Page 21 of Entangled
“What’s wrong?” I ask, even though I’m well aware I caused the tension radiating off her in waves.
“Here.” She thrusts a tube of ointment, bottle of peroxide, bag of cotton balls, and a box of Band-Aids at me, then tosses some clothes onto the counter.
“Thanks.” I take the first aid stuff and point to what looks like folded-up sweatpants and a t-shirt. “So, I’ll wash these when—”
“Keep the clothes. I don’t need them back.” She spins on her heel and heads toward the staircase without another word.
“Where are you going?”
“Getting out of your way.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t interrupt yourmajor assholery,” she says over her shoulder.
Now I feel like a dick for snapping at her earlier. It’s clear I hurt her feelings. The problem is, I don’t know how to fix it.
I hold up the box of Band-Aids, even though she can’t see them. “Aren’t you going to help me?”
She whirls around, fire flashing in her emerald gaze. And fuck, does she look like a goddess with her cape of long, golden hair. “You don’t want my help.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Your temper tantrum made it crystal clear.” She points to the purple cat clock on the wall with its tail moving from side to side. “Besides, I have a client waiting.”
Oh, hell no.
Jealousy floods my veins. “A client? As in, someone you dance for?”
“What does it matter to you?”
I clench my jaw. “Just answer the question.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You, first.”
“Because I just…” I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to formulate my response. What can I possibly say? She isn’t mine. I have no right to be jealous. Yet the idea of her disrobing for another man—or men—makes my blood boil.
“You just, what?” Rowan slowly approaches, her gaze locked on my face. When I don’t answer, she snatches the tube of ointment from my hand. “Turn around.”
Still unable to pull myself together, I follow her order without question. Neither of us speaks as she cleans and bandages the scratches I can’t reach. The feel of her fingertips on my skin gives me goosebumps.
“Maybe if you dried off better, you wouldn’t be so cold.”
“I’m dry.”
She moves to stand in front of me and points to the droplets of water on my chest. “Sure, you are.”
We stare into each other’s eyes for a few beats, the air between us charged with desire. I wonder if she can sense how badly I want her. Does she know I jerked off in the shower while imagining her naked? If she does, she’s playing it coy. Or maybe my earlier rejection muted her response to me.
I step closer, warmed by her body heat. What would happen if I dropped the towel I’m wearing? Would she touch me? Slide those delicate fingers up and down my cock?
I clear my throat to keep from begging her to put her hands on me. “You never answered my question.”
“Because I don’t recall hearing an answer to mine.” She arches a perfect eyebrow. “Unless I missed it?”
“I asked first.”
“You’re an overgrown toddler, Henry Flynn,” she says with an exasperated sigh.
