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40
RILEY
I’ve gotno reason to be nervous as I approach Logan’s bedroom, but that doesn’t stop my heart from racing.
The thin cut he made on my chest has healed to nothing but a faint red line, but I can still vividly remember what the knife felt like as he dragged it across my skin. I can also recall the way he almost begged me to tell him to stop… and the way my mouth stayed glued shut.
I pause outside Logan’s door to wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my pants, taking a second to try to get my shit together before I knock.
It’s just stitches,I remind myself. In and out, and then it will be done.
I blow out a breath, then lift a hand to the door, and Logan startles me by swinging it open before my knuckle can rap against the wood more than once.
“Shit,” I blurt, my fist still hovering in the air. “Um, I guess you were waiting for me?”
I can see some kind of medical kit laid out on the bed behind him, which means Maddoc must have told him he’d have to patch me up. So he probably has been waiting for me.
“Yes.” He nods, his expression impossible to read.
He may have opened the door, but he’s still blocking my way, as if he’s not entirely sure he wants to let me in. I glance around quickly, trying to keep the movement of my eyes subtle. I’ve only been in his room one other time, and the memory of that time—and of what happened afterward—makes me shiver.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I tell him, clearing my throat. “I was just getting Chloe settled in. She needed to decompress a bit, and I don’t think my wound is even bleeding much anymore, so I figured it wasn’t urgent. Not that I really know what constitutes ‘urgent’ when it comes to gunshot wounds. This was my first time being shot, so I’m not really much of an expert.”
I realize I’m rambling and force myself to stop talking, pressing my lips together.
Logan is still staring at me with those penetrating light blue eyes, so after a long beat of silence, I clear my throat and ask, “Um, should I come in?”
He sighs, his jaw tightening, but finally steps aside.
I guess, in Logan-speak, that’s an invitation.
Now it’s my turn to hesitate.Do I even really need stitches?Maddoc was so fucking pushy about it, though, and if I’m about to be on my own with Chloe, it’s definitely a bad idea to risk my wound getting infected or anything.
“Thanks,” I murmur. I slip past him, and he closes the door again.
Instantly, I feel claustrophobic, as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. I’m acutely aware that I’m alone with him in his private space. I’ve already seen the inside of his bedroom, but it’s different now, with him watching me as I take it all in.
I squeeze my hands together so they won’t shake as I glance over at him and ask, “Should I sit on the bed?”
Logan blinks, then lets his gaze slowly slide down my body, hovering over the blood stains at the bottom of my shirt.
He looks back up at me. “No.”
“Then where—”
“Lie down,” he instructs, his voice cool and measured. “On your side. After you take your shirt off.”
My pulse kicks into a fast, almost frantic pace, but I do what he said, undoing the heavy bullet proof vest I’m still wearing and setting it down on the floor, then tugging off my shirt. That leaves me in only my bra, and my nipples peak beneath the thin fabric as Logan stares at me for a long, loaded moment. The weight of his undivided attention is so heavy that I could almost imagine it’s his hands skating over me instead of his gaze.
Goosebumps spread over my skin as I walk over to his bed and carefully lie down on the perfectly made bedspread. I wedge my arm under my head as I roll onto my side, but Logan shakes his head.
“Move your arm,” he commands. I do, wincing a little at the pain in my side, and I watch him carefully as he lifts the lone pillow on his bed and wedges it under my head instead.
I’m surprised he gave me his pillow, honestly. He’s obviously very protective of his stuff, so I would’ve thought he’d be worried I would get blood on it or something.
“Thank you,” I murmur softly. “That’s better.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he carefully lowers himself to the bed, sitting right next to me and touching me with a clinical precision that’s so…him. He cleans away the blood from the raw, angry wound at my side, puts something on it that stings like an angry bitch, then reaches for the medical kit.
