“Shit.”
“Yeah, it’s been quite a day,” I tell him before looking at the dog resting his head in my lap.
“Hell, now I feel even worse for Bear hurting you.”
I look down and smile before shaking my head and looking at him. “Don’t. It was just an accident. Like you said, he’s still a puppy. Poor baby doesn’t know any better yet.”
He coughs out a laugh, and humor lights up his face, taking my breath away. Jesus, he’s gorgeous when he smiles. “Oh, he knows better.”
Silence falls over us once again but it’s not uncomfortable, and I can’t look away from the man in front of me. I feel this weird pull toward him that I just can’t explain but I don’t know a single thing about him.
“What’s your name?” I blurt out, and one side of his mouth tips up.
“Why?”
“Because your dog mauled me, and you’ve already invited yourself inside my house. I think I should, at least, know your name.”
“Storm,” he says, and strangely, it fits.
“I’m Ali.”
He nods and looks up at my front door, setting the box down on the porch next to me. “Let’s get you inside and fix your knee.”
When he scoops me up in his arms again, I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him a little, unable to stop myself. He smells amazing, and I fight the urge to just take a deep breath. “You really don’t have to do this,” I tell him again, and he peeks over at me.
“You say that just to hear yourself talk, Darlin’? Cause you’re not gonna convince me to just walk away and leave you bleeding. My mama raised me better than that.”
“Well, thank you,” I whisper, a blush creeping up my cheeks as he steps into my kitchen.
“What are you thanking me for? The dog attack or the aftercare?” Amusement lights up his gray eyes, and I’m totally enthralled as he holds me in his arms in the middle of my kitchen, both of us unable to look away from each other. What the hell is this? He seems to snap to his senses and sets me down on the counter before looking around.
“Where am I going to find that first aid kit?”
I point to the cupboard directly behind him. “Second shelf.”
He grabs it and turns back to me, setting the kit on the counter next to me on one side before looking over at the sink on the other side. Without a word, he kneels in front of me and slips my shoe off my foot. I can’t look away, curious and turned on as I wonder what the hell he’s doing. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, flipping it open with ease, and I suck in a breath. If I were smart, I would be terrified right now. I would start screaming for help or kick my foot out and hope it catches him in the face so I can get away but he’s rendered me completely fucking stupid.
No, instead I sit my ass on the counter and watch as he pulls my tights away from my leg and cuts them open all the way up, my skin sparking with the intense desire blanketing us. When he gets above my knee where the tights disappear under my skirt, I put my hand out to stop him, and he pulls the knife away.
“They’re thigh highs,” I mutter as I pull my skirt up slightly and pull the stocking off. I dangle it out in front of him but his gaze is glued to my bare leg. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and my eyes almost roll back in my head. Jesus, I think I could come just from watching him watch me. I clear my throat, and he looks up at me.
“Care to tell me why you murdered my tights?”
He smirks and stands, folding the knife, and tucking it back into his pocket as he points to the sink without answering my question. “Spin toward the sink and stick your leg in. I’ll clean your wound.”
“Okay,” I say and do as he instructed, sticking my bare leg in the sink next to me, and folding the other one underneath me so it doesn’t get wet.
“This is going to hurt a little bit,” he warns, grabbing the sprayer, and turning the water on low. I nod.
“I’m okay.”
He tests the water, making sure it’s not too hot before he starts rinsing out the gash on my knee. It stings, and I suck in a breath before slowly blowing it out. As he cleans me up, he sends heated glances in my direction, sending my body into overdrive. Every little brush of his fingers is amplified, and when he finally turns off the water, my heart is pounding in my ears, and my breathing is choppy.
“Towels?” he asks, and I point to one of the drawers next to the sink, admiring the way the muscles in his shoulders bunch and flex as he leans down to grab one. After gently patting my knee dry, he tells me to turn back around so my legs are dangling off the counter. He pulls some gauze and tape out of the first aid kit, placing them on the counter next to me. Crouching down in front of me, he inspects my knee again. Gray eyes meet mine as he looks up at me and blows on my knee to make sure it’s dry and goose bumps race across my skin. After a heated moment, he drops his gaze back to my knee.
“I don’t think it needs stitches,” he mutters, inspecting the wound now that it’s clean, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing I needed today was a hospital visit. “It’s pretty swollen, though. You should stay off it for a couple days.”
“I have crutches in that closet there.” I point to the closet off the dining room, and he leaves me sitting on the counter to grab them. He gives them a nod of approval as he pulls them out and turns back to me.
“Why do you have crutches?”
“Broke my ankle a couple of years ago and just thought they’d be good to keep around.”
He nods and comes back over to me, leaning down in front of me. He blows on my knee once more, and I’m convinced it’s just to torture me as another shiver racks my body. He grabs the tape and starts tearing off pieces, laying them on the counter so he can grab them later. Grabbing some gauze off the counter, he presses it to my wound, making sure that the bleeding has stopped.
“Sorry,” he mutters when I suck in a breath, and I nod, letting him know that I’m okay. He tosses the gauze aside and grabs another piece, applying first aid cream to one side, and my heart squeezes at the care he’s showing me, a complete stranger. He lays the gauze over my knee and begins carefully taping it to my skin.
I’m enthralled as I watch him, unable to look away from his furrowed brow or the teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he works to get me all bandaged up. The thin scar running through his eyebrow is sexy as hell, and I’m dying to ask him how he got it. His little touches drive me crazy, and I can imagine him running one hand gently down my face while he lightly traces over my bottom lip with his thumb. Just picturing it in my head has me fighting back a moan. Finally, he stands and looks at me again, his gaze dark with the same desire that I feel coursing through my body with fervor. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip, and all I can think about is leaning forward and kissing him.
“Let me have your phone,” he says. It takes me a second to process what he said but when I do, I scowl at him.
“Huh?”
“Give me your phone.” He doesn’t give any explanation and yet, I hand over my phone without a second thought. He peeks up at me and smirks as I watch him type something in before he hands it back to me as his phone goes off in his pocket.
“My number is in there now. Call or text me if you need anything, okay?”