“What if it gets infected? There are germs everywhere.” Jane imagined them crawling over his skin and into the wound. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up right away.”
“Okay.” Byron tossed bills onto the table to pay for their food, and they headed down the hall to the hotel room. “Do you have any medical trainin’?”
“No, but I always bring a first aid kit with me.”
He laughed. “Of course, you do.”
“What about you??” Jane pushed him into a chair and grabbed the kit from her luggage.
“Can’t say I do. Under normal circumstances, Ten would patch me up.”
“Maybe we should go to the emergency room instead.” Jane gloved up and then plucked the shattered glass off him with a pair of tweezers, before she tossed it into the trash can.
“Hell no. If we did, the town would be crawlin’ with FBI agents in a matter of a few hours.”
“Because you’re on a watch list?”
“Yeah, and showin’ up bloody at a hospital would set off alarm bells. The feds would be askin’ all sorts of questions we don’t want to answer.”
“Good point. You know, Romeo won’t like us talking to Juliet.”
“Then we should get her alone, interrogate her cranky ass, and then we’ll beat feet out of town afterward. You can work with her in Dallas after that—get her deposition and such.”
She was almost afraid to hope Juliet knew anything useful. It seemed too good to be true.
Jane cleaned the cuts on his face with alcohol, then bandaged the wounds. It looked worse than it was—in a few days, he’d be healed.
“Here, let’s take your shirt off.”
A blood stain marred the crisp white cotton. Carefully, Jane unfastened the buttons.
Even though they’d been naked with one another, it felt too intimate. Removing his clothing and seeing to his wounds was something a lover would do, a wife. A smattering of crisp blond hair covered the muscled expanse of his chest. And she had the sudden urge to run her hands all over him.
This was inappropriate, especially considering his injuries.
What’s wrong with me?
Jane forced herself to remain cool and detached. She dipped a paper towel in water and wiped a wound more harshly than she’d intended.
He hissed in response.
“Sorry.”
Jane wetted another paper towel and squirted some soap on it to cleanse the wound. She didn’t see any broken glass embedded in it.
Neither one of them spoke. Byron’s eyes were closed. More than anything, Jane wanted to press her mouth to his, kiss him again. Maybe climb back in the tub with him.
When he opened his eyes, the black centers nearly swallowed the divine blue. Jane stepped back, but he caught her around the waist and yanked her closer. His mouth floated over hers. And then their lips met once more—fireworks, as always.
Moaning, she opened for him, seeking more contact. He cradled the back of her head, held her in place while he tasted her, and tempted her once again.
She placed her hands on his broad shoulders, soaking in his warmth and strength. The memory of him sprawled on blankets, his body licked by the firelight, came to mind, and she whimpered.
“Did I ever tell you what a damn fine ass you have? Curvy in all the right places.” His hands settled on her hips, then he grabbed her butt cheeks, squeezing them. A rush of wetness pooled between her thighs.
Somehow, she was still touching—no, caressing—his torso as though her fingers had dirty minds of their own.
“No, you didn’t mention that.”
Byron leisurely, deliberately rimmed his lips with his tongue, and Jane swore she could almost feel it on her skin. And then he seized her, tilting her head back far and plundered her mouth. She went boneless in his arms and would’ve tumbled to the floor if he didn’t support her. His tongue was more urgent this time, sliding into her mouth, claiming it for his own.
Even though they were welded to one another, she felt like they were too far apart. Instead of his tongue plunging into her, she wanted his hard, thick cock.
“Wanna finish what we started?” He whispered the words against her mouth.
Jane hesitated, and doubts flooded her mind. Again.
No, no, no. Why did you speak and ruin it?
“I don’t think so.” Jane sucked in a shaky breath. “I, um, should do some research on Juliet.” Her lips stung—swollen and bruised by his kiss. She glanced at the big, warm, inviting bed swathed in white. “Yes, lots of research—far away from here.”
Byron released her, and she staggered backward.
When she met his gaze, he didn’t look disappointed. No, there was something victorious in his gaze. Even though she’d turned him down.