“I wasn’t just saying that other stuff. What you did to me before, I liked it. I’d like to do more.”
“You don’t have to butter me up,” I growl. “I already let you out of the cuffs.”
For a second I could swear my rejection legitimately wounds him. But the hurt on his face is there and gone before I can analyze further, replaced by the same flirty heat from before.
Rowan’s tongue slides over his bottom lip again. “Can’t I say thank you? I really want to.”
“Is fucking your answer for everything? Someone saves your life? Fucking. You need to apologize? Fucking.”
He blinks. “Someone places their trust in me by unlocking the handcuffs and then agrees to get food for Iggy, yeah, this is how I say thank you.”
“When did I agree to get food for Iggy?” In spite of my protest here I am swiping his hair from his forehead and trailing my fingers down the side of his stubbled jaw.
“You’re about to.” The flirty grin is back.
I roll my eyes. “I was going to do it anyway. Last thing I have time for is your boohooing if the lizard dies.” Not like this situation is the damn reptile’s fault, anyway.
He shifts but then hisses in pain. A few spots of blood have broken through the fabric of his shirt.
“Shit. Stay here.” In the bathroom, under the sink, I find a surprisingly well stocked first aid kit and bring it in. “Let’s swap out your bandages. We need to make sure it stays clean.”
He grunts with displeasure but complies when I push his shirt up to get it off him and lies still while I get a look.
“Less blood. That’s good.”
“Hmm.” He seems to be looking at me more than worrying about the wound. “Whatever you say, Milo.”
Why does that sentence feel like fingers caressing my balls? “I heard redheads feel more pain than other people. That true?”
One shoulder twitches. “I’ve heard more. I’ve heard less. Not like I have anything to compare it to.”
Now it’s my turn to “hmm” quietly, avoiding his intense gaze so I can focus on disinfecting, spreading ointment, and re-dressing the wound. It’s easier than facing the way he’s looking at me, with a mix of curiosity and desire I’m trying to pretend doesn’t match my own.
It’s not like I think we can’t enjoy some good old-fashioned no-strings fucking. What we did back at his place felt good, and I’mnot so high and mighty that I don’t want more. Obviously, I want more.
But for me? Detachment is a necessary part of what I do. Not getting too close to anyone, not even my handler. And there’s something about those wide, too-innocent eyes that sets off a blaring alarm in my head. They’d be easy to fall into, and I’m fairly certain they’re also a trap. No, I know they are.
Besides, Rowan’s sudden baring of his soul? I’m not buying it.
As if to reinforce my suspicions, the second I smooth the last piece of medical tape over the bandage, he reaches for me. My breath stutters as his fingers creep under the hem of my shirt, as they trail over my abs, dipping down to fumble with the button of my pants.
“What are you doing?”
“Like I said. Saying thank you.” Damned if he isn’t fluttering those lashes like he has an eye condition.
My insides hollow out with the force of my breath. “You already did that. Literally.”
There’s a gleam in his eyes when he says, “Then I guess this part is for fun.” He smiles then. “Come on, Milo. I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had any fun. I get fucked by men who don’t give a shit about my feelings. You kill people for a living. Couldn’t you use some fun?”
“That doesn’t matter.” The muscles in my jaw burn from the force of shutting my damn mouth, because I’m supposed to be in charge here and this is not a negotiation.
But I suppress a shiver. What I do, it’s about money and satisfaction. Righting wrongs too, I guess. It’s about the way my accidental first kill resulted in tears and hugs of gratitude so hard I almost choked, and then a quiet comment that she had a friend whose husband might kill her one day, and then…
The point is, I’ve been doing something important. I’ve been helping people and honing my craft, because an inexperienced killer doesn’t live long.
I’ve gotten good at what I do. I give people their lives back. But fun?
No, I can’t remember when I last had fun. And when Rowan catches his bottom lip between his teeth and pushes his sweats down his hips, I can’t remember why I was so adamant about keeping my hands off him, either.
