“That’s going to swell,” she said. “You should ice it. Or—”
“Or what?”
Her mouth curved. “I could kiss it better.”
I stared at her.
She held my gaze, unbothered.
“It’s a legitimate medical method,” she said, her tone dipping into something unmistakably flirtatious. “Very nurturing.”
My patience snapped.
I caught her hand and pressed it flat against the counter. Not hard. Just enough.
She inhaled sharply.
“Don’t,” I said quietly.
Her pulse jumped under my grip. She didn’t pull away.
“Don’t what?” she asked.
There was a spark in her eyes now.
“Offer first aid?” she tilted her head. “You’re kind of rude for someone dripping on my kitchen.”
I leaned closer.
“Careful who you try to provoke.”
Her mouth twitched.
“Relax,” she said. “I don’t scare that easily.”
Her fingers flexed under my hand like she was testing my grip instead of resisting it.
“That’s a strong grip for a man who claims he’s not interested,” she said sweetly.
For half a second, neither of us moved.
Then I released her.
“Go back to bed.”
She rubbed her wrist like she was considering something.
“You should probably nap,” she concluded. “You’re cranky.”
She walked out like she hadn’t just tested every line in the room.
And she wasn’t done. Never was. Every time I thought I could ignore her, she found a new way to get under my skin—another bold comment, another look, another smart-ass line. Like it was a game she was determined to win. Like my silence only dared her to push further.
She was insufferable.
And clever.
And too goddamn tempting for someone who was supposed to be off-limits.
