Page 84 of Hard Bargain

Dominic stood near the kitchen island, bare from the waist up, while he examined the wound. The overhead light cast stark lines across his shoulders and chest, accentuating his muscles with every motion.

And then there was the blood. Streaking down his upper arm in a dark red line, dripping toward his elbow. The sight should have pulled Knox’s focus straight to the injury.

It didn’t.

Jesus Christ.

He forced his eyes back to the wound. Right. Blood. Knife wound. That was the problem. He set the first aid kit down harder than he meant to and stood there for a moment, willing his pulse to do something reasonable. It didn’t cooperate.

Dominic’s gaze flicked up and took in whatever must have shown on Knox’s face, but he didn’t comment on it. He just shifted slightly, the movement making the muscles in his stomach tighten under the sweep of dark ink. “Come here,” he said.

Knox moved closer.

“Sanitize your hands with the antiseptic solution first. Then soak some gauze in it too.”

Knox did as he was told, his fingers less steady than he wanted them to be.

Dominic nodded. “Clean the blood so you can see what you’re doing.”

Knox pressed the soaked gauze against the cut. Dominic’s jaw tightened, but that was the only sign it hurt. “Harder,” Dominic said.

Knox glanced up. “You’re kidding.”

“If you baby it, we’ll be here all night.”

Knox muttered under his breath and pressed harder. Blood smeared away under the gauze, revealing the full length of the cut. It was deeper than Knox had wanted to believe, the edges of skin parted in a way that made his stomach turn over. “Shit.”

“It’s fine.”

“It is absolutely not fine.”

That got the faintest curve from Dominic’s mouth. “Still standing.”

Knox shook his head and reached for another clean piece of gauze. Up close, Dominic was impossible to ignore in a way that had nothing to do with the wound—the heat coming off him, the solid breadth of him, the tattoos winding over muscle and skin. Knox had to force himself not to notice too much at once, because every time he did, his thoughts started moving in a direction he didn’t have the energy to fight right now.

He wiped away the last of the blood and stepped back enough to look at the wound properly. “Okay,” he said, mostly to himself.

Dominic reached into the kit and pulled out the suture pack, setting it closer. “Open that.”

Knox tore it open and stared at the curved needle inside. His stomach dipped. “Jesus. You’re sure about this?”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll tell you exactly what to do.” Dominic held his gaze for a beat, calm and certain in a way Knox envied and resented in equal measure.

Dominic pulled one of the kitchen island stools closer with his feet and sat, turning so the injured arm faced the light.

Knox stepped forward, holding the needle awkwardly, and immediately realized the problem. There was no way to reach the wound from where he stood.

Which meant—

He stepped between Dominic’s knees. His thighs bracketed Knox on either side. He tried very hard not to notice how close their bodies were, how little space existed between them.

“Wolfe,” Dominic said dryly. “Focus. The next part involves you stabbing me with a needle.”

Knox snorted. “Shut up.”

Dominic’s mouth twitched. “Start at the edge of the cut.” He reached over with his good hand and touched just beside the wound. “Right here. Through this side, then bring it across.”

Knox pushed the needle through the skin. Dominic’s jaw tightened, a brief flex along the side of his face, but he didn’t make a sound.