a wolf or a dog with sewing machine teeth that just keep attacking. One chomp and that’s it.”
Muttering something, he looked over at the corral then back at her. “Come on.”
Sutton kept his hand on top of hers beneath the wound as he led her into the house through the patio door. She expected he’d stop in the kitchen but he directed her down the hallway opposite of her wing, into his bedroom. She got an image of heavy wood furniture before she found herself in a large bathroom.
He seated her on the toilet—the lid had already been down, an extra point for that—and propped her forearm on a towel on the countertop. “How bad does it hurt?”
“You don’t need to make a big deal about this. And don’t worry. I won’t cry.”
Then Sutton was right in her face. “You don’t have to be the tough chick with me. Now tell me how bad it hurts.”
“It stings. Worse than my foot getting tromped on but not as bad as getting bucked off and landing on my ass.”
“That’s a starting point.” He pushed a loose hank of hair behind her ear. “Sit tight while I dig out my first aid kit.”
While Sutton rummaged in a tall cabinet, she checked out the space. No bland white fixtures, tiles, or vanity in here. Gray cabinets with black accents. The countertop was black, the sinks were gray. The walls of the glass-fronted walk-in shower were frosted, but behind that she could see the walls were speckled with the same color scheme. The space was wholly masculine yet classy.
“You ready for me to clean this out and gauge the damage?” he asked softly.
“Shouldn’t I ask for your medical qualifications first?”
“Helicopter medic in ’Nam. Did two tours in the medical corps during the Gulf War, then a stint in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
London smiled. “And some people say you don’t have a sense of humor. Wait, is it considered bathroom humor if you actually crack jokes in the bathroom?”
“Now who’s the funny one? So it’s okay if I poke around?”
“Take off your belt so I have something to bite down on.”
She watched as he uncapped a bottle of antiseptic. Every muscle in her body tightened.
“You weren’t kiddin’ about needing the strap, were you, darlin’?”
Whoa. She could take that the wrong way—but so could he. She said nothing and shook her head.
“Maybe you’d better look away and focus on something else.”
London locked onto the visage that’d distract her—Sutton’s handsome face. She knew he’d shaved this morning but dark stubble already coated his cheeks, jaw, and throat. She’d fallen into a fantasy where he left beard burns on her throat as he ravished her when he said, “Doin’ okay?”
“I guess.” She hissed at the stinging spray.
“This stuff will kick in soon and it has a numbing agent.”
“How bad does it look? Is the skin flapping so I’ll need stitches?”
“No. The bleeding’s mostly stopped now.” He pressed a gauze pad over the mark.
“Fuck that stings.”
“Almost done.”
The way he said it... “No, you’re not. And if that’s the case? I’d rather sit on the counter than the toilet. Then you won’t have to bend down and get a crick in your neck.” She stood before he could argue. But he curled his hands around her hips and hoisted her up. She automatically widened her knees so he could step between them.
When he reached for her arm, the backs of his knuckles brushed the outside of her breast and her nipple immediately puckered. Because Sutton had his head angled down, she couldn’t tell if he’d noticed or not.
But she noticed everything about him. The scent of clean cotton mixed with the darker scent of oil emanating from beneath his starched collar. His full lips were parted as he concentrated on his task, but his breathing stayed steady. She wanted to run her fingers through his dark hair, trap his beautiful face in her hands and suck on those lips until his mouth opened for her kiss. Whisper secrets in his ear while
Muttering something, he looked over at the corral then back at her. “Come on.”
Sutton kept his hand on top of hers beneath the wound as he led her into the house through the patio door. She expected he’d stop in the kitchen but he directed her down the hallway opposite of her wing, into his bedroom. She got an image of heavy wood furniture before she found herself in a large bathroom.
He seated her on the toilet—the lid had already been down, an extra point for that—and propped her forearm on a towel on the countertop. “How bad does it hurt?”
“You don’t need to make a big deal about this. And don’t worry. I won’t cry.”
Then Sutton was right in her face. “You don’t have to be the tough chick with me. Now tell me how bad it hurts.”
“It stings. Worse than my foot getting tromped on but not as bad as getting bucked off and landing on my ass.”
“That’s a starting point.” He pushed a loose hank of hair behind her ear. “Sit tight while I dig out my first aid kit.”
While Sutton rummaged in a tall cabinet, she checked out the space. No bland white fixtures, tiles, or vanity in here. Gray cabinets with black accents. The countertop was black, the sinks were gray. The walls of the glass-fronted walk-in shower were frosted, but behind that she could see the walls were speckled with the same color scheme. The space was wholly masculine yet classy.
“You ready for me to clean this out and gauge the damage?” he asked softly.
“Shouldn’t I ask for your medical qualifications first?”
“Helicopter medic in ’Nam. Did two tours in the medical corps during the Gulf War, then a stint in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
London smiled. “And some people say you don’t have a sense of humor. Wait, is it considered bathroom humor if you actually crack jokes in the bathroom?”
“Now who’s the funny one? So it’s okay if I poke around?”
“Take off your belt so I have something to bite down on.”
She watched as he uncapped a bottle of antiseptic. Every muscle in her body tightened.
“You weren’t kiddin’ about needing the strap, were you, darlin’?”
Whoa. She could take that the wrong way—but so could he. She said nothing and shook her head.
“Maybe you’d better look away and focus on something else.”
London locked onto the visage that’d distract her—Sutton’s handsome face. She knew he’d shaved this morning but dark stubble already coated his cheeks, jaw, and throat. She’d fallen into a fantasy where he left beard burns on her throat as he ravished her when he said, “Doin’ okay?”
“I guess.” She hissed at the stinging spray.
“This stuff will kick in soon and it has a numbing agent.”
“How bad does it look? Is the skin flapping so I’ll need stitches?”
“No. The bleeding’s mostly stopped now.” He pressed a gauze pad over the mark.
“Fuck that stings.”
“Almost done.”
The way he said it... “No, you’re not. And if that’s the case? I’d rather sit on the counter than the toilet. Then you won’t have to bend down and get a crick in your neck.” She stood before he could argue. But he curled his hands around her hips and hoisted her up. She automatically widened her knees so he could step between them.
When he reached for her arm, the backs of his knuckles brushed the outside of her breast and her nipple immediately puckered. Because Sutton had his head angled down, she couldn’t tell if he’d noticed or not.
But she noticed everything about him. The scent of clean cotton mixed with the darker scent of oil emanating from beneath his starched collar. His full lips were parted as he concentrated on his task, but his breathing stayed steady. She wanted to run her fingers through his dark hair, trap his beautiful face in her hands and suck on those lips until his mouth opened for her kiss. Whisper secrets in his ear while
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