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Opening the cupboard over the sink, I pull down a bottle of tequila and a bottle of bourbon.
I’ve got no idea what she likes, but she’s a chick, so she probably likes the fucking sweet bite of bourbon. So, I pour two big glasses—tequila for me and bourbon for her. Then I retrieve one of my first aid kits from under the kitchen sink.
Carrying them out, I suck in a breath.
Long, pale legs. This time, she has cornflower blue panties that look like boy shorts, but they’re lace. And her knee, it’s bruised and scraped. She also rubs her elbow.
With a sigh, I come over and set everything down, pushing the bourbon glass into her hands.
“I don’t want—”
“Fucking drink it, Avah.” Then I soften my tone. “It’ll help warm you.”
The flash of her eyes whispers she wants me to warm her. I take a swallow of the tequila, set down the glass, go back to the kitchen, and return with some ice in a tea towel that I place against her cheek, and then I put her free hand on it. “Hold it like this.”
She nods as I go down on my knees in front of her and pull the kit to the sofa.
I put my hands on her thighs.
Fuck, she looks tiny under them. “I’m fucking sorry about your cheek.”
“It wasn’t you.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice clipped, heavy, “it was.”
“Nicolo?”
There’s a softness, a keening note of need, of lost little girl and woman who wants to ask things she shouldn’t in there.
I don’t look up as I prep things. “Yeah?”
“You were saving me, not beating me up.” She breathes out, and the soft sigh of air brushes my senses.
“It wasn’t intentional. Still doesn’t change the fucking fact I did it.”
I start to clean her knee. It’s just a scrape, and I administer to it, her skin soft, warm, and smooth. Then my gaze travels up, and my pants get tight as she’s sitting, thighs parted, that pretty pussy just there, faintly visible behind the lace panties.
Slipping a hand up her thigh, I take her glass that she’s finished and set it down, and then I look at her arm gently.
“Give me your other one.”
She switches hands with the ice and holds out her arm. I take her hand and slide fingers gently along it, listening for a sharp breath of air or waiting for her to flinch. There are bruises forming, and I can see one on her hip that peeks from beneath her tight black shirt. But her arms are fine.
And me . . . I want to keep touching her.
Instead, I get up, go to my room, and grab a T-shirt that I hand to her. “Put this on. And I’ll get you another drink.”
“I don’t need another.”
“Okay.” I rub a hand over my face. “I’m gonna get me another.”
I grab my glass, down the rest, and return to the kitchen to get more. What I want is for her to put that fucking T-shirt I gave her on. What I want is her naked and under me.
“I tried to hurt him,” she says as I come back. Of course, she hasn’t changed, and there’s something a little too erotic about her in just those blue fucking panties and her tight top that threatens to push me to the edge. “I think he took my folio I was bringing back.”
I go still, flick my gaze to her face. “Anything of interest in there?”
“Just photos from the event the other day. He might have thought it was worth something.”
