Chapter 21 —Ravyn
“It looks nasty,” I said softly, my voice gentle as I examined the gash along his strong arm.
“Don’t make mountains out of molehills,” he said, stealing a glance at me. “It’s just a graze.”
My gaze flicked to his face, then to the blood seeping from his wounded arm. “It looks nastier than just a graze.” I wiped the gash with a white handkerchief soaked in a bowl of bloodied water at his feet.
The leather sofa crunched beneath his weight as he leaned back in it, his hand resting on the armrest. I pulled my chair closer, my hand steady as the needle pierced his skin. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He just sat there in silence, watching me as though he couldn’t feel a damn thing.
That level of composure in such a situation was rather remarkable. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to act so calmly if I were in his shoes.
He reached for the bottle of vodka beside him, lifted it to his lips, and took a gulp.
I ignored the metallic tang of blood that hung in the air, mingling with the sharp scent of disinfectant and vodka. My fingers worked with practiced ease as I stitched him up, each pull of the thread drawing the wound closed.
I could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. My attention was focused on the job at hand—pun intended. Although every so often, my eyes would flick toward his broad torso and chiseled abs.
Lev was an attractive man. Yes. But under that shirt, he was even more attractive than I’d thought. I’d seen him shirtless a few times, but never got this close-up view, and honestly, it was distracting.
I was really trying hard to focus and finish the job, but his ridiculously attractive body wouldn’t let me. Being so close to the man who ignited a sexual fire inside me was more difficult than I expected.
My heart was banging like a drum, and my fingers were trembling. Not just because I was still a little shaken by the attack, but also because I was way too close to Lev.
Concentrate on the stitch, Ravyn, the stitch, I thought to myself.
But my eyes refused to obey, and my gaze kept drifting back to his hot body. I found myself subtly tracing the ridges of his defined abs, the sweep of his broad chest and shoulders.
Around such a work of art, it was next to impossible to stay composed, let alone focused on a job. No matter how hard I tried not to look at his body, I simply couldn’t, and I hated myself a little for lacking self-control.
The room was heavy with unspoken tension, and for a second there, I hoped that he couldn’t hear the sound of my racing heart. Fuck, that would be embarrassing. I should say something, do something other than nurse his wound—anything to ease this tension before it consumed me.
However, nothing came to mind. Nothing at all. It was as though my brain had abandoned me at a crucial time like this. I cleared my throat, eyes fixed on the stitch while my fingers worked their magic.
As if the heat radiating off his body wasn’t a distraction enough, now I had to deal with the crazy thoughts creeping into my mind.
No, no, no, no, no…not now. Not now, please.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to fight back the sexual scenes playing in my head. I thought about straddling him on the sofa and grinding my waist against his groin. I imagined his strong hands all over my body, taking off my sweater to reveal my breasts.
In an instant, I reopened my eyes before I could drift too deeply into my fantasy and end up embarrassing myself. I felt a tingling sensation between my legs, and my thighs drew together, discreetly grazing against each other.
Come, Ravyn. Focus. Please.
My fingers continued working, brushing against his skin in a way that made his body stiffen. Not from pain but from something I had yet to name. His gaze was unwavering, his breathing low and steady.
He flinched for the first time, a small hiss escaping his lips when I tugged the thread a little tighter.
“Hey, hold still,” I said, my voice dripping with a playful warning.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being poked with a needle,” he replied casually.
I let out a quiet laugh. “That’s one way to put it.” After a moment of silence, I added, my tone laced with gratitude, “Thank you.”
He hesitated, as if unsure what I was thanking him for. My eyes darted to his face the moment our gazes met, and my heart melted like ice cream. In an instant, I remembered how he sprang into action at the sound of that first gunshot.
He’d jumped right in front of a bullet for me, and now I couldn’t help but wonder why. What if the bullet hadn’t just grazed his arm? What if it had hit a vital organ? Did that mean he was willing to die for me?
No, it didn’t add up. He didn’t think highly enough of me to do that.
Or did he?
“What’re you thanking me for?” he asked, his eyes boring into mine.
“Saving my life,” I answered.
‘Taking a bullet for me’ would’ve been a better response, but I didn’t think we were there yet. Saying the words like that would’ve made the whole thing awkward.
He went silent, but his gaze never left my face. There was something in his eyes, something lighter than his usual coldness. Yet, I couldn’t decipher what it was.
The longer he held my gaze, the more rapidly my heart raced. A shiver sprinted down my spine, and a flutter rose in my chest. I was glued to his face, unable to look away, although I didn’t want to—I was enjoying this staring contest.
After a short while, I broke eye contact and finished up on his arm. “And…done.” I clipped the last thread with a pair of scissors.
He glanced at his stitched gash, a glint of intrigue flickering in his eyes. “Not bad,” he murmured under his breath.
I raised my brows at him. Not even a thank you? You entitled prick. “Yeah. You’re welcome,” I said, my voice low and sarcastic.
By the time I rose to my feet, ready to step away from him, my breath hitched when he grabbed my wrist. I paused in my tracks, my heart hammering in my chest. His touch had sent shivers down my core, and my eyelids instinctively slammed shut.
I felt the tension in the air, the charge between us, but I couldn’t bring myself to imagine what he was up to.
Quietly, he let go of my hand, and without wasting any more time, I walked out of the room and didn’t look back. Outside his study, I leaned my back against the wall, a hand on my chest as I struggled to catch my breath.
A soft exhale fell off my lips as I wondered what that was all about. Was it his twisted way of saying thank you? Or just a reminder of his control over me?
What if it was neither? What if it was a plea for me to stay back—to keep him company? Lev was a proud man of few words; he wouldn’t ever ask that of me. But his actions could. What if that was what he wanted—for me to sit with him?
***
Later that night, I lay in bed, facing the ceiling and wondering what would’ve happened if I’d just stayed back. Lev had successfully slithered his way into my heart, my mind, and my soul. Now, I couldn’t get rid of him no matter how hard I tried.
I grabbed the pillow that smelled of his cologne, clutched it against my chest, and lay on my side. My thoughts went wild, imagining the crazy things we’d do to each other when we eventually fucked.
At this rate, it was only a matter of time before it happened, and deep down, I couldn’t wait to explore that great body of his.