Page 74 of Romantic Hero
Ignoring him, I dab some antiseptic onto the cotton wool and gently sweep the cotton wool over the graze. ‘Let me just …’
‘I told you, I’m fine.’
‘You’re bleeding. I’ll only be a moment—’
‘Quit it,’ he says sharply, standing up and grabbing the cotton wool from me. He turns to the mirror, wiping indelicately at the cut, which only makes it bleed harder. ‘I can take care of it myself.’
I hold my hands up. ‘Fine. My God, anyone would think you’d never been fixed up by anyone!’
He huffs. ‘It’s just a scratch! My daddy would be on me faster than a scalded cat if he knew I was letting you fuss over me for a damn scratch.Jesus.’
I go to exit the bathroom and leave him to it. And then I turn back around.
‘Actually, no,’ I say, pushing him firmly back down onto the edge of the tub.
‘What are you doing?’ he goggles.
‘You told me I should say what I actually think rather than sinking back and hiding behind the excuse of civility when it’s not genuine.’ I grab the pack of cotton wool and take out a fresh bundle. ‘When people are hurt, other people take care of them, River,’ I say. ‘That’s what’s supposed to happen. And if you don’t know that because of your insensitive, emotionally stunted father – no offence – then, frankly, therapy might be a good idea.’
River’s eyebrows shoot up.
‘Plus you’re making a fucking mess of this cut with your massive hands, so pipe down, sit still and let me fix it.’
River clamps his mouth shut, his jaw flexing over and over again. I finish cleaning the wound and dab cold arnica gel over it.
‘Take off your jeans so I can see the leg,’ I say impatiently.
Without a word, River slides them off.
After cleaning it, I unwrap a small cotton dressing and place it neatly over River’s knee, and then, standing back up, lay another over his jaw, so the cut looks like nothing more than a shaving nick.
‘There,’ I say when I’m finished. ‘Was that so bloody hard?’
I wait for an answer. He remains silent. As I watch him, it slowly occurs to me that his face looks completely different to me than it did the first day he showed up in my apartment. It’s no longer just the handsome, cocky, perfectly arranged face of a villainous cowboy from my romance novel. It’s River’s face asI’vecome to know it. AsI’veuniquely experienced it. Full of memories now. Memories of the way his eyes light up when he calls me Owl, or the jut of his jaw when he’s concentrating, or the goofy expression he makes when he’s trying to get me to laugh. Memories of his quiet wisdom and the softness he’s started to let me see. A face full of expressions I’ve witnessed. All the expressions I want to witness. I laugh to myself at how I could ever havethought River Oakley was anything other than … utterly lovely.
Wait … did I say that out loud? No. I definitely did not. But River must sense what I’m thinking because all at once he lifts a hand to my cheek, pressing his hot palm gently against it.
I freeze, scared to move in case he takes his hand away, but scared by what it means if he doesn’t.
He looks right at my lips and blinks slowly, eyes eventually lifting to meet mine.
His other hand comes up to my other cheek, thumb stroking a circle beneath my ear.
‘Gertie,’ he says softly.
When he angles my head slightly, I inhale a sharp breath, unable to help myself from leaning into his palms like a cat.
My blood starts to pound in my ears.
‘We can’t,’ he rasps. ‘You know we can’t. I’m leaving soon. Never coming back. It wouldn’t be sensible.’
I swallow thickly. ‘I’m starting to think that maybe sensible is overrated.’
He gestures between us. ‘You said we ought to forget what happened in the hotel room in Little Crumpet.’
‘I said that because I thoughtyouregretted kissing me. You started acting weird right afterwards.’
‘I was acting weird because I was shocked by exactly how much I wanted to keep on kissing you.’
