Page 45 of Abyss

Following his gaze, I wince at the deep red stain over my tights.

Oh, right. My knee.

With the fresh new cut on my palm, I’d completelyforgotten about my knee. But just the mere sight of it shoots renewed bolts of pain through my thigh.

“It’s fine,” I declare, about to turn when Hudson’s voice stops me again.

“Stop.” He ambles over to me, grabbing my elbow. “It’snotfine. You’re limping, for God’s sake.”

“Hudson—”

Before I can say another word, Hudson swoops me up, so I’m bent over his shoulder, my arms dangling near his ass. I’m so shocked by the movement, I lose my train of thought, and vocabulary, for that matter.

A moment later, I’m seated on his bathroom counter, trying to look at everything but his furious face.

Nice tub. Plush towels.

Ooh, I bet that shower can hold a dozen people. Maybe he has parties in there.

What pretty light fixtures—

“Ahh!” I’m taken out of my purposeful avoidance of conversation when he slides an alcoholic wipe over my cut, and I scream. Yeah, I’m a baby like that. Sue me.

He glares at me. “You have a deep cut, scraped hands, and a knee that’s probably throbbing, butthisis what makes you scream?” He goes back to dabbing the rest of my hand with the wipe, murmuring, “Hold still.”

Not wanting to prolong this for either of us, I do what he says while I secretly admire his delicious cupid’s bow.

“What happened?” He doesn’t look at me, focused on his task.

“The pavement came at me like a madman,” I mumble.

He aims a scowl at my face. “I told you to write your grocery list down for my shopper. Or you could have called her if you needed something urgently.”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to bother her.”

“Kavi, it’s her job. I pay her to do it.”

Right. Like he pays me to stay here because this is a business arrangement.

He notes my silence. “You didn’t take the car, either.”

He must have noticed that somehow, or maybe he spoke to Aaron.

I watch the way he puts ointment on my cut—gently, carefully. “I like the scent of aged perspiration inside the city’s taxis.”

I get another one of his unimpressed looks. The one that clearly says he knows I’m trying to be funny, but he doesn’t find me humorous. And for reasons beyond my comprehension, there is something enticing about making him laugh.

Maybe I’ll make it a summer goal: Get Hudson Case to finally break a smile for real on his ever-scowling face.

I clear my throat after a moment. “Thank you for clearing out the room for my canvases. You really didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome.”

That’s it. Two words, and he’s done with that conversation.

Okay, then. I’ll just go back to my daily scheduled programming of staring at his cupid’s bow.

While he finishes wrapping my hand with a bandage, I trace his face with my eyes, noting the lines fanning off the corners of his eyes. From there, I scan the gray hair at the edges of his forehead and sideburns before returning to count the handful of freckles over the bridge of his nose.

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