Page 48
“That’s not the point,” I murmur.
He steps in even closer, his body brushing against mine, heat bleeding from him into me the same way my blood is seeping out.
“Even if nobody knows, you’re still my wife. And I take care of what’s mine.” He glances down at my hand again. “And we’re going to urgent care.”
“No we aren’t.” I shake my head weakly. “Band-Aids. That’s my compromise.”
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mutters.
A flicker of something twists in my stomach at the way he says it. Like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve. A complication he doesn’t want but can’t or won’t walk away from either. He likes the challenge.
And maybe I like it, too.
“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice a little breathy. “Well, you’re not exactly a dream to live with either.”
His mouth curves, slow and sinful. And I wonder if he knows the effect he’s having on me. “And yet here you are,” he murmurs.
“Haven’t got a choice.” I shrug.
His gaze flickers to my mouth, like he’s remembering the taste of my lips. “There’s always a choice, Eden. You just have to say the word. But maybe you like me like this.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s too late – my pulse is already tripping, my thighs tensing like they’re ready for action.
“Come on,” he says, voice dropping until it’s so low I have to strain to hear him. “I’m pretty sure Hudson’s first aid kit could rival any hospital. Let’s go inside and play doctor.”
The way he says it makes me feel very damn dirty. He’s flirting. And I know he does it to get his way. It’s as simple as breathing for him. But it’s working, because I can feel a lick of hot heat in the base of my belly.
“Okay,” I murmur. “But you’re not sticking a needle in my hand.”
His grin grows, his unsullied hand cupping my face to lift it up so our eyes connect. “You’re such a baby.”
I wrinkle my nose at him.
“Everything okay over here?” Hudson’s voice cuts through the moment like a cold wave over warm skin. He frowns as he looks at us, a barbecue tong in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other.
West drops his warm palm from my cheek, but not fast enough. Not like someone who was caught doing something wrong. More like someone who doesn’t care who sees.
“Eden hurt herself,” he murmurs. Hudson’s frown deepens, and I jerk my arm from West’s hold and put it behind my back, giving my brother what I hope is an innocent smile.
“I barely scratched it. I’m fine.”
But of course Hudson’s brotherly instincts are alight by now. He eyes the used towel on the counter, the blood, and he shakes his head. “That doesn’t look like a scratch.”
Like he knows I hate fuss, West takes control of the situation. “I was just offering to take her inside and clean it up.”
“Won’t it need stitches?” Hudson asks, and I internally groan at the thought of another man in my life thinking they know what’s best.
Even if they do.
“It’s fine. Just a scrape.” West glances at me, then pulls his eyes away, like he shouldn’t be looking. “No need for medical help.”
I shoot him a grateful smile, but he doesn’t see it. He’s too busy acting nonchalant.
Or maybe it isn’t acting.
Either way, when he takes my wrist gently in his hands again, I let him. Because once in a blue moon, I like being taken care of.
Especially when it’s by the man I married.
