Cyrus Reed is in boxer briefs.
Magnificent.
That’s the only word to describe the view in front me.
I shake off the thoughts, sidling up to the table and looking for the gauze so I can clean the wound.
Within five minutes, I have his leg cleaned and have begun stitching him up.
Periodically, I look up to gauge how he is doing. His face is blank, as though this isn’t affecting him in the slightest. The pure control the man has is unnerving.
“Um . . . so you’ll be staying here tonight?” I squeak out the words, sounding like a frightened virgin being eyed up by her prom date.
“Yes,” he replies, and that does nothing to calm my nerves.
“Is . . . is this okay?” I ask, nodding my head at my trembling hand. I need to pull myself together or else I’m going to butcher this sew job.
He raises his brows. “It’ll have to do, considering you’re the only one here to do it.”
Does he have to be such an asshole? He could thank me. Would that be too much to ask for?
For crying out loud, he should be happy I’m even willing to help him. After all, he’s holding me prisoner. He’s lucky I don’t stab him with the needle.
“I didn’t ask you to come after me.”
“You shouldn’t have tried to run in the first place.”
I stop stitching and look up at him. “You’re a fool if you think I wouldn’t.”
“You’re a fool if you think you could ever succeed.”
I blow out a harsh breath. “Do you want me to finish this? Or would you prefer to bleed out all over the floor?”
He smirks. “I won’t bleed out.”
“Pity.”
He chuckles. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
I look up at him, searching his face, but for what, I don’t know. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?” he questions with a frown. “You are beautiful.”
“Just stop. I’m under no delusion that you care for me. And I don’t need you trying to confuse me.”
“I’m not the bad guy here, Ivy.”
“That’s not how I see it.”
He places his hand on top of mine and looks me in the eye. “You have it all wrong.”
“Tell me why I’m here.”
He looks away. “Some things are better left a mystery. Trust me on that.”
“I don’t know your motives, and because of that, I don’t trust you. I can’t.”
We don’t say anything after that. I go about sewing up his leg, paying special care not to look up at him. After a solid fifteen minutes, I’m done and cleaning up when Cerberus whines from the corner.
“He’ll be okay,” Cyrus says. “He’s just got a limp tail. He’ll be better in a few days with some rest.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen it before. He overexerted himself, and the water was too cold. Trust me. He just needs rest.”
There’s that word again . . . trust. I look away, not needing to have the same conversation we’ve already had.
In this particular case, I was just going to have to be patient. If Cerberus doesn’t show any signs of improvement within a few days, I’ll insist that Cyrus take him off the island to be checked out. Even if I’ll be completely alone out here.
“You’re all done,” I say, turning my back on him to finish cleaning up.
“Thank you, Sun.”
I still, his words catching me off guard. Looking over my shoulder, I smile tightly.
“You’re welcome. Why don’t you go rest somewhere while I clean up the bloody trail you left in the foyer.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he says. “You’re not a slave.”
“Whatever I am, the blood still needs to be cleaned, and you’re in no condition to do it. Go get yourself cleaned up. There’s dried blood all over your leg.”
He goes to stand but quickly falls back into his chair. “Whoa. What’s wrong?”
He inhales deeply. “I’m fine,” he barks. “I just got a little light-headed.”
“Of course, you are. You lost a lot of blood, Cyrus. Just stay put. I’ll clean up the blood, and then I’ll help you upstairs.”
He considers me for several seconds. “Why?” he finally asks.
“Why?” I parrot, knowing full well what he is asking.
“Why are you helping me?”
I laugh, but there is no humor in it. “The way I see it, my only way off this island is you. If you die, God only knows what shady people will come here looking for you.” I shrug. “The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.”
He chuckles. “Touché.”
“Now, let me get this cleaned up.” I turn toward the foyer to mop up the trail of blood. But just before leaving the room, I glance over my shoulder to look at my patient one more time. Every corded muscle is on display, and despite myself, I grow warm, thinking of all the salacious things he said last time we were alone. God, I am an idiot.