CHAPTER Twenty-one
Good Lord,‖ Tess gasped, feeling a little queasy as she knelt down in front of Dante to inspect his wound. He was sitting on the edge of the white porcelain bathtub, wearing only his shredded black fatigues. The cut on his thigh seemed better than it had on initial glance in her living room, but in the bright lights of the bathroom, the sight of so much blood—Dante‘s blood—made her stomach dip sharply and her head spin. She had to reach out for the lip of the tub to keep from swaying on her heels. ―Sorry. I‘m not usually affected like this. I mean, I see a lot of ugly injuries at the clinic, but—
‖
―You don‘t have to help with this, Tess. I‘m used to taking care of myself.‖
She gave him a dubious look. ―From the amount of blood on you, I‘d say this wound is pretty deep. It‘s going to require stitches, a lot of them. Somehow I don‘t think you‘re up to doing that yourself, are you? And you‘re going to need to get out of these pants. I can‘t do much so long as you‘re wearing them.‖
When he didn‘t move, she frowned. ―You‘re not going to just sit here and bleed all over my tile, are you?‖
His gaze on hers, he gave a slight shrug, then stood and unfastened the button at his waistband. When he started sliding the zipper down over his tattooed skin and the dark thatch of hair at his groin, Tess‘s cheeks warmed. God, after last night, she should have remembered that he wasn‘t a boxers or briefs kind of guy.
―Um, here‘s another towel,‖ she said, pulling one off the bar for him to cover himself.
She turned her head as he finished undressing, although it was probably a little late for modesty considering what they‘d done together the night before. Being with him again, especially when he was sitting there naked except for a piece of terry cloth, made the small bathroom seem as tight as a closet and as humid as a sauna.
―So, are you going to tell me what happened to you?‖ she asked without looking at him yet, busying herself with the small collection of medical supplies she‘d assembled on the sink vanity. ―What were you doing tonight to end up on the business end of an obviously very large knife?‖
―Just par for the course. My partner and I were in the process of apprehending a drug dealer, and I ran across a couple of obstacles. I had to remove them.‖
Remove them, Tess thought, instinctively understanding what that actually meant. She set a roll of gauze bandage down on the basin, feeling an inward shudder at Dante‘s cold admission. She didn‘t like what she was hearing, but he‘d sworn he was a good guy, and maybe it was crazy, but she trusted him at his word on that.
―All right,‖ she said, ―let me have a look at your leg.‖
―Like I said, I‘ll live.‖ She heard his pants hit the floor with a soft rasp. ―I don‘t think it‘s as bad as you might have thought.‖
Tess swiveled her head to regard him over her shoulder, prepared for the sight of a ghastly open wound. But he was right, it wasn‘t that bad after all. Beneath the edge of the towel that draped his groin and upper thigh, the laceration was a clean slice but not that deep at all. Not even half an inch down into the flesh of his thigh. The bleeding was tapering off, even as she looked at him.
―Well, that‘s... a relief,‖ she said, puzzled but glad that her concern had been overblown. She shrugged. ―Okay. I guess we‘ll just clean it up, then, and bandage it, and you should be good as new.‖
Turning back to the sink, Tess wet a cloth under the faucet and squeezed a drop of antiseptic onto the thick terry weave. She was working up the lather when she heard Dante get up and come toward her. In half a stride he was at her back, taking out the clip that held her hair in its messy knot and letting the waves tumble down around her.
―That‘s better,‖ he said softly, slowly, something darkly sensual in his voice. ―Your beautiful bare neck was driving me to distraction. As it is, all I can think of is how much I want to put my mouth on you.‖
Tess‘s breath caught in her throat, and for a second she wasn‘t sure if she should stay rigidly still and hope he‘d simply move away or if she should turn to face whatever insanity was going to pass between them again tonight.
She inched herself around in the small space between the sink and Dante‘s towel-clad body. This close, the tattoos on his bare chest were mesmerizing, a flourish of geometric symbols and swirling arcs rendered in a range of hues from deep russet to gold and green to peacock blue.
―Do you like them?‖ he murmured, watching her gaze follow the strange, interlocking patterns and beautiful colors.
―I‘ve never seen anything like them. I think they‘re stunning, Dante. Are they tribal-inspired?‖