Until I met Hayes on New Year’s.
His hands were careful. His touch loving. His body a promise of warmth and safety. Hayes reminded me that there is comfort to be found in another, and now I’m craving it endlessly.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hayes says, scraping his boot against the kitchen floor to clear a path.
“It’s just a little cut—”
“Emery.” His tone is a hit of adrenaline to my veins, stealing any argument straight from my lips.
When we reach the small downstairs bathroom, he leads me in first. There’s barely any room in the crampedspace. The heat of his body is palpable when he slides into the room behind me.
Hayes opens the medicine cabinet above the sink, forcing my back to the counter, and I have to hold my breath to steady myself. The brush of his chest peaks my nipples. My legs shake, knees rattle. He’s a shot to my heart, overwhelming my senses in the best possible way.
“Sit.” Hayes motions his chin to the counter behind me.
I grip the counter, pushing onto it so my legs dangle between us. Hayes doesn’t bother keeping an appropriate distance. He presses right against me, cupping my palm in his hand as he dabs the cut with antiseptic.
I wince, drawing in a quick breath through my teeth.
“Sorry. I should have warned you that it would sting.”
I can’t help but smile at his comment because it’s sweet and thoughtful. This lethal biker stands before me wearing patches that represent all he’s done, yet he’s worried about causing me pain as he takes care of me.
“What’s so funny?” he asks when I chuckle.
“It’s interesting, that’s all.” I shrug. “How many wounds have you inflicted in your line of work. Yet you’re worried you’re hurting me by taking care of mine.”
“I never want to hurt you, freckles.” His green eyes lift, and my belly flutters. “You deserve to feel good all the time.”
Those are dangerous words.
Borderline merciless as he lifts my hand and blows a gentle breath over the cut, drying it before applying a bandage. Goose bumps roll in waves up my arms, a flush of anticipation tickles through me, and I shiver.
Hayes smiles, not missing my reaction. “Better now?”
“Yes.” My answer croaks out, so I change the subject. “You’ve been gone for a couple of days.”
“Unfortunately.” He frowns. “Were you and Charlie okay? I asked Ghost to check in while I was gone.”
“He did. And so did Luna. So did all the girls, actually. They've been wonderful.” His eyes meet mine, and I immediately look away. “We've been fine. You don’t need to worry about us.”
From the corner of my eye, I spot his frown deepening, but he doesn’t respond to that. He presses the bandage to the wound, wrapping it around my hand and securing it snugly to stop the bleeding.
“You should keep that on for at least an hour, and then we can take a look to see if you need stitches. I’ll have Patch drop by later to get a second look.”
“It's just a small cut.” I hop off the counter, ignoring that it puts us chest to chest as I slip around him and quickly leave the bathroom, walking down the hallway to the kitchen. “I’ve had worse.”
The second those words leave my mouth, I realize they're the wrong thing to say because Hayes snags my arm, spinning me in the hallway to face him. “What do you mean you’ve had worse? Someone hurt you?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I swallow hard. “I meant the car accident that killed my parents… I was in the car when it rolled over.”
My fingers move to the back of my head, digging in my hair until I find the rugged scar that runs the length of my skull. Hayes steps closer, threading his fingers throughmine to feel it himself. He’s no longer smiling when he finally takes a step back.
“How old were you when they died?”
“Six.” My gaze falls to the floor. “It was a freak accident. One moment we were driving to get breakfast, and the next the car was upside down. There was so much glass everywhere.”
I glance back at the kitchen floor, covered in shards from the vase. The same icy feeling that ran down my spine that day sends a chill through me now.
