Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(35)
“So you don’t watch TV at all?”
I couldn’t figure out why he was asking. It was perplexing. “Well, I watch a little, but I’m not a big fan of court TV or paternity tests so I usually don’t bother. I watch movies sometimes and stuff on Amazon. Does that count?”
His eyes looked tired and solemn and somewhat relieved, as if he was just about done for the evening. He nodded and a faint smile lifted his lips. “Yeah, it does.”
“What about you? You a TV junkie?” The extreme physical shape of his body was enough to confirm he didn’t spend too much time on the couch with a remote in his hand. Still… “I’m guessing you’re a Flyers or Eagles fan.”
“Yeah, something like that.” He glanced out toward the hall and then leaned toward me. “Actually, can you keep a secret?”
I nodded, wishing he’d tell me all of his secrets. Desire to know what his throaty moans sounded like was one of them.
“I can’t stand the Eagles. I’m a Steelers fan. Don’t tell anybody that, okay?”
I stopped suturing and crossed my heart with my forceps, snickering at his admission. “I swear your secret is safe with me. Hate to see you get tossed out of Philly for your insolence.”
It felt good to have a hearty laugh. Life had been so serious for so long, feeling a shred of genuine attraction toward someone helped leach some of the loneliness from my bones.
I studied his fingers while I sewed up his left hand. Long, thick fingers. Ideal for touching, pleasuring. No ring indentions whatsoever. “Are you right-handed, Detective?”
“Adam.”
I sighed. “Are you right-handed, Adam?”
He smirked. “Yep. With everything.”
My imagination went wild with the innuendo that wrapped around his words. “Well, then you won’t be too inconvenienced. You’ll probably be tender and swollen for a day or two. Keep it bandaged to minimize infection. Ice it if it hurts. All right. You’re just about done. Let me get you wrapped up and I think we can get you discharged out of here. Now, no running after bad guys for a few days. And you want to keep this clean and dry. I’ll give you some antibiotic cream to put on it.”
While I was talking, my gloved fingers absentmindedly drifted around his sutured palm, cleaning away blood that was no longer there with a wad of gauze. His fingers were a half-stroke away from touching my breast. I wanted to comfort him somehow and read his fortune all at the same time, hoping I could see myself getting caressed by this hand in the future. The feelings were overwhelming.
He sucked in another breath through his nose, jarring me from what I was doing.
“If you notice any redness or swelling, um, or if you should, if you should see any, any discharge around these sutures…”
His right hand caught my wrist, holding me gentle but firm. “You’ve got great eyes.”
His own eyes were smoldering, capturing me in some tantric haze as ancient as the sun. Those full lips—so pink, so plump—made by divine intervention and created for very wicked things.
He sat up and dropped his feet off the edge of the bed, shifting me until I was standing between his open legs. I knew I should back up, put some distance between us, but my body refused to move and he didn’t relent his grip on me.
“You should, um, see your family doctor if you have any problems,” I managed to breathe out finally, a few mere inches separating us. He was so tall, the kind of which I might need to use my tippy-toes to reach that sexy mouth if I wasn’t wearing heels, but sitting, he was darn near perfect height.
“Why don’t I come back here, see you if I have any problems?”
My heart did a complete somersault in my chest. I took a half step back. “Why would you want to do that??
Adam let go of my wrist, drifted his fingers over mine, and then snagged my open lab coat, hindering my full retreat. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
I swallowed hard, recalling an entire college course on medical ethics. I opted for light-hearted instead. “Well, yeah. For one, I charge more.” I smiled shamelessly. Am I flirting with him?
“So, no discounts for repeat customers?” He sounded sort of hopeful. Oh God, he’s flirting right back with me.
Unfortunately, his comment was heavily laden with repercussions. I looked up into his eyes. “I don’t want you to be a repeat customer, Detective Trent.”
“Adam,” he corrected, licking some mysterious flavor off his bottom lip. Surely it was something decadent and sinful.
“Adam.”
He smirked. “Can I ask why?”
I swallowed again, hoping not to say something stupid. “Because that would mean you were seriously hurt if you came back here again and I, ah… I don’t want to think about you getting seriously hurt while you’re—while you’re protecting the streets where I live. That’s why.”
His lingering gaze seemed to search for something, a different answer perhaps, until his eyes leveled on mine. “I see your point.”
I cleared my throat. “Your regular doctor will have to remove the stitches in about ten to fourteen days. By then… by then you should be all healed up.”
“Nah,” he said, dropping his hand to his lap. “I’ll take them out myself.”
I couldn’t help but find the humor in his macho declaration. Of course he was the type of guy to pull his own stitches. He probably would have hand-stitched his wound with a needle and thread had they not brought him in by ambulance.