Page 2 of Every Little Kiss
When no finger appeared, Liv said, “Finger, spot, push. We’re talking life or death here!”
She was about to cut Mavis a look when a hand reached around and a finger landed on the thread. Only it wasn’t a pudgy, arthritis-riddled pointer. It was a strong, masculine index finger attached to a hand that looked capable enough to balance the world in its palm.
Liv turned her head to see who this hand belonged to and froze.
Her hero looked more Paul Bunyan than Superman, in a gray tee that clung to his biceps, a ball cap pulled low, and enough stubble to take that ruggedly handsome vibe he had going on to the next level.
But it was his eyes that got to her. Gunmetal gray with a hint of amusement and a spark of excitement she’d been missing as of late.
“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he said, his voice a low thunder that shook her to the core. “I was just trying to figure out which one you meant.”
“Which finger?” she asked, a little too breathy for her liking.
“No, which spot.” He grinned, andbam!—it was powerful enough to jump-start spots she’d long thought shriveled up and dead. Spots she’d promised to Sam for eternity.
“But now that you bring it up,” Mr.Bunyan said, “both are equally important. So why don’t you show me exactly what you need, so I can be sure I get it right, Doctor.”
Liv’s belly pitched low. Just because she hadn’t dated since college didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize flirting when she saw it. The fact that he looked likehecould be in college was as thrilling as it was ridiculous. Reason enough to create some much-needed distance.
“I’m a nurse, and I’ve got it,” Liv said, moving away from him—and his more-than-capable arms. Arms that had ink peeking out from beneath his sleeves and bulged when he crossed them over his chest.
His well-toned, in-the-prime-of-his-life chest.
But Mr.Bunyan didn’t leave. He stared at her for a long moment, studying her as if he had something important to say. Just when Liv thought he’d turn and leave, he smiled instead. But this smile felt different. Still flirty, still wickedly tempting, but now it was softened with an emotion that sucker punched Liv every time.
Kindness.
He looked down at her scrubs, which had little pink cupcakes on them, and grinned. “Nurse Cupcake, then. And of course you’ve got it.” He reached out and placed his finger on the knot again, with a look that meant business. “But doing it with someone else is a hell of a lot more fun.”
Her stomach flipped, and a strange little flutter danced around in her chest. “Someone like you?”
He looked around the store. Empty, except for the bottle-red halo and bifocaled eyes peeking over the 100 percent alpaca yarn display on aisle two. “Or you can go it alone, but you look like you can use someone in your corner.”
He had no idea.
Liv nodded and made a knot, having to navigate around his big hand in order to secure it in place, their fingers brushing in the process. Her eyes were firmly affixed to the task at hand, but she could feel the weight of his gaze.
She double-knotted it, just to be sure it stuck. So what if her finger accidentally grazed his again? Personal space didn’t exist in the OR.
Except they weren’t in the OR, and that graze hadn’t been accidental. In her defense, it had been a long time since someone’s personal space had interested her, and his space smelled good. Really good. Like early-morning, fresh mountain air, and rugged-man good.
He felt even better.
So with a third knot that lingered a little longer than necessary—followed by a secret little zing of excitement—she snipped the ends with a pair of scissors and stepped back.
Only her zing wasn’t so secret, because the second she met his gaze, her face flooded with heat, and that smile of his quirked slightly as if he were amused or—
Oh God!He knew.
“We all good?” he asked, his finger still on Superdog Stan.
“Yes.” She shoved her hands behind her back before she did something else embarrassing, like touch his arm that was right next to her. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“How about over a cup of coffee?” he asked, gesturing to the door. When she didn’t move, he pointed to the checkout counter. “Unless you have another patient in the waiting room.”
“No.” She laughed, picking up the stuffed toy. “No other patients. Just poor Stan here.” Liv looked at the nubby old toy and found herself smiling. This dog had been through the wringer, and he was still holding his stuffing. “Who is a lot tougher than he looks.”
“I can see that,” he said, examining their handiwork. “He’s in good hands.”
