My arms lined with goose bumps.
I shook my head softly and spoke even softer. “Stay.”
“I’ve had a rough night.” I could tell. He picked up his sweats and pulled them up from under his towel. Just as the towel fell, my eyes snapped to the happy trail that began just below his belly button and descended into his low-riding sweats. “You need to stop looking at me like that if you don’t want any action tonight, kiska.”
Kitten.
No. He could not call me that, looking all fine and shit. It simply wasn’t fair.
“I’m wired and raring for a fight.” His stormy gaze drifted down to the low cut of my tank top. His tone full of innuendo, his eyes raked over the rest of me. “And nobody fights me better than you do, baby.”
Ugh. My pussy was already pulsing.
Shit. I was going to regret this. In fact, I already was.
The words came out reluctant. “You should probably rest tonight.”
Vik closed his eyes but thankfully did not argue. For if he had, I’d have given in. Instead, he picked up the towel and returned it to the bathroom. When he came back, he took the place beside me and said unenthusiastically, “Okay. Let’s get this shit over with.”
Looking tired, I shot him a sad smile as I dabbed antiseptic onto his cuts, only stopping when he pulled back or cursed. It was funny to me, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.
Vik noticed, and his mouth pulled down. “What are you smiling at?”
I pressed my lips together, trying to hide my laughter, and gently cleaned his brow. “I never understood how you could take a beating the way you can but moan and bitch when it came time to bandage your wounds.”
From the way his face sharpened, I could tell he took this as an offence. “I don’t moan,” he uttered frankly. “Or bitch.”
I didn’t bother to hide it then. I chuckled. “You absolutely do.” He glared at me when I added, “You’re a big baby.”
As I pressed on a couple of wound closure strips, he closed his eyes and said, “That’s rich from the woman who cried when I had to remove a splinter from her palm.”
My smile was full of sass. “I am very in touch with my feelings, thank you very much.” And because I had a strong feeling about what he might have been doing tonight, I added, “Besides, I didn’t volunteer for that.”
Vik’s shoulders went rigid, but he spoke evenly. “What makes you think I volunteered for this?”
Oh, come on now.
“Because if you hadn’t and you left looking like that—” One final strip and I was done. I leaned back and looked him dead in the eye. “—my brothers would already have dumped the body of the guy stupid enough to put his hands on you.”
Vik’s face darkened, and it was so intense I almost forgot to breathe. I was a sucker for this man’s pout, so I softened it the only way I knew how.
Leaning in, I touched my warm lips to his for a single second before pulling back and smiling dotingly. “There. All better.”
The silence was thick around us. His face showing zero reaction, I went about repacking the first-aid box, but just as I lifted it, I heard his coarse admission.
“I miss you so fucking much.” I stood there, holding the box as he lowered his head, shook it lightly, and professed a barely audible, “I thought we were okay. Knowing I made you miserable when I was so damn happy… knowing you weren’t feeling what I was feeling…” He whispered roughly, “It cuts me deep. Totally blindsided.” He looked at me then and shrugged. “You never said a thing.”
The sadness I felt was halved as he bore part of the weight.
I swallowed through the sudden thickness in my throat. “I wasn’t miserable, not all the time.”
Just when you keep secrets.
“But you weren’t happy.” And when I didn’t deny it, he uttered a desolate, “Same thing.” My heart broke when he blinked down at his lap and said, “I keep thinking about what I could have done—what I can do—to fix this burned bridge between us.”
It wasn’t burned. Not completely. The frame was still smoldering.
We still had time to meet in the middle.
“You could talk to me.”
He scoffed, and it grated.
Not one to be deterred, I tried again. “You could tell me why you’re living at home. You could explain why you’re driving that shitbox outside, when you have a Lexus. Maybe tell me why Anika is so sad all the time, why she’s depressed?” I should have used more tact than shooting the question at him. “Why are you working at Aphrodite’s Kiss?” His head snapped up, wrath in his gaze, and I dropped the box, taking the three steps to kneel in front of him, begging him for answers. With shining eyes, I probed, my voice quiet and quaking, “Why can’t you talk to me?”