AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I can’t tear my attention away from him. He’s gorgeous.
“I’m sorry.” My tone is soft and remorseful. “I’ve ruined your day and I’m not having a good day, either.” Why did I say that?
“You said.” His left eye twitches as if he’s deep in thought.
My brain isn’t functioning properly and all I can think of replying is, “Right.”
Another small stream of blood from his nose causes me to scrunch my face as a jelly-like feeling spreads through my legs as I notice how red, swollen, and painful it looks. Damn, that must hurt. “Do you think it’s broken?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me as I move in closer to get a better look.
Barely an inch between us, beneath his finely tailored black dress jacket that looks like it was made for him, his large chest swells against the black tee shirt underneath it, his nostrils flaring as if he doesn’t like me invading his personal space.
“I've had worse,” he replies gruffly.
When I look up at him, he’s peering down at me, allowing me the opportunity to check him out further; tight square jaw, full lips, piercing blue eyes, and hot damn, does he have the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen.
Why are men always blessed with the holy grail of lashes? It’s not fair.
“Something I can help you with?” His lips twitch and it’s not a smile. I’m not sure if grizzly bear man knows how to. He doesn’t appear to have any laughter lines, unlike mine that run long and deep. Although in the last eight weeks, I haven’t had much to smile or laugh about. I think I may have forgotten how to do both.
Shaking my head, a nervous stutter leaves my mouth. “Yeah, you have, um, nice eyelashes.” I want to tell him his whole face is nice. He has the type of features I could look at all day and never get tired of. “Do you use some sort of lash growth serum, or are those natural?”
He grunts in response to my stupidity. “Shit, that’s sore.” He moans, and I assume he’s experiencing shooting pains across his face when he clenches his jaw together and winces.
Exploring the bridge of his nose with the hand that’s covered in blood, he says, “I need to clean up.” He gazes down at me with a serious look.
Flustered by his never-ending perusal of me that heats my skin and I feel deep within my soul, I look around for a bathroom in my unfamiliar surroundings. I spot one on the other side of the corridor. “Come with me. I’ll help. It’s the least I can do.” I expect him to argue, but when I pick up my bag and then his, he just follows me like a lost puppy. I groan at the weight of his bag. How he manages to carry it around when it feels heavier than a giant boulder is anyone’s guess. Although, from the look of him, he probably lifts more at the gym than I weigh.
Once inside the restrooms, he cleans his hands under the water. Then I order him to sit on the edge of sinks. I find a packet of soft tissues in my bag and dampen a couple under some warm water to clean him up. He shuffles down for me so I can reach his face, never uttering a word, watching me with fascination.
Standing between his legs, he winces when I softly press the tissue to his skin. “I’m sorry. But at least it’s stopped bleeding now.” I try to sound cheerful, even though I can see the bruising begin to shine beneath the skin under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. I feel terrible for hurting him. I’m the person who opens windows to let the flies out and I have never killed a spider.
“It’s fine. It’s not broken.” His reassuring, rough tone sends shivers down my spine.
“You’re not a doctor. You don’t know it’s not broken,” I rebuke him for his self-diagnosis.
“I do. It’s been broken twice before. It’s not broken this time.”
Maybe I was right, and he does play football. I’m certain they wear metal face protectors, though.
Or is he a bouncer like I first thought? Or perhaps he’s one of those guys who picks a fight with anyone. His broodiness feels like he could be. The intensity of it bubbles beneath the surface of his skin. It’s palpable. Unsettling, yet so intriguing.
He’s spiked my curiosity. The need to unpeel his layers suddenly becomes a burning desire.
We are so different. He’s like King Kong and I’m that tiny bride he clutches in his hand; he could easily devour me. Although that doesn’t sound so bad. However, I’m pretty sure I’m safe. Grizzly bear dude would never be interested in little me.
And yet, he’s still here, looking at me as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
I have to force myself not to lean in and kiss him when I clean the blood off his upper lip. They are incredibly kissable looking.
I gave up on men during my freshman year at college and I've only ever kissed boys, but this guy, he’s a man. A muscular wall of masculinity. From his intoxicating, spicy, rich smell to the size of his hands, he’s all man. The last time I kissed a boy, because that’s what he was, he squeezed my boob so hard I’m positive he thought he was kneading bread, earning him a swift shove, and I never spoke to him again. By the looks of this guy and his huge hands, I bet he knows exactly how to use them.
His inner thigh brushes my outer one as he shuffles from side to side as if he’s trying to get comfortable.
I fit perfectly between his legs.
I wonder what he would feel like between mine.
Oh no, those thoughts will never do.
