Page 9 of The Illicit Play
“Seriously?” I mutter, rising with a string of soft curses.
Walking out the bathroom door, I examine my knuckle, wondering how long it’ll take to stop bleeding, when I jolt to a stop just before crashing into a sweaty shirt and a wall of rock-hard muscle.
Stepping back, I glance up with a soft gasp and then forget how to breathe.
Grady is standing there, gazing down at me, his handsome face puckered into a small frown.
“What happened?” Taking my hand, he studies the torn flap of skin.
“I was grating carrots.” It’s hard to talk normally when he’s standing this close. My words tumble out in a husky whisper.
Sweaty men should not smell this good. I should be repulsed, but this manly scent of his is doing weird things to my brain.
“I’ve got a first-aid kit in my room,” he mumbles, spinning away from me and silently expecting me to follow.
At least I think that’s what he’s expecting, so I trail after him, my socked feet padding across the woodenfloor. Pausing outside his bedroom door, I steal a quick glance into the room and notice how tidy it is.
Wow. A man who can clean.
My eyebrows rise and I creep a little closer, standing in the frame while he pulls out a plastic storage box from under his bed and flips the lid.
It’s so freaking organized in here.
Everything has a place. His desk is set up for optimal study conditions. His bed is made, the navy blue duvet pulled tight, the surface of his nightstand uncluttered with just a few charging portals for his different devices.
On the far side of the room is a chest of drawers with a mirror on the wall and a corkboard with neatly placed images, evenly spaced and tacked on with tiny pins. I see one of him smiling with an older man who looks just like him; they’re standing in a forest looking sweaty and proud. Then there’s a picture of him decked out in football gear surrounded by his buddies… and what’s that one? An image of him and some pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair and perfectly applied makeup. She’s laughing at the camera while he kisses her cheek.
Is that his girlfriend?
My insides twist and I force my gaze away, checking out the posters on the adjacent wall. They’re framed, large images of mountains and lakes, one of a waterfall, another of the sun rising over a massive boulder.
Wow. They’re really stunning, and I stare at them, wishing I could somehow step right into those places. If only magic were real.
Grady walks back toward me, filling my view with that delectable body of his.
“Let me see.” He flicks his fingers at me, and I hold up my hand again.
His touch is delicate, his expression serious as he examines the cut, then nods and rips open a little alcohol wipe.
“Ouch,” I hiss, the burn making me wince.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, but doesn’t stop torturing me.
Once it’s clean, he gently rearranges the flap of skin back over my knuckle, then carefully wraps a Band-Aid around my finger.
Hmmm.
Who knew first aid could be so damn sexy?
I smirk, eyeing him as he throws the scraps away. When he bends down to collect the one thing he missed, I take advantage and check out his ass.
Damn.
Those cheeks look like they’re made of pure steel.
What I wouldn’t do to give them a squeeze.
A hot yearning pools between my legs, and when he stands up to look at me, I’m obviously not hiding anything because he blinks, then bites his lips together and takes a step back.
