Page 19 of Entangled
“Most people call it a nickname.” He smirks, and even covered in cat hair, sweet tea, and blood, I want to climb up his body.
“Oh. I’ve never really had a nickname.”
Henry widens his eyes. “You’re joking.”
“Nope. I’m a recluse, remember? And my dad is too proper to call me anything but Rowan-Anastasia.” I shake my head to clear thoughts of my pathetic life and touch his shirt’s hemline. “Are you capable of undressing yourself, or do you need my help?”
“Rowan, I’m fine. I’ll clean up when I get home.”
Please don’t leave.
“Or you can go shower while I wash your clothes, so you don’t have to ride home like that.”
“I’ve been on worse rides.”
“Look, I feel shitty my cat hurt you. Could you at least let me clean the scratches?” I touch his shoulder. “I get that you have big plans for your weird, morbid bingo game, butIdon’t want to be responsible for you dying from sepsis. Plus, your family would be sad, and I’d hate to ruin all those lives. So, stop being stubborn, and take off your shirt.”Let me heal you.“Please let me see your skin.”
“Fine.” Henry lifts the damp thermal up over his head and tosses it onto the counter, then holds out his arms. “Be my guest.”
Mother of God, he’s gorgeous.
I sweep my gaze over his broad shoulders, thick biceps, and corded forearms, noticing the bleeding gouges Eugene left behind. I’m going to need a lot of Band-Aids. My journey brings me inland to his sculpted pecs and an abdomen so chiseled it might as well be granite. No, scratch that—I’ve worked with granite in my studio—this man’s body is far more beautiful. My breath catches at the sight of the jagged scar running from the left side of his ribcage to the opposite hip.
Meeting his gaze, I brush my fingertips along the mark. “What happened here?”
He clamps his hand on my wrist, stilling me. “Not your cat, so don’t worry about it.”
I’ve been a prisoner of war, and I’ve got the fucking scars to prove it.
“I’m sorry someone hurt you,” I whisper.
Henry tightens his grip instead of answering.
Towering over me, he’s the picture of strength and power. A brave Marine. But his eyes tell a different story. Henry Flynn is a lost, broken soul who aches for more than life has given him. My resolve to find the man inside and put him back together grows stronger each moment.
“Take off your pants.”
“No.” A humorless laugh leaves his lips. “Drawing the line there, Princess.”
“Eugene got your legs too, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but I’m more than capable of dealing with scratches I can reach.” He holds his arms out in front of him, turning them to get a better look at the undersides. “I can clean most of these on my own.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Those are a different story.”
I slowly circle him, awed by the magnificence that is his back. “You have a lot of muscles.” And scratches.
“Thanks. The Marines will do that to a guy. Plus, working for RPS keeps me fit. I lift hundreds of boxes each day.”
“Yeah.” I pause in front of him and peer up into his eyes, too stupefied to focus on anything other than my desire. I want him to liftmeevery day. Maybe toss me onto some boxes and have his way with me. The naughty visuals make me shiver.
He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m the one standing here half naked, andyou’recold?”
“Yes. No. I mean, a little bit. Not really though.” A nervous chuckle leaves my lips as I point to the hallway that leads to my downstairs bathroom. “Go shower. Toss your clothes in the hall, and I’ll wash them for you. Hopefully, I can get the blood off your thermal.”
He smirks. “While I appreciate the offer, what am I supposed to wear afterward?”
Nothing.
My mouth goes dry with visuals of his big, broad body fully naked. His top half is all muscles and hard lines. I can only imagine what lies beneath his belt. My lower belly heats and flutters as my heart races with the thought of touching him. I’ve never felt like this before. Arousal doesn’t begin to describe what’s happening inside me.
