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“Can I help with anything?” I ask eventually, desperate to give myself a distraction.
Duke looks up from his work, his eyes piercing me. “You want to?”
“Sure. I’d love to.”
I get off my stool and almost instantly, Scout jumps up to take my spot. Then I join Duke by the workbench, inspecting the wood he’s been sawing through.
“This is cherry wood,” he says. “Taken from the cherry orchard outside town.”
“Awesome. My own Cherry Hollow bookcase.”
I smile up at him, my mouth going dry as he shifts toward me, positioning his saw against the wood. We’re so close that I can feel his body heat against my side as I watch him.
“You don’t want to force it,” he says, his deep voice sending a bolt of electricity up my spine. “Let the saw do the work.”
He starts to move the saw, creating a groove in the wood for me to follow. And then several things happen at once.
Duke’s forearm accidentally brushes against my breast as he pushes the axe into the wood. I suck in a breath of surprise, and suddenly there’s a flash of red.
“Fuck!” Duke snaps.
Scout lets out a strangled meow, startled by the noise. She zips out of the workshop, sending several tools toppling to the ground as she goes. Once the clattering stops, all that’s left is Duke’s grunts of frustration as he examines his hand. There’s a deep gash on his thumb, blood running down his arm.
“Crap,” I mutter, looking around for something to stop the bleeding.
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” Duke is scowling at his thumb like it’s offended him somehow.
“You’re not fine! You’re bleeding.”
Unable to see anything that will stench the flow of blood, I lift my hand, resting it against Duke’s back and pushing him forward.
“We need to get you inside,” I say. “Do you have bandages?”
“There’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom.”
Duke lets me guide him into the cabin, still insisting he’s fine.
“It’s my own damn fault for slicing into my own thumb,” he grumbles as he unlocks the door to his cabin, letting us inside.
I catch a quick glimpse of his giant living room with its stone fireplace and overstuffed armchairs, but I don’t stop to look around.
“Bathroom?” I ask.
He gestures to a door and I hurry inside, finding the first-aid kit in a cupboard along with a clean cloth and a plastic bowl, which I fill with water and soap.
“Honestly, Ariana, you don’t need to—” Duke says as I reenter the living room. He’s sitting at a large wooden table, his arm streaked with bright red blood.
I ignore his words and sit in the chair beside him, taking the injured hand in mine and bathing it in the bowl of water, which turns a light shade of pink.
“My parents made me join the Girl Scouts when I was eight,” I mutter, focusing intently on cleaning the wound. “They thought it would help me come out of my shell. It didn’t, but I’ve been waiting all my life to put my first aid badge to good use.”
Duke’s lips twitch, his eyes softening. “Well, in that case, I’m all yours, Doc.”
5
DUKE
My thumb is throbbing like a son-of-a-bitch, but it’s easy to ignore the pain as Ariana gently cleans my wound, her skin soft against mine. I rarely injure myself when I’m working, but when I felt my arm brush against Ariana’s soft body, I was instantly distracted, and my hand slipped. That’s what I get for being a horny dumbass.
