Page 54 of If the Slipper Fits
He eased his lids open—keeping them closed at this point bordered on the ridiculous—and lost himself in the amber depths of her almond shaped eyes.
The tenderness he read there hit him like a punch to the gut. A painful ache radiated up his chest, lodging in his throat where it burned like hot coal. Why did it hurt, looking at her?
On second thought. He slammed his eyelids shut.
What in hell was happening to him? He could hardly think above the cacophony of emotions she aroused in him. Yearning and lust, resentment and confusion. Maybe heshouldhave let Harrison send for the doctor.
“I’m not dying. It’s just another annoying head injury, courtesy of that bumbler I once called friend. You needn’t have troubled yourself to come by. I’ll be right as rain any time now.”
She drew back, pulling her blissfully cool touch with her.
He couldn’t blame her. He sounded like a petulant child, once again illustrating Zeke’s assessment of his character.
Her lack of a reply had him slitting his good eye open to study her.
The softness in her expression had vanished, leaving a shuttered look in its stead. And something else. Embarrassment? It was almost as if she couldn’t look at him.
He probably looked like a monster—except the ice pack covered his bruise. He was bare chested. Could that be the issue?
“Mr. Randall detailed how you got knocked flat by his armoire. He explained you bled quite a lot. That’s often the case with head wounds.”
Though her face was angled in his direction, her focus seemed to center on the headboard above his head.
How in hell was she still so modest around the opposite sex? Never mind. Her business, not his.
“Is that right?” he asked, drolly.
Another dainty throat clearing sounded. “I’d like to examine your injury myself, if I may?”
“I don’t require a nurse.”
More, he did not need her pity. He had his pride. He turned his head away from her in dismissal.
The mattress dipped slightly. Had she actually edged a hip onto his bedside? Damn her eyes.
He fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her.
“Caden, please.” Her imploring tone tore at his defenses.
He turned to face her, his insides clenching at the sight of her pleading expression. “Very well. Have your way with me.” His mouth curved in a deliberately sardonic smile.
She pressed her lips together but didn’t voice a rebuttal. She reached for the ice pack and gently peeled it back. She studied him, both brows arching.
“That horrible, is it? Has the bleeding stopped, at least? I haven’t dared take the pressure off to sit upright since the initial gusher that destroyed my cravat and shirtsleeves.”
He watched her gaze track down to his Adam’s apple, then move lower. Staring, she licked her lips.
Just like that, he went ramrod hard.
Inwardly cursing, he propped up one knee and rested an elbow on it to hide his inconvenient arousal as best he could, then clearedhisthroat. Loudly.
Her eyes shifted upward, a satisfying flush staining her cheeks.
“What do you think?” His husky voice revealed too much of what he felt, at least to his ears.
Her lovely, tilted eyes went wide and her rosy lips formed a perfect O before she squeaked, “What do I think?”
By God, she could not fake this level of innocence. Mr. Jones must’ve been a dead bore in the bedroom. An oddly cheering thought, that.
