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“Professional, much?”
He swallows. “You stabbed me… and I didn’t say I was professional. Hold still.”
My teeth grit as he sticks one structure across the wound. Ripping the bottle off him, he can’t stop me from taking a gulp. I let out a pathetic cough after, the alcohol burning the path to my stomach. It tastes vile, but I knock back more until it works. Until the pain is dull and I’m warm.
After some time passes, the bleeding stops, and he bandages me up. Then, he sticks me with a needle, gives me the shot, and takes the bottle away. I’m uncertain if it’s the amount of alcohol I’ve just consumed, but my lungs collapse when he pulls his T-shirt over his head.
It’s impossible not to stare as he cleans his wound first. Even the thought of touching him has me quaking. The ripples of his muscles, the solidness of his body. I remember how he felt, the strength and power of him taking me—
“Pass me the scissors.” He cuts off my thoughts, and I blink, face flaming even hotter with shame as I give him the scissors.
He might be telling the truth about being a doctor as he sutures himself up with quick precision and concentration. After covering himself with a bandage, he swallows two tablets and drops two into my palm. My hesitation is apparent. “It’s pain relief. Take it or leave it.”
Throwing everything back into the box, he leaves so cold and detached again. But also different, in a way I’m struggling to explain. Once again, words fail me. Are there any?
After swallowing down the pills, he returns wearing a black shirt. He’s on the phone. “You’re lucky I took your call. We never interfere in each other’s shit.” He pauses, lips pressing together as his eyes fall on me. Whatever the person on the other line says makes something waver in him. “I have it under control. Stay out of it.”
Hanging up, he pockets it and grips the top of the couch. Bowing his head, he stares down at nothing.
“What?” I can’t help asking after a few moments of silence pass, wondering if that was Maxim on the phone.
“You’re the trigger for unearthing all the restraint I’ve learned over the years. Did you know that?”
My eyebrows draw together. “And you’re the bane of my fucking life. Didyouknow that?”
His jaw hardens. “Don’t start, or I might not control what happens next.”
“Your threats are getting old.” Crossing my arms and turning away from him, I’m so annoyed and everything else that I don’t know whether to scream at him or cry. And I’m sick of crying. “I’m so over—”
Chills prickle my scalp when his hand binds in my hair, and he forces my neck back. He’s now there, upside down, glaring at me with such intensity I shudder. “Go ahead. Finish it.”
“I’m overyou,” I say through gritted teeth, but his fingers radiate through my scalp and flare an unwanted heat inside me. As his fingers lessen their grip and begin massaging my skull instead, I clamp my legs together, gasping when my sex spasms like a needy bitch. His head lowers, his lips brushing the side of my mouth like he knows the effect he’s having on me.
This isn’t like before when he teased me about proving a point. This time, it’s like he can’t help it. As if something dark is guiding us both to need each other when it’s too fucking insane and complicated to think how this would even work between us.
It won’t. Can’t possibly.
“Why…” he asks as I moan when his teeth graze my jaw. “After everything that I did and didn’t do—you still want this?”
My eyes spring open as he lets go. He’s about to walk away when I catch his arm. He doesn’t get to run away from this.
Getting onto my knees, the rear of the couch is the only thing separating us. Milton glances back at me, the crease between his eyebrows back, but before me is a person I don’t know.
Who are you?
I’m dying to ask. Who is the real Milton?
He’s right. I shouldn’t crave this, so why can’t I let him go? Dampening my lips, I circle my fingers on his skin. “What does Blake have that you want?”
It’s the question, isn’t it? What made him play bodyguard? What was so important that he couldn’t save me back then?
He lets out a deep breath. Didn’t he expect me to eventually ask?
“Information.” His answer seems so simple for something that isn’t.
“What kind of information?”
“Information I’ve gotten elsewhere. Congratulations. You’re off the hook.” He’s not going further, and I can’t help but sigh with annoyance. What does that even mean?
