Cade’s chest rumbled with a chuckle, and his hand found the small of my back, rubbing soothingly. Embarrassed by the emotions I couldn’t seem to control anymore, I kept my face buried against his chest.
“But then what would I pay you for?” Cade asked Mac.
The bodyguard grumbled and left, while I held on to Cade long enough to collect myself. Desperate for something else to focus on, I tugged him toward the couch Whiskey was licking himself on. “Come sit down, please. I’ll get a first aid kit and patch you up.”
“I’m fine,” Cade repeated, already waving me off. “They’re just scratches. They’ll heal on their own.”
“Please let me do this,” I insisted. “I couldn’t help Whiskey earlier when he needed me, but I can help you now. Please.”
He sighed, but thankfully stopped arguing, and a crewmember appeared like magic with a first aid kit.
I’d never been medically trained, but I had enough experience with cats to be a pro at patching up scratches. I carefully cleansed the cuts on Cade’s arms and chest before applying ointment, then gently blew on each one to help the drying along before bandaging up the worst ones.
Cade shifted on the couch during the blowing part, making me snicker.
When I got to his right hand, the knuckles were split open. My brows drew together. I didn’t recognize these wounds.
“These don’t look like cat scratches,” I murmured.
Cade eyed them and flexed his hand. “They’re not.”
He left it at that, and I blinked. By the look of the split skin, I could guess what sort ofchathe’d had with Fletcher. “Oh.”
Unsure what to say—but fully aware of my chest filling with warmth—I bit my lip and carefully cleaned his knuckles.
Once every single scratch was cared for, I could breathe properly again. I checked over my work before nodding at Cade. “Okay, I think that’s it. Is there anything else I can do?”
He paused before answering. “There is one thing…”
“What?” I frowned, worried he’d hurt something worse in the water.
Cade’s gaze lowered to my mouth. “I’ve heard kisses make everything better.”
My lips twitched. “Oh, really?”
He nodded slowly. “I have it on good authority from the ship’s doctor.”
I couldn’t help grinning, which was clearly what he wanted—and I was more than happy to play along. I slowly brushed a kiss over one of the scratches on his forearm. Then another on the back of his hand.
Really liking this new game, I kissed every scratch marking Cade’s body. Every single one. From the bottom of his chest to the tip of his ear, I cleaned and kissed each battle wound. Cade’sbreathing grew deeper the longer I worked, until I pressed a final kiss to a mark on his jaw.
“Do your scratches feel better now?” I whispered.
A smirk curved his lips. “What scratches?”
I snorted right in his face. Maybe it was silly, but after all the worry and panic and fear, that little joke undid the tangle of knots in my stomach. It eased the terror that’d gotten a choke hold on me.
Feeling lighter, I threw my head back and cackled into the night’s sky.
mother knows best
. . .
Ellie
Ellie’s Guide toProfessional CuddlingBeing a Fake FiancéeNOT Falling for Your Fake FiancéHiding Any Trace that You’ve Fallen for Your Fake FiancéKeeping It TogetherSurviving as a Fake Fiancée, Tip #27: If all else fails, smile and nod.
Cade and I didn’t go back to our cabin that night. Instead, we cuddled under a blanket of stars—and another incredibly plush blanket a crewmember had brought us—on the deck. Whiskey curled up in my lap, mostly dry but still pouting, before all three of us drifted off to sleep.
