Page 53 of Ruining His Smirk

“Not really.”

His fingertips touched the edge of the bruise with impossible care. All that strength, all that temper, and he was touching me as though I were something precious. I bit my lip to stop myself from moaning. My head was a mess. All my life, I had resented being treated as something delicate, and yet now… I wanted him, and only him, to show this gentleness.

“It is really not that bad, trust me. I’m just pale as a dead fish,” I added with a quiet laugh. “Growing up in London did very little for my complexion.”

His hand stilled.

“I’m deeply jealous of that gorgeous tan of yours, by the way. It is completely unfair. We both work in Antarctica now. You should be just as deprived of sunlight as the rest of us.”

Garrett looked up. His brows drew together. “Where did you grow up?”

“London.”

“London?” he repeated.

“You know I’m British, right?” I asked. “Well, British American. My family moved to the States when I was in high school, but surely you can hear the accent.” I laughed. “I tried very hard to learn an American accent,” I continued, “but now I seem to have ended up with an unfortunate mixture of both. I suspect the British part is never going away.” I shrugged.

“So that’s why you talk so posh,” he muttered, almost as if he were talking to himself.

“Eh?”

“Never mind.” He lowered my sweater and stood up. “Come here. I want to take a better look.”

He guided me toward his bed with both hands.

“I told you Keith already—”

“Sit down.” His voice was low and commanding.

I shivered, and my insides immediately turned to goo.

“Do you need anything put on the bruising?” He pushed me down on his bed.

“No.”

“Ice? I think I can get some—”

I caught his hand and pulled. His balance shifted, and he fell on me. I landed on my back across the bed. The air changed so completely that it felt as though the cabin itself had gone still around us.

Garrett hovered over me, his lower body deliciously pressing down on me. I could feel his rock-hard muscles through the soft fabric of his lounge pants. His damp hair had fallen slightly across his forehead. He held himself up on his arms, the muscles of his biceps flexing on either side of my shoulders.

I looked up at him. “I want you.” I tried to pull him down, but he was immovable. “I’ve wanted you for a year now, Garrett, and I…” My voice shook. “I think I’ll die if you don’t kiss me right now.”

Garrett’s gaze burned into mine. My skin felt tight, and my heart was pounding against my ribcage. All I could think of was his heavy weight on me. The way he was looking down at me.

He shook his head once and looked away. “I won’t be able to stop at a kiss.”

“Then don’t stop,” I moaned.

“You’re injured.”

“For fuck’s sake! What was the use of jumping in after me if you’re going to kill me with sexual frustration anyway?”

His lips twitched, and suddenly he was laughing quietly. My frustration melted away. I watched, awed, as his face transformed from his usual grumpy expression to one of pure masculine beauty.

“You’re so damn handsome.” I ran a finger down his left arm, over the bulging muscles of his biceps. “I’ve dreamed about these muscles, did you know?” I traced the hard contours of hispecs beneath his tight black shirt. Dark chest hair peeked out at the neckline, so I slowly skimmed my fingers along the edge.

His smile faded. He was breathing hard, and everywhere I touched him, his beautiful tanned skin broke out in goosebumps.