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When he got to the center of my belly, his hands moved back upward, running his fingers up the sides of the material, his fingertips grazing my heated skin beneath.
This time, when I shivered, it was on the outside too.
And was I imagining that little vibrating that moved through Salvatore? Almost like a, I don’t know, growl?
No.
That was probably just my imagination
As his hands got to the tops of the sides of the dress, though, his one hand grabbed harder and yanked, making one entire bra-clad boob pop out of the dress.
For one delicious moment, I thought that was his intention—to see more of me, to get a better view.
Until I realized his gaze had dipped and the other hand had gone across my chest to start peeling the medical tape up off my skin, pulling back the gauze as he went.
He wanted to look at my wound.
That was it.
Nothing else.
There was no accounting for the disappointment as it seemed to kick me in the stomach, knocking out all my air.
Salvatore’s fingers probed around the edge of my wound, saying nothing, as my stupid body misconstrued the cold, clinical touch for something, well, a lot more heated and personal.
For a horrified second, I was worried he would hear the sound of my nervous swallow, would be able to know the source of it.
Finished with his inspection, he pressed the gauze back on, running his finger along the edge of the tape to make it stick again, going around in a square four times, and I swear to God, I felt that sensation… you know… somewhere else.
He didn’t reach to pull up my bra strap, and while my brain was telling me that I was supposed to do it, I couldn’t seem to get the message from my brain to my arm, so it just stayed there, dangling over my upper arm as his gaze slid up to mine in the mirror.
There was something dark reflected there, but before I could even begin to analyze it, his hands were suddenly sinking into my hips, grabbing, turning, and slamming me back against the sink vanity.
I’m not too proud to admit that the forceful, caveman move made excitement spark through my system.
He was just as close as before, his body a breath from mine, close enough that if I took a deep breath, my breasts would be brushing his chest.
I totally didn’t consider taking a deep breath just to test out my theory. Nope. Not me.
Before I could fully talk myself out of the idea, though, Salvatore was suddenly moving.
Lowering.
Right down in front of me.
Until he was in a deep squat, his head level with, well, a particularly alive and interested part of my anatomy.
As soon as he was settled, his arm started to lift.
I swear I could feel the air between his palm and my thigh vibrating as he moved it up alongside me.
Then his fingers were snagging the hem of my skirt and starting to lift.
I swear, I damn near swooned.
Until, again, my damn rational mind realized his intention as he fisted the skirt to my hip so he could look at the wound on my thigh, peeling back the gauze, then inspecting the wound with the same intensity that he had my other one.
And, again, he started tracing the tape, pressing it down. Four times. Five. Six.
