Page 204 of The Tempted

I parted my lips to speak then snapped them shut and nodded toward the kitchen.

He kicked the door shut with his leather boot. My hand tucked into his much larger one, he walked me to the tiny kitchen in my apartment. He looked unbelievably large in my kitchen, so completely out of place.

I should tell him to leave.

Instead, I watched as he rolled my sleeve up my arm, and carefully touched my injury. He held my arm over the sink and poured the dish soap over the shiny purple skin. I closed my eyes as the thick soap coated my irritated skin.

“Keep your arm up,” he instructed, turning around to turn on the water. He dipped his hand under the faucet to test the water before taking hold of my wrist again and placing it under the stream of water. “Do you have any A & D ointment?” he asked, turning my wrist slightly so the water washed all the soap off.

“I have Mederma,” I replied. If he only knew the contents of my medicine cabinet. I had every burn cream, every scarring ointment the drug store sold, not to mention a variety of pain and anxiety meds. “I’ll go get it,” I blurted.

He shut the faucet and nodded, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. I hurried into the bathroom to grab the cream before he followed me or insisted on getting it himself. By the time I came back into the kitchen he was leaning against the counter staring at a photo of me and Danny that was tucked under a magnet. I watched as he uncrossed his arms from his chest and reached for the picture.

“Here,” I choked out, holding out the tube of cream for him, hoping that he wouldn’t touch my photograph. It was all I had left, the only thing that hadn’t turned to ash.

His eyes slowly lifted to mine, assessing me, noting the urgency in my voice. Jack pushed off the counter, keeping a steady eye on me as he closed the distance between us and took the cream from my hand.

“You were pretty shaken up back there,” he probed, unscrewing the cap.

“You must think I’m crazy,” I said evasively.

He froze, piercing me with a sharp look. The ointment lost on his index finger.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he insisted, adamantly.

“You might be the only one,” I said, rolling my eyes, cringing as I remembered the way Johnny, the cook, had reacted to my outburst. I glanced down at Jack as he slowly rubbed the ointment in circles across my burn. So tender.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome,” he responded. “Do you want to cover it with some gauze or let it breathe a bit?”

“It's fine,” I said, knowing that if I covered the burn it would blister and the rawness would burn something fierce. “I’ll cover it up before I go to sleep.”

He nodded, wiping his hand on the dishtowel and covering the tube before he placed it on top of the counter. I watched him glance around my kitchen, stalk over to my kitchen table, pick up a pen and pull a napkin from the holder. I tried to look over his shoulder, but he was much taller than me, even hunched over the table the way he was I’d have to stand on tip toe.

He finished jotting down whatever it was and turned around. Taking my hand, he turned my palm upward and placed the napkin inside of it.

“You looked like you were going through something tonight, if you need to talk or even if you just want another ride, that’s my number and where you can find me,” he said, closing my palm over the napkin.

I stared at him blankly. This man was a stranger yet I was drawn to him. I couldn’t explain the overwhelming sense of safety his presence inflicted upon me. He was gentle and chivalrous despite the leather and tattoos. He looked hard, maybe even a little scary and still I was not afraid. I should ask him to leave, ask him to stay away from the diner but somewhere along the way I looked forward to hearing the engine of his bike roar to life, night after night. Serving Jack, a cup of coffee had become a highlight in my otherwise dull life.

“Why do you come into the diner every night?” I blurted out.

He reached out and wrapped a strand of my blonde hair around his finger. My breath hitched as his eyes studied my hair as he unraveled the strands only to wind a thicker strip around his finger. He diverted his eyes back to mine and took a step closer. Alarms sounded inside my head, my heart rate picked up and I felt the butterflies take off in the pit of my stomach, just as I had when I rode blindly into the night on his bike.

I stepped closer, my feet betraying my conscience, and he raised his free hand to my cheek, his knuckles gently grazing my skin. I closed my eyes as I felt myself sink deeper and deeper into foreign territory. I felt more in one hour with this man than I had in the last ten months.

He leaned close, his breath tickling my lips, the smell of his cologne branding me.

“In a world as dark as the one I live in, sometimes I can’t help but crave sunshine,” he said huskily.

Sunshine.

Me.

His mouth touched the corner of mine and something inside of me snapped. I pressed my hands to his chest and pushed with all my might—only for him not to budge.

“What are you doing?” I asked, taking a step back, staring at him in shock, his hands frozen in the air from holding my hair and face.

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