Page 3 of Sold to My Ex's Brother
I head wordlessly upstairs, half-wondering at the back of my mind if I should let this man find out where I live, given what’s happened. But, as he follows me up the stairs, I steal a glance back at him, and my heart flips.
It has been so long since I have been in contact with someone, anyone, outside the ecosystem of that bar, of Artem’s business. And now, this man, this striking man, has stepped in to help me when I needed it most.
My stomach fizzes with something between excitement and desire. It’s been so long since I organically felt that way, rather than some act I’m putting on.
As I reach my door, I lean against it and look at him for a moment. His knuckles are bloody where the blade glanced against them, though he hardly seems to notice it. I reach out, brushing my fingertips over his hand, smearing the warm, wet blood on to my own skin.
“Come inside,” I implore him softly, as I look up at him again. My hand resting on his, I can feel it between us, the searing rush of electricity like everything else has just vanished. I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline from what just happened or real attraction or some crazy mixture of the two…
But I don’t want this man to leave, not if I can help it.
“Let me clean you up, at least,” I press him, flicking my eyes back and forth between his.
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I protest. “You... You practically saved my life back there. If it hadn’t been for you...” I trail off. I can hardly even contend with the possibilities of what might havegone down had he not been there to help me, and frankly, I don’t want to put them into words.
This is the first man in a long, long time who has shown me any kind of care or consideration. And a man I’m not going to let slip through my bloodied fingers, no matter what.
“Please, come inside,” I murmur to him. And I’m surprised to hear the tone to my voice, the sureness in it, how laced it is with something more, something desirous, something wanting.
And, this time, at least, he does not shake his head, as I push the key into the lock and open the door. My hands are shaking again, but this time, it’s for entirely different reasons, my skin still slicked with his blood, my heart pounding in my chest, my body alight with more than I can make sense of.
1
MAYA
He follows me inside,and I feel a jolt of realization at just how tiny this place is. Inviting him up here, well, it’s hardly a penthouse freaking apartment, is it?
My studio is the only place I can afford, at least without having to move in with roommates, and with my late-night schedule it’s easier for me to just keep my head down and focus on my own world.
“Sorry it’s so small,” I blurt out, as I fuss around trying to clean up some of the mess, cramming my shit into drawers and stuffing some errant clothes under my bed, which takes up most of the living room. “Uh... Just sit down on the couch, I’ll come back with some bandages...”
He does as he’s told without a word, surveying the place with those piercing blue eyes, as if he can see more than just what is on the surface. I busy myself in the bathroom, digging out a clean washcloth and some bandages so I can tidy him up.
I look at myself in the mirror, and I can see angry red fingerprints on my shoulder where the other man grabbed atme. I have no doubt it’ll turn into bruises that I’ll have to find a decent explanation for tomorrow. But, for right now, at least, all I care about is the man sitting in my living room.
The man who might very well have saved my life.
I step out of the bathroom once more, and he glances up at me. The lights in here are low, the energy-saving bulbs dim, but I can better make out his features here inside my place.
He looks quite a bit older than me, but not in an off-putting way. His features are written with creases, but they seem to speak to the depth of life he has lived rather than how ancient he has become. His hair is silver, glistening in the light, and those sharp blue eyes seem to slice straight through me.
I swallow hard, moving over to him and crouching down beside him, drawing his hand on to his knee so that I can tend to the harm he did to it.
“Does it hurt?” I ask him, and he shakes his head as I carefully begin to clean his skin.
It feels almost reverent, tending to him like this, and a flush rises to my cheeks as I carefully wipe the blood away from him. I can feel him watching me with every motion, and I let some of my hair fall into my face, the curtain of blonde as a break from his intense gaze.
Once I have cleaned up most of the blood, I reach for the bandages, tearing off a few long strips before I wrap them around his hand. He doesn’t register any pain at all as I take care of him, though it’s hard not to imagine that he’s feeling it.
“Did you know him?” I ask, trying to break the silence between us any way I can. “The man who attacked me, I mean.”
He shakes his head. “Did you?” He turns the question back around on me, as I tighten the bandages around him.
“Uh, no,” I reply. “I mean, I don’t think so. I…”
I stop myself in my tracks. This man doesn’t want to hear about my history, I’m sure of it. He was just doing the right thing when he saw a girl in trouble, and the best I can do is keep in mind the fact that he doesn’t owe me a damn thing.
