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But that was a lie.
It usually bothered him. It wasn’t that the cosmetics of his arm bothered him because it didn’t matter to him how his arm looked to the world. What bothered him was the constant assumption that he’d been burned badly doing something heroic—that people assumed he’d carefully weighed the costs of getting the burns and chosen to get them for the sake of someone’s life. People looked at the burns as a negative consequence of doing something good. A payment.
People assumed the burns were a devastating tragedy.That’swhat bothered him. They weren’t a tragedy—not after the initial pain. The burns were evidence that he’d been able to overcome his trauma and do good for a perfect stranger. They showed his strength. He’d lifted and carried Chelsea out of a burning house after being hit with a flaming cocktail of chemicals. He’d been able to pull past his pain and save her life. If that wasn’t a testament to what he could do, nothing was.
That’s why, he surmised, Bentley’s attention wasn’t irritating. That’s why Redmond enjoyed the way Bentley played with his arm as if it was something precious. Because to Redmond, that’s exactly what the burns had become.
Something precious.
Proof that he could overcome the impossible and save lives. Maybe even his own.
13
She waited for Redmond to return from therapy, plating takeout food on his ceramic dining set. Cooking wasnotone of Chelsea’s strong suits, but it seemed that her well-balanced takeout diet had put a few pounds on Redmond. That and his ever-improving mental health. Chelsea smiled as she plated the burgers, as if she made them herself, tearing the boxes and stacking them in the trash can beneath the other garbage.
He didn’t need to know that she bought takeout instead of attempting to cook… again.
The distinct sound of a car’s tires grinding on mulch met her ears, and she hurried with the organization of the food. She had put the frozen fries in the oven rather than ordering them from the restaurant, so she scooped them off the cookie sheet and placed a heaping portion on their plates. By the time she tucked the aluminum foil from the pan into the trash can, the front door to the house opened, and he stepped inside.
Every time she saw him, she felt like a breath of fresh air had entered her lungs. He’d been thin before. He’d have been too thin if it weren’t for the muscles that lined his body like a second skin. He’d gained an additional layer of fluff on his stomach over the past few months, though most of his body remained solid and firmly built. In his dry-fit T-shirt he wore to therapy, though, she could see how healthy he looked.
Howhothe looked.
His hair hadn’t grown much, but it had grown enough for the slight curl at the end of the strands to stand out as they fell across his scalp haphazardly. His eyes contained a light that thrilled Chelsea as much as it surprised her. The blue was lighter than the usual black, and as he approached, the hue glinted in the light.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions,” he said as he approached the counter.
“Like what?” Chelsea asked, playing dumb as she barely contained her smile.
When he reached her side, he trailed a fingertip across her lower back before stopping beside her and whispering in her ear. “Like you want to be fucked.”
She snorted out a laugh and raised her brows as she turned to look at him fully. “I didn’t realize I could relay that in a look. I’ll remember that next time.”
Redmond smiled and shook his head as he looked over the two plates of food on the countertop. The smug look on his face had her gritting her teeth, but Chelsea didn’t say anything as Redmond lifted the bun of one of the burgers, and his smile turned teasing.
“Nice try,” he said. “But I know a Five Guys burger when I see one.”
Chelsea cursed under her breath. “The fries gave it away last time.”
He smiled and shook his head, plopping one in his mouth before placing his body in front of hers, the counter at her back. Chelsea leaned back into the counter, placing her elbows against it as if his mere proximity didn’t liquify her. Redmond always had that effect on her.
Shereallyneeded to get her sex drive under control.
“How was therapy?” she asked, trying to change the subject to something that would help her forget the feral need that grew within her with each of her heartbeats. His proximity drove her wild with lust, and as he placed both hands on the counter around her. One of his biceps brushed against her arm, she sucked in a sharp breath.
He smirked down at her. “She encouraged me to continue doing the things that give me the most pleasure in life. Specifically, you.”
“I don’t think she encouraged you todome,” Chelsea teased.
“It was implied.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Was it?”
“I’d like to think so.”
He drifted his face down until his lips rested a mere breath from hers. She’d done her best to refrain from having sex with him or distracting him from his goal of improving himself, but how necessary was it to stay so far away? He’d gotten so much better over the weeks as he dedicated every part of himself to improving. Chelsea had rarely slept in the same room as him, and she’d made every possible effort to not encourage sex.
Maybe that was why his advances had such an arousing effect.
