Loving Him Off the Field (Santa Fe Bobcats #2)(24)

“In through the nose, out through the mouth,” he advised. He went as fast as he could, blowing on the bubbling liquid. When he reached the band of her bra, he hesitated. “How high up does this bark burn go?”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly.

“That wasn’t the question.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she sighed. “Up to my shoulder blades.”

“Damn it, Freckles,” he growled. Why hadn’t she stopped him when she’d felt the first scrape? He debated how to handle it, then gave in to the process. Call it penance. “Take off your shirt and bra.”

She barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right. Just leave it with me and I’ll finish up.”

“Your T-Rex arms can reach back here?” She slapped at him but didn’t turn around. “I’ll look the other way. You can keep your shirt against your front, just give me your back so I can finish up and we can move on.”

She pointed wordlessly at the door, and he turned to face it. The quiet sounds of her undressing, even just the top, had him fighting off a semi. It had been a long time—an embarrassingly long time—since he was last alone with a naked woman.

She cleared her throat. “You can turn back around now.”

He did, and immediately his semi turned into the full blow hard-on he’d been hoping to avoid. She was facing away from him still, her spine and neck ramrod straight, T-shirt clutched to her front as a scant nod to modesty. But her back, where it wasn’t red and raw, was a creamy silk, dotted by the occasional freckle.

After another moment, she turned her head to glance at him. “Killian?”

Those eyes, so smoky and confused, snapped him out of it. “Yeah, found the stuff.” He held up the antibiotic ointment, like that explained his reason for staring at her like a horny teenager.

“I thought you already had that.”

“I had the peroxide.” He shifted forward and forced himself to take two calming breaths before kneeling down and examining the scrapes. “I’m just going to work on the worst parts. Is that okay?”

“You don’t need to do this at all. They’re not life threatening. I’m not going to die from bark-itis.” There was a thread of amusement in her voice, one that said she was catching on to his lack of nursing skills and confidence level.

He almost agreed, just to keep his hands off her, but he looked once more at the angry scratches. His mind couldn’t help pairing them with the near-violent lust he’d felt for her walking on the path. And that it was his fault alone she was hurt. “This is better.” His guilt needed to do this.

He poured some peroxide on a cotton ball over the sink, then—while silently asking for forgiveness—pressed the damp cotton to the largest scrape.

She hissed, and her back tightened in response. The liquid bubbled and, without thinking, he bent his head to blow on the moist skin to speed the pain along. He worked as quickly as he could, alternating the cotton ball with blowing to ease the sting until all the major abrasions were taken care of. “Sorry.”

Aileen’s fingers were balled against her knee, but her voice was light as she said, “No problem.”

Dabbing a little antibiotic ointment on the largest scrape, he rubbed it in with butterfly light touches. “Hurt?”

Her head dropped a little, but he couldn’t see her face. “No.”

He wasn’t sure if he believed her. He worked on the next one, and as the muscles in her neck tightened, his free hand dropped to her lower back. He stroked the uninjured skin, hoping somehow to soothe the hurt he was causing by focusing her mind on a different kind of touch. Probably wasn’t working, but he was out of ideas.

He finished as fast as he could without hurting her more. As he smoothed the last bandage on, he stood and backed away quickly. His elbow rapped against the door jamb and he hissed in a breath. Damn, that hurt.

She turned immediately, hand still clutching the shirt to her front. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, then nodded. Brilliant. “No. I mean yeah, I’m good. I’ll let you get dressed.” He disappeared as fast as his feet would take him, to safer parts of the apartment.

Where temptation wasn’t sitting in front of him, crooking a freckled finger his way.





Chapter Eight




Aileen squinted at the door Killian left swinging in his wake. That was . . . odd. And not all that complimentary. She stood and used the bathroom mirror to inspect her back. Bandages of varying sizes covered the area between her shoulder blades and down to the middle of her back. She used a fingertip to touch the lowest one she could reach.

He’d been so cautious, so light-fingered, she almost couldn’t feel it. The peroxide had sucked, of course. It always did. She was twenty-six and still hated having to use that junk. But when he’d started rubbing her back while spreading the ointment, she’d almost moaned in delight. The feel of his fingers over her uninjured skin had been magical.

He would have gotten a wrong impression. She wasn’t here to seduce him. She was here to do her job.

She slipped her bra and shirt back on, careful to not rub against the bandages. And she looked around the bathroom. Pretty clean, for a bachelor. No beard shavings spread over the counter, or dried toothpaste coating the sink basin. No wet towels on the floor or funky smells. She commended him on his cleanliness . . . even as she realized she was being stupid. He likely had a maid service come in and take care of the place.