Page 49 of One Good Puck
I shake my head. “It’s my fault you’re hurt. Let me take care of you.”
Her hazel-green eyes are big as she looks up at me. “Okay,” she says softly.
Together we walk into the kitchen. I grab her by the waist and set her on the counter, then lean down to look at her knee.
When I glance up at her, she looks dazed.
“You okay?” I ask.
She bites her lip and nods. “Yeah, just…that was a slick move. The way you hauled me onto the counter.”
I grab a Band-Aid from the nearby drawer. “Was it?”
I rip a paper towel from the dispenser and wet it with warm water.
She nods. “Oh, yeah. Really hot.”
I pause and look at her, taken aback at what she’s said. And amused at how cute she is when she’s a little loose-lipped from wine.
Her brow flies up, and she covers her mouth with her hand. “That was inappropriate to say that, wasn’t it?”
I fight a smile when I see how red her face is getting. I shake my head. “I haven’t been called hot in years. I’m flattered.”
She giggles. “Sorry, I’m kind of tipsy from the wine. It’s making me lose my filter a little bit.”
“It’s okay.” I dab at the cut with the damp paper towel. She hisses.
“Shit, sorry.” I drop to my knees and blow on her skin. After a few seconds, I look up at her. “Does that feel better?”
She nods, biting her lip, that same dazed look in her eyes.
I touch my fingers to her knee and gently rub the area around the cut to help soothe her…and then I go still at how impossibly soft her skin is.
Fuck.She feels like satin.
My brain short-circuits, thrown off by how good she feels under my touch. I haven’t been this close to a woman’s body in years.
I gaze at her peaches-and-cream skin. My mouth waters with the urge to run my tongue along the length of her legs.
Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with you?
I clear my throat and silently order myself to focus.
“Um, Band-Aid,” I murmur. “You need a Band-Aid.”
I start to stand up so I can grab the Band-Aid from the counter right as she leans down.
“Here—ouch!” she says, right as my forehead hits her chin.
I stumble back and wince.
“Damn it,” I mutter, then straighten up and take a step toward Abby, who’s cradling her chin in her hand.
“Let me see,” I say to her. She pulls her hand away. To my relief, I don’t see a cut, just a bit of redness.
“How’s your head?” she asks.
“Just fine.”
