Page 36 of Chased By My Grumpy Alpha
The innocent touch sends fire racing through my veins. She’s not trying to be seductive—she’s simply tending a wound—but having her hands on my bare skin is doing things to my body that I wasn’t prepared for.
She finally looks up, her brows furrowing as she stares at me. “I’m not hurting you, am I? I’m being careful—”
“You’re not hurting me.” The words sound strained.
“Then why—” She starts to pull her hand away, but I hold her wrist firmly. “What’s your problem?”
When I don’t answer at once, her expression shifts from confusion to irritation.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” She yanks her wrist free with considerable force. “You’re being a big baby about this. I’m just cleaning your wounds.”
“I am not being a baby,” I reply, surprised that I sound so defensive.
“Yes, you are.” She sits back on her heels, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re acting like I’m trying to torture you when all I want to do is make sure you don’t die of infection. Which, by the way, would leave me alone in these woods with no protection, so I have a vested interest in keeping you alive.”
“I told you that I can handle it myself.”
“And I told you that you can’t reach everywhere, especially your back. I have to apply the bandage to both sides of you even if the skin didn’t break on your back.” Her voice rises slightly.“But apparently, accepting help is beneath the great and mighty mercenary.”
“That’s not—”
“What is it, then?” She leans forward, eyes flashing with annoyance. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re being completely unreasonable about something that should take five minutes.”
I clench my jaw, unable to explain that the problem isn’t her help—it’s how her touch is affecting me in ways I can’t control.
“I don’t like being fussed over.”
“Fussed over?” She lets out a short laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize basic medical care qualified as fussing. Next time, I’ll just let you bleed out like a proper tough guy.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being dramatic?” She gapes at me. “You’re the one acting like my touching your back is going to kill you! I’ve seen children handle getting bandaged better than you.”
Heat flares in my chest at the comparison. “I am not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.” She gives me a pointed look. “Big, strong mercenary afraid of a little medical attention. That’s not dramatic at all.”
The sarcasm in her voice grates against my nerves. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”
“Oh, how gracious of you to allow me to save your life.” She reaches for the cloth again, her movements abrupt with irritation. “Try not to flinch this time. I’d hate to traumatize you further.”
“I don’t flinch.”
“Right. You just go rigid as a board and look like you’re in agony. Completely different.”
I turn my back to her with more force than necessary. “Just get on with it.”
“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.” The title drips with mock reverence as she begins cleaning the wounds on my back with decidedly less gentleness than before.
Despite her annoyance, her touch still sends fire through my veins. But now there’s an edge to it, a tension that makes everything feel even more intense.
“You know,” she says conversationally as she works, “most people say ‘thank you’ when someone saves their life. They don’t act like it’s an imposition.”
“You didn’t say ‘thank you’ when I saved your life.”
Her hands go still on my back. “What?”
“You heard me. I killed three men to keep you alive, and you immediately started barking orders about lying down and letting you treat my wounds. Not exactly a ‘thank you.’”
