“Oh.” My eyes widen. “I was just—”
“Bottoms up,” he says with a smirk, cutting me off, then kicks his second one back.
I give mine one rueful look, then slowly knock it back. Hissing afterward from the back of my throat, I find myself laughing and blinking away the burn. “Wow!” I shout.
When my eyes meet his, I’m instantly sobered. The intensity in his stare reaches deep into me.
Focus, Dessie. I set the shot glass down a skosh too hard. Popping open the little medical supply kit, I fish out a butterfly bandage and a tiny antiseptic wipe.
When I reach to take off his bandage, he recoils. I give him a warning look. His eyes flash challengingly. Is that a snarl on his lips?
When he finally relaxes, I gently peel the bandage off. Why does this feel like I’m negotiating with some wild beast? I frown at the ugly gash underneath. I have this strange blessing of having an iron stomach; nothing makes me sick, not the sight of blood, nor vomit, nor even big gaping wounds. Maybe I’m supposed to be a nurse. Maybe I’ve missed my calling.
“This’ll sting a bit,” I warn him when I’ve taken the antiseptic wipe out of its package.
Clayton lifts a confused brow, having missed my words. Then I touch the wipe to his cheek and he hisses, flinching away.
“Clayton!”
He glares at me, then surrenders, relaxing himself back into position and letting me clean the wound.
I wonder if maybe my effort is totally insufficient and he should, in fact, see a doctor or get stitches. I’m no medic. The most of what I know is from movies and plays I’ve seen, like that one about the nurse in the ER where her love interest dies in the end from rust poisoning.
The thought freezes me. Let’s not kill Clayton.
“Bandage,” I say unnecessarily, applying it.
His eyes haven’t left mine, I realize. Suddenly, my confidence crumbles again. Now that I’ve finished the business of properly bandaging him, I suddenly find I have nothing left for my hands to do. We’re just staring into each other’s eyes, and that look of wariness in his has been exchanged for something far more sinister … something dark and needy …
Something hungry.
“Thank you,” he says suddenly.
The words tickle me somehow, a smile finding my face, perhaps to break the tension. In response, I bring a flat hand to the front of my chin, then let it fall outward—Thank you.
Now it’s Clayton who smiles. After a second, he repeats the sign back to me, except a little differently.
“Oh.” I watch him. “I was doing it wrong?”
He repeats it again.
I mimic the gesture back to him.
“No,” he says, then takes my hand.
The touch of his fingers running over mine sends electricity up my spine, touching the hairs on the back of my neck.
“This,” he murmurs so quietly, it’s hardly a word at all.
He brings my hand to his chin, slowly, then directs my hand outward, demonstrating the sign using my own hand. Even when he’s done, he doesn’t let go.
“I swear, that’s what I’m doing,” I tell him, my heart racing so fast, so potently, Clayton has to feel my pulse in my fingertips.
“Again,” he orders.
Instead of signing it, I take the fingers of his left hand and bring them to my chin.
Then, I bring them a bit higher, touching them to my lips.
His eyes lock onto mine. Oops. Have I awakened the beast?
Not yet. I part my lips, letting one of his fingers slip inside. It tastes salty. His skin is rougher than I expected, too. Seeing his reaction makes my heart race even more, how his lips part and an unblinking look of shock takes over his face, paralyzing him.
I gently nibble on his fingertip, staring at his dark eyes challengingly.
A growl, deep and wolf-like, escapes his lips like a warning.
A warning I don’t heed.
Then in one swift, powerful movement, he grabs my wrist with that hand I was tasting. I gasp, but I don’t stop him. I welcome him.
He jerks me forward, and our lips collide, catching one another’s clumsily, then locking.
His breath bathes my cheek, jagged and furious.
A hand reaches behind my head, tangling itself in my hair there and trapping me in place, holding me against his kiss. My arms are caught between our heavily-breathing bodies. I’m a prisoner to his mouth, and I’m not going anywhere.
Oh my god, he’s so strong and dominant when he kisses me. I have never felt anything more powerful. The way his lips make work of mine, it’s so like eating your favorite dessert that you have craved and been denied for so long. The power of his jaw alone …
And then his tongue … The taste throws me out of my mind, how perfect it is, how inviting he is …