recalling all the research he had done on her before hiring her. “When we get back, you’ll get all your supplies as the new protector, including bulletproof vests. I didn’t plan to hire one at work today, so we were ill-prepared. This”—he pointed at her bullet wound—“shouldn’t have happened.”

As their eyes met, Max studied her compelling features and read the pain etched into them with fascination. “No wonder you’re The Torturer,” he murmured.

Tesiera looked confused, wondering about the sudden remark.

“You take pain quite well,” Max said, pulling out a small adhesive strip from the box and covering the bruises on her face.

Tesiera didn’t take offense at his statement; instead, she shrugged and said, “Physical pain is a language I understand.” When you deal with something for such a long time and spend years training to work with it, you become an expert at it. However, she kept that thought to herself.

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