Page 39 of Above ’N’ Beyond

Gently, he set the bottle back on the tray and moved into the bathroom. He flipped on the lights, opened the top drawer beneath the sink, and quickly found the tube of antiseptic ointment, along with a box of gauze pads and a roll of white medical tape. Before returning to the living room, he wet a washcloth in the sink and wrung it out.

Back in the bedroom, he couldn’t help staring at the neatly made bed with its pristine white cover and wondering about the men in Bella’s life who’d been lucky enough to rumple those bedsheets.

The image of Marco Ianetti and Bella in bed together wedged a solid lump of steel in his gut. One kiss didn’t give him any rights to her. Who she took to her bed was none of his freaking business. When this case was over, he’d be history.

Heading back through the hallway, he shook his head to clear it. He had a job to do. That was the only reason he was here in the first place. Definitely not to ponder Bella’s love life.

She looked up as he came back into the living room. The blanket was still around her shoulders. She seemed to have stopped shaking, but her eyes were still tinged with fear that cut straight into his heart.

Fear he’d indirectly put there.

Jax sat by her legs, his head in her lap. Gnocchi had either managed to hop onto the sofa, or she’d picked him up. One of Bella’s hands rested on the puppy’s belly. The fingers of her other hand sifted through Jax’s fur.

“Will you let me clean your injury?” It was the least he could do. For a moment, she hesitated, then nodded. “Move over, buddy.” He nudged Jax out of the way and wedged himself behind Bella. Their bodies were close. Too close. With every breath he took, her scent flooded his lungs. Her spiky blond hair was softer than he’d expected, tickling his chin.

As he tugged the blanket from her shoulder, she shivered. “Cold?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Can I move the straps out of the way?” When she nodded, he slipped two fingers beneath her bra and tank straps, then slid them off her shoulder to her upper arm. Again, she shivered. Goose bumps prickled her back and—

Oh no.

Her nipples strained pertly against her snug shirt, forcing him to adjust his position on the sofa. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and said a silent prayer. He felt like fifty shades of perverted, rendering first aid to an injured woman and getting as hard as the barrel of a Colt M4.

“This might sting.” Gently, he began wiping away the dried blood, starting at the edges of the scrapes and working inward to where her once smooth skin was now raw and abraded. She stiffened, her arm brushing against his. Now it was his turn for goose bumps. A barrage of them paraded across his forearm.

Getting close to her had been part of the plan, but this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. He should be asking more subtly probing questions about the Bistro’s intake and how much of that money was actually proceeds from the restaurant or money the Mancusos were laundering through the place. But there was a dangerous war taking place inside his head.

The undercover in him should take total advantage of the situation, of Bella’s vulnerability. The man in him couldn’t do it. Not now, not while he wanted to hold her, comfort her. And kiss her again.

“I should thank you and Jax,” she said, breaking the silence. “I’ve never thought of myself as being helpless, but—”

“You’re not helpless.” He tossed the bloodstained washcloth on the coffee table, then inspected the severity of the cuts, which were long but not deep. “Not all strength comes from muscle. The way you put that customer in his place at the Bistro the day I met you was impressive.”

She huffed. “With Tony and his boys there, it was easy. If he’d caused any real trouble, he probably would have wound up in the hospital.”

He didn’t doubt that, which was another reason he’d stepped in that day. If Tony had broken the guy’s kneecaps, he might have ended up in jail again, putting a serious kink in Jamie’s investigation.

Bella twisted her neck to look at him. “Why are you working for Tony?”

The cap he’d just unscrewed from the tube of ointment fell to the sofa. Considering her Italian lineage, she really did have the clearest, most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen. He squirted a dab on his finger. “Why do you ask?” And how to answer that question?

“You could be doing something else. You’re capable, handy, helpful, and you make the most amazing cappuccinos.” The smile she gave him did something dangerous, tugging on his heart. “A man who takes the time to make children stuck living at a soup kitchen smile could be doing something more constructive with his life than working for a mob capo.”

Not that he doubted it, but she’d just confirmed in no uncertain terms she knew precisely what her cousin was. If she’d been wearing that necklace, her own statement could be used against her. Jenkins would have had an evidentiary orgasm. But again, Jamie had no intention of ever giving it to her.

He began dabbing the ointment on her wounds. “It’s not that easy for an ex-con to get work.” And it wasn’t. He’d seen that firsthand, and it was a major cause of recidivism.

“You could work full time for me. If you wanted to, that is,” she added quickly.

“What about when your bartender gets back? Then you won’t need me.”

“I’d find you some other work.”

“I wouldn’t make a good bus boy, and waiting tables isn’t my thing. Besides, Sierra, Lori, and Rebecca have that covered.”

She turned away. “I’m just trying to help.”