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I pause with my hand poised above his wound with an antiseptic wipe. “This may sting a bit.”
“As long as you kiss it to make it feel better.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“What a weird way to say I’m sexy.”
I clean the wound and place the bandage over it. “There. All done.”
He pats his lips. “Except for a kiss.”
I roll my eyes and stand. “You don’t have to sleep on the sofa.”
“The sofa’s fine.”
“Which is why you fell off and hurt yourself.”
“We’re telling everyone I got this cut while I was saving you from a ghost.”
I groan. “Please don’t dress up as a ghost again.”
He grins. “But how else can I save you?”
I slap his chest and he captures my hand. “I don’t need saving.”
He rubs his thumb along the pulse point of my inner wrist and I inhale a deep breath before I melt into a pool of hormones at his feet. Maybe I do need saving after all.
“And I can sleep on the sofa.”
“I feel bad. You’re too tall for my sofa. Just sleep in the bed.”
“I can’t sleep in the bed with you.”
I jerk my hand away from him. “Why not? Do I have cooties now?”
“You definitely don’t have cooties unless cooties mean you’re super sexy and difficult to resist.”
“We’ll build another wall between us.”
“No need, pixie. I’m sleeping on the sofa.”
“But—”
He presses a finger against my lips to quiet me. “There’s no way I can sleep in a bed with your sexy ass knowing how you taste and feel.”
“A man should be able to control himself.”
“I can control myself fine. But laying next to you smelling your honey scent and not being able to touch you is torture.”
My mouth drops open. “Oh.”
“Until you’re ready to let me back in, I’ll be on the sofa.”
Ready to let him back in? Not happening.
“What if I’m never ready?”
“Then, I’ll sleep on your sofa forever.” He tucks a stray hair behind my ear before kissing my forehead. “Sleep well, pixie girl.”
