Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance(40)

The next, I’m tingling in places that should not be the least bit twitchy.

Not for him. Not here. Not ever.

“All right,” he says softly, releasing my second clean hand and dropping the cloth in the water. “Now take off your shirt, darlin’.”

“What?” My face snaps up, into those blue eyes, suddenly like lightning striking head-on.

“Shirt, Bella.” He grasps one wrist and holds up my arm. “Need to see how bad you’re hurt under here.”

I hold the urge to fight when I see a knowing expression cross his face.

There’s no denying it. Spotty blood soaks through the pink and teal plaid material, a few inches from my elbow.

“Damn. I really like this shirt, too.” Sighing, I hold up my other arm. “Whatever. Do your thing, doctor.”

I shouldn’t have called him that. My face heats a little too much.

“It’ll wash out if we get it soaking fast enough.” He pulls the sleeve down over my wrist.

That causes the shirt to slip off my shoulder. Considering I have a tank top on, I shrug my shoulder, let him pull off the sleeve, and do the same when he grasps the other.

I examine both my forearms. They’re scraped from the gravel, but aren’t bleeding much anymore. “Not so bad. I’m not sure I need any attention here.”

Drake doesn’t answer. He takes his sweet time, grabbing my arms, dabbing at some of the longer scrapes with the washcloth. I’m holding my breath as his touch becomes second nature, firm and comforting and way too perfect.

The air sizzles out of my lungs in a shameful hiss when he finally drops the washcloth back in the bowl. My condition almost goes critical when he looks at me, his attention drawn by the noise.

Someday, I’ll write the book on how to embarrass yourself in front of supermen.

Grabbing the back of my chair, he pulls it farther away from the table, and before I realize what he’s doing, he’s got both my boots off.

Setting them aside, he looks at me and says, “Good, darlin’. Now the jeans.”

My insides jolt. “My – what?!”

“Jeans. I know your hearing still works.” He wraps his hands around my waist and begins to pull. “I’ll help you stand so we can –”

“No way!” I press my butt harder against the chair seat. “Drake, whoa. I’m not taking off my jeans in front of you.”

He stares, his face just a mask, totally undaunted. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Still not!” My blood runs so hot I’m almost overheating.

Who does this guy think he is?

“Drake...”

“Bella, quit squirming. The faster we get this done, the sooner we can eat. You know your knee’s banged up the worst. Let me help.”

I open my mouth to protest again, but my foot catches the leg of the chair. My leg barely bends an inch before that sharp stinging sensation rips up my spine. It’s like somebody planted an electrical current in my knee.

So I just look at him. The look he gives back is clear. These jeans are coming off.

“Help me. I’ll go to the bathroom.”

His hands are still on my waist, and his nose is only inches away. Worse, his lips are practically on mine.

“You aren’t going nowhere till I see how bad that knee is,” he rumbles. “Shit. If I’d known outside it was bleeding so bad, I’d have carried you in.”

Peachy. Another image I don’t need, being flung over Drake’s wall of a shoulder like this is some kind of crazy western romance novel or something.

He would have to say something like that, wouldn’t he? Kick this whole awkward attraction thing into overdrive.

I shake my head too fast. “Come on, it’s not that bad. Barely hurts. I’m sure it’s like my arms. The blood makes it look worse than it is.”

“Really?”

I nod.

“So where’s the blood coming from that’s dripping on your sock?”

“What?” I lean forward to see.

It’s the only ruse, the only opening, he needs. Taking advantage of my movement, he lifts me up in one quick jerk.

Pain flares up my leg, into my thigh, and down again into my shin. I suck in a breath to counter it and to keep from squealing.

“Barely hurting now?” he says.

“Screw you,” I snap. It hurts, honestly. Stings so bad I can’t even afford to kick him where it counts.

“Not today, darlin’. No time for sexy business.”

Oh. My. God.

My other knee almost gives out. It’s mostly Drake propping me up, running his hands up my legs, and then...then we’re doing this.

“Hold on to the table so I can unbutton your jeans.”

I reach for it, all right, because that sentence nearly destroys what’s left of my poor sanity.

Thankfully, an iota of common sense prevails. “I’m not that helpless! I’ll unbutton them myself.”

“Go ahead. Unzip, too. Then push them down.”

“I don’t need step by step instructions!” I almost shout it.

Other parts of me are far too well aware how close he’s standing next to me.

How his hands feel on my waist, supposedly to steady me.