“We’re not far from the mansion. I’ll sort myself out when we get there.”
“Simon! You need a hospital. That is a lot of blood!”
He shakes his head, taking a slow breath. “No hospitals. Hospitals ask questions.”
“What happened?” I ask quietly.
“My brother ran into some trouble, and I had to go help him. One of the assholes pulled out a knife and stabbed me. It’s not deep, I don’t think. It just hurts like a fucking bitch,” he groans, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
“Please, go to the hospital. You might need stitches.”
I’ve never been in a situation like this. I’ve never heard of someone not wanting to get help after they’ve been stabbed!
He ignores my repeated pleas and continues driving toward the mansion. When we get there, he stops close to the front door and staggers out of the car.
I hurry around, wanting to help him somehow, but not sure what to do.
“Open the door for me if you don’t mind?” he says, handing me the house keys.
I run ahead and open the door, holding it wide as he mutters and groans, walking as though he’s in a lot of pain. I lock the door behind him and leave the keys on the kitchen counter, following him into the guest bathroom downstairs.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Nothing. There’s a fully stocked first aid kit here in the…” His voice trails off as he tries to shrug his jacket off, and pain shoots through him.
“Stop moving so roughly. Go slower,” I complain.
I move closer to him and help him pull his jacket off. His shirt is sticking to him. “I need to take this off, too, if you don’t mind helping?” he says softly.
Without answering, I step in front of him and begin to undo the buttons. My eyes drift to the massive patch of fresh blood. It’s so red. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much blood.
A wave of his cologne washes over me, and my mind instantly returns to the almost-kiss.
I clear my throat, annoyed with myself. The man is practically bleeding to death, and I’m thinking about a stupid kiss that didn’t even happen.
I gently tug his shirt open and almost moan softly when I see his six-pack. I’ve seen it in the pool. But there was water inthe way, and I was annoyed with him. It’s different now that I am standing right in front of him with his chest at eye level.
I bite my lip and remind myselfagainthat he needs medical attention, not some random girl perving him.
He winces when I lift the fabric away from the wound. It sticks to his skin where the blood has started to dry.
“Oh shit, I made it bleed more!” I squeal in panic.
He chuckles.
It takes me by surprise.
A deep, wholehearted chuckle rumbles through his chest as he drops his shirt to the floor.
“Take a breath, Blair. It’s really not as bad as it looks,” he says, sounding amused.
I scrunch my nose, annoyed that he’s teasingmefor panicking when he’s the one who got stabbed. Stepping back from him, I pull my mouth to the side, wondering if I should just walk away and let him struggle on his own or keep helping him.
Eventually, the kinder part of me wins, and I turn toward the first-aid kit sitting on the vanity.
“What do you need me to do?” I huff, sounding annoyed.
“I am sure I can manage on my own,” he says cautiously.
