Page 78 of Cold Mercy

I step between his knees to get a better angle, dabbing at the cut with antiseptic. Up close, it looks even worse. There is no way in hell a razor did this. He keeps his head turned to the side, giving me access, his hands resting on his knees. My gaze drops to his knuckles, which are red, raw, and swollen. He definitely wasn't shaving there.

A cold knot forms in my stomach. Okay, maybe I'm overreacting…knowing his temperament, he probably got into a bar fight because someone looked at him the wrong way.

He notices me staring and turns his head back, catching my eye. “What's the verdict, doc? Am I dying from this life-threatening injury?”

I press a bandage over the cut, maybe a little harder than necessary, and give him a sweet, sharp smile. “It's touch and go, Reed, but don't worry. If you don't make it, I promise to tell everyone you died doing what you loved—being a stubborn ass.”

Thomas stares at me, tongue pressing into his cheek as he seems to calculate exactly how much trouble he can get away with. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and amused, and neither of us moves. My hand is still resting on his shoulder, his warmth seeping through the shirt, and for a moment, the silence between us is thick enough to cut.

In one smooth motion, he stands and scoops me up into his arms before I can even blink.

“Oh no,” I gasp, instinctively grabbing his neck. “Thomas the caveman returns.” I try to sound annoyed, but a laugh bubbles up in my throat. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

He ignores me completely, turning toward the large, empty bathtub. With surprising gentleness, he sets me down inside one end of it, my heels clicking against the porcelain. Before I can even protest, he climbs in right after me, settling opposite me with an easy, practiced grace.

“You are insane,” I say, trying to stifle my laughter as I curl my legs toward my chest, attempting to tuck my skirt around me for some semblance of modesty.

Thomas just watches me, unbothered. He reaches out, his hand wrapping around my ankle. His touch is warm, his thumb sliding slow and deliberate against my skin, sending a jolt straight up my spine that makes me flinch.

“Easy, princess,” he murmurs.

He gently pulls my leg forward, straightening it out so I’m more comfortable in the cramped space. Then he takes the other ankle and does the same. I watch him, my heart pounding, as he lifts my legs, still in my heels, and rests them against his chest. His hands settle on my calves, holding me there, secure and claimed.

“Let me guess,” I say, trying for sarcasm to cover the sudden flutter in my stomach. “Just looking for an excuse to see up my dress?”

He shakes his head slowly, his thumb stroking the back of my calf. “Not that I'd complain,” he says, a smirk touching his lips before his expression softens into something serious.

“I saw you out there; you hate the noise. I figured if I dragged you in here, I could keep you to myself a little longer.”

I forget how to breathe for a second, my lungs refusing to cooperate. I open my mouth to fire back, but nothing comes out. He sees me. If there is a language for whatever this is between us, Thomas speaks it flawlessly. He reads the parts of me I try so hard to bury, and instead of walking away, he builds a quiet space just for us to exist in.

“Wow,” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady as I scramble to regain some ground. “Look at you. Thomas Reed is being nice, considerate and wearing an elegant shirt. It’s a miracle.”

He doesn't answer. Instead, his hand slides down to my ankle, his fingers working the buckle of my heel. He slips the shoe off and sets it on the floor beside the tub.

“I knew you'd like it,” he murmurs, reaching for the other foot.

He removes the second shoe, placing it next to the first, and now my bare feet are resting against the solid warmth of his chest. I lean back, resting my elbow on the edge of the tub, biting down on my fingers as I stare at him, desperate not to let him see how much he's winning.

He keeps his hands on my calves, his thumbs tracing slow, maddening circles against my skin, moving gradually higher toward my knee.

Suddenly, a heavy knock sounds on the door.

“Hey!” James's voice is muffled and cheerfully drunk. “Are you two making sweet love in there, or has one of you killed the other yet?”

I freeze, my eyes locked on Thomas, but he doesn't even flinch. His hand slides higher, past my knee, his palm warm and heavy on my thigh. I let out a shaky breath, a shiver racking through me as his fingers brush higher still.

“Answer him,” Thomas whispers, his eyes dark and daring me to break.

“No...” I stutter, unable to look away from him. “No, um... we're just talking. Everything is fine.”

James lets out a giggle from the other side of the door. “Yeah, sure. Just so you know, we can't hear anything downstairs. In case that information is, you know... useful to you.”

His footsteps fade down the hall. I try to shift, my body jerking slightly at the sensation of Thomas's hand moving higher, dangerously close to my panties. Just as I think I’m going to lose it, he stops and slowly retreats his hand back down to my ankle.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

I stare at him, trembling, completely undone by his touch. He’s smiling now, with that slow, arrogant smile that knows exactly what he’s done to me. I need to do something, anything, to regain control, because he has gotten so far under my skin I can barely think.