Page 89 of Psycho

He smirked. “You know, I didn’t think you could be so demanding.”

I scowled at him. “Micah.”

His smirk never went away, but he did as I asked, taking off his shirt. The King’s Men tattoo etched on his otherwise inkless skin was a stark reminder of who this man was and how dangerous he was, but I couldn’t let myself get caught up in all that.

Not right now when I could see where the blood was coming from.

On his lower right rib, nearing his side.

It looked like it had stopped bleeding, but I couldn’t be sure, not with the mess the dried blood had made, and it still hadn’t dried completely. I felt queasy just looking at it.

Micah watched me intently as I opened the first aid kit, my hands hovering over all the stuff and not knowing where to start.

I was just feeling so overwhelmed.

Tears pricked my eyes, and he grabbed my hands, squeezing until I looked up at him.

“Go wet a clean cloth I keep in the kitchen with water and soap. And grab a bowl of warm water, okay?”

He was speaking so softly to me, almost as if he was afraid I might break apart.

I felt like I could, then.

I nodded and stood up, walking to the kitchen in a sort of daze.

I did as he asked and moved back to him, setting the bowl of water on the coffee table. Then I set about cleaning him up, wiping the cloth up gently over the open skin and rinsing it out with the water in the bowl, which had taken on a dark pink hue.

I tried not to think about that too much and kept up with the motion until he was clean, and I could see the deep cut from the bullet that luckily had only grazed his skin.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

I doubted he would go to the hospital even if I suggested it.

“No,” he answered.

I glared at him. “You know you don’t get brownie points for trying to be a macho man and pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Macho man?”

“Shut up. You know what I mean,” I said, pulling away from him, looking back down at the kit, blushing a little.

He directed me to clean him up and put some ointment on him before I sloppily wrapped a white gauze around his waist, trying to ignore all the naked skin he had on display.

It was hard.

There was just so much of him. It didn’t help that he was sitting close to me—I had moved the kit to the coffee table to give me better access to him as I did up the wrap—and he was warm.

For being such a cold man, he seemed to run hot all the time.

I swallowed when I felt his eyes focused on me once I was done with the wrap.

My hands settled on his waist without a thought before I quickly pulled away.

I was about to turn away from him when he grabbed my hand and pulled me back to him.

My heart stuttered as I looked at him. He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed the inside of my wrist gently, his beard tickling me a bit.

It had been a while since he had shaved, so there was quite a lot of facial hair.

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