Page 44 of Savage Hearts

He smiled a little and pulled off his tie all the way before unbuttoning his shirt.

I looked away when I caught sight of the golden tan skin of his chest.

He laughed softly beside me. “You know, your shyness really got me thinking. I wondered just how many men you have invited into your bed before.”

“That’s none of your business,” I gritted.

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. And by the end of this month, I’m going to have a complete list of their names.”

His words took me out of my thoughts and I turned back to him, frowning. “Why would you need the list?”

He grinned sadistically. “It’s going to be my new hit list.”

I gasped and tried to move away. I was sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re sick.”

He laughed harder. “Perhaps so. But my sickness has now become your problem.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want it.”

He shrugged, as if we were talking about something less… gruesome. “Tough. Now, tend to me, baby.”

He pushed a clear plastic container toward me. I didn’t even realize it was there in the first place. So much for awareness.

“Aren’t you afraid I might do something to you?” I asked, opening the lid of the first-aid kit and poking through all the stuff there, looking for something sharp.

No such luck.

One side of his lips pulled up in a small smile. “You really think I can’t stop a little thing like you?”

I grunted, but didn’t say anything to that.

Maverick pulled off his shirt all the way until he was in nothing but black suit pants and black socks.

I licked my suddenly dry lips and resisted the urge to shiver when a small droplet of water from my still-wet hair dripped down my shoulder and ran down my back on the inside of my shirt.

He was beautiful, but that was no surprise.

Beautifully done tattoos covered his torso, from the black and white lotus flower on his chest to the burning feather that stretched from his hip up to his armpit.

A watercolor tattoo of the Chicago skyline took up a small space on his rib. The inside bicep of the arm that had the wound held a simple black cross, and black tribal designs of some sort covered his other biceps.

I shouldn’t be affected simply because the man showed some skin, and I tried not to let my eyes roam over the ink on display—too much.

I had always been fascinated by ink.

Not that I would get any—there wasn’t really anything I was sentimental about, or thought was important enough to permanently mark my skin with it—but on others, it was beautiful, and the Tiernan brothers had plenty from what I’d seen, even with their shirts on.

I had also imagined all the places I couldn’t see where they might have tattoos.

My cheeks flushed at the thought, and I could feel Maverick’s intense eyes on me. I shifted on the bed and focused on the wound.

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?” I asked.

“Why? Are you worried about me, babe?”

I scoffed. “Only wanting to know if I can celebrate your impending death from an infection.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I haven’t had a chance to feel your pussy quivering around my dick from coming hard yet. I don’t plan on dying any time soon.”

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