And yet…
He pulls off his shirt, while I pretend to focus on the first aid supplies. I do a good job, I think, barely reacting to the waft of cologne or whatever that visceral fragrance is that saturates the air with his abrupt movement. I refuse to glance at his bare chest when he lowers himself beside me on the bed, careful to remain stoic through the rapid increase of my pulse when his thigh lands against mine. Heat spreads from his jeans through my sweatpants, seeping into my skin and corrupting my racing bloodstream. I clear my throat as if that will somehow purge his overwhelming presence from my awareness.
But it doesn’t.
No, there’s nothing in my universe right now except Julian Campbell. Exasperating, confusing, irresistible Julian Campbell.
I stare at the bandage in my hands, not sure what to do next.
“Typically the gauze works better when it’s on the abrasion,” he says.
I manage a decent eye-roll, trying to ignore the effect of the wicked smirk on his perfect face. Gah! Why does he have to be so good-looking on top of everything else? Maybe I’m actually mad at him for that. “Funny. Typically, I don’t have to administer daily first aid in my line of work.”
His smile grows, and I miss the days when I wanted to smack his gorgeous grin—not taste it. Touch it. Inhale it. I suck in a breath and rip the tape from a cut on his chest.
“Ouch!” he winces out through a laugh.
“Don’t be a baby.”
His eyes fill with amusement as he shakes his head, but my own levity fades when I see the full extent of the damage in the sunlight for the first time. How is he even functioning, let alone taking his niece out on the town to buy guitars?
“You really should be resting today,” I chide.
“A little late for that.”
“You also should have gone to the emergency room. What if you have broken ribs or internal bleeding or—”
He grips my wrists and tugs gently. “Are you here to help me or lecture me?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re being irresponsible, that’s all.”
He smirks and releases me. “Me? Well there’s something I’ve never been accused of before,” he says dryly.
“Whatever. Just…” I look away, not sure how I planned to finish that sentence. Maybe we shouldn’t talk. Strange things come out of my mouth in his presence. I’ll just follow through on this mistake I already committed to, go back down to my apartment, and—
“What about you, Hadley Crawford?”
I glance up, those brown eyes sucking me in with a deadly mixture of amusement, curiosity, and something else. It’s the something else that has my heart beating faster, my fingers instinctively tingling to explore more of him.
“What about me?”
I press the clean gauze to the wound, giving my fingers something constructive to do so they don’t try something stupid.
“Let’s see. Hadley the Fixer. Hadley the Rule-Follower. Hadley the prim and proper Queen of Responsibility.” He stops, the wry humor in his voice grating on me now.
“Is that a question?” I glare at him as I tear off a piece of tape and slap it on his skin.
“Ouch,” he laughs out again.
“If you’re going to be such a baby about this, maybe don’t pick fights you can’t win?” I snap.
He lifts a brow, clearly enjoying my misery. I bristle even more at that. “Really? So you don’t think I should have confronted Danny P?”
“Of course I do. Just…” I shake my head and focus back on the tape.
“You end a lot of sentences with ‘just.’ You know that?”
I lift my gaze to his, expecting more taunting, but instead I’m met with curiosity. Julian, curious. That’s a new one.
He leans back, bracing his hands behind him as he studies me, and I do everything I can not to study him back. Definitely not the way that position suddenly casts his body in high definition, every muscle on display, taunting me. And the smell. What is that cologne? It should be banned. I blink through a rush of heat and reach for a tube of antibiotic ointment to distract myself.
“You’re very sure about your opinions as they relate to others,” he continues. “Fearless to defend those you love. But yourself…” He shrugs. “You can’t even finish a thought when it’s about yourself, can you? It’s always ‘just.’ You force the other person to fill in the blanks. What is it you want me to fill in? What comes after the ‘just?’”
I feel the resentment spread into my eyes, the ire spike through me at his intrusive observation. No one asked his opinion. That’s the problem with him. He’s so freaking sure of himself that he thinks he has the right to point out every blemish and flaw in those around him. Just because he—
“You don’t like me because I see you,” he says matter-of-factly. His right eye squints in thought as he evaluates me, almost matching his left that’s been swollen into the same perpetual assessment. It’s worse that he’s not teasing me. Not criticizing me. Not doing anything but…
Seeing me.
Fine. Yes. I don’t like it.
I shake my head, a deep chill running down my spine. “I don’t like you because you’re an arrogant, self-centered egotist,” I snap back, but his lips only curve into a grin.
“Ah, right. Because I have every reason to be arrogant. What, with my vast wealth and pristine pedigree.” He spreads his hand around his small bedroom before leaning forward again. “Did it ever occur to you that I know everyone judges me no matter what I do, so maybe I’ve stopped caring what they think?”
“You care.”
“No. I really don’t. You care. Too much and about the wrong things.”
“That’s not true!”
“No? You’re beautiful, Hadley Crawford.”
I flinch and straighten. “What? I—” Flustered, I shake my head and search for something else to do. Anything. Where’s the box of bandages again? But my hand never gets there. He grabs it and holds on until I face him again.
“See? You’re reacting like I insulted you. Why can’t I think you’re beautiful?” he asks softly, that curious look back on his face. Sparks snap between our palms. He entwines our fingers, making me think he feels it too.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe.
“It’s not that. I just…” Crap. Just. There it is again. I kick myself when his lips flicker up in a satisfied smile as he lets me go and resumes that horrible, distracting position.
This time I can’t stop my gaze from taking him in. All of him. From his short messy hair, down to his expressive eyes, to the recent bruises that somehow enhance his striking appearance instead of diminish it. Imperfections that represent his love in an ugly, primal way—a side of him I don’t understand but clearly want to explore on an intimate level. The heat swells inside me again, so different than the anger I felt a moment ago.
Why does he have to be so infuriatingly complex?
“It’s not relevant, that’s why,” I finish in an abrupt tone.
He stills, a muscle moving in his jaw as a shadow spreads over his face. I don’t know what it means, but it’s probably safer for both of us than the open intrigue we exchanged a moment ago. We’re a dangerous combination, rule-follower and breaker… fixer and mess. Polarized in a risky attraction that’s getting harder and harder to resist.