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When they were alone, Finn leaned back against his desk to look at Pru, feet casually crossed, hands gripping the wood on either side of his hips. He was hot, even in a pose of subdued restraint as he watched her carefully while she sat up. “Easy, Tiger.”
“What happened?” she asked. When she struggled to stand, he pushed off from the desk, coming to her.
Crouching at her side, he stopped her, setting his hands on her thighs to hold her still. “Not yet.”
“How did I get here?”
“You fainted,” he said.
“I most definitely did not!”
His lips twitched. “Okay, then you decided to take a nap. You weren’t feeling the whole walking thing so I carried you.”
She stared at him, horrified. “You carried me?”
“That bothers you more than the fainting in front of a crowded bar?” he asked. He shrugged. “Okay, sure, we can go with that. Yes, I picked you up off the floor and carried you. Not that I don’t make sure the floors are clean mind you, but there’s clean and then there’s clean, so I brought you to my couch.”
“Ohmigod,” she gasped, “I hit you with a dart!”
He was still crouched at her feet. Close enough for her to push his hands from her and start tugging up his shirt, needing to see the damage. “Let me see. I’m a halfway decent medic—which I realize is hard to believe given I ended up on your floor—but I promise, I know what I’m doing.” She couldn’t shove his shirt up high enough. “Off,” she demanded.
“Well, usually I like to have a meal first,” he said, “and get to know each other a little bit—”
“Okay, okay.” He reached up and pulled the shirt over his head.
Pru nearly got light-headed again but this time it wasn’t the blood. He had a body that … well, rocked hers. Sleek and hard-looking, he had broad shoulders, ripped abs, sinewy pecs—one of which had a hole in it an inch from his right nipple. A fact she knew because she’d leaned in so close her nose nearly brushed his skin.
“Feel free to kiss it better,” he said.
“I’m checking to see if you’re going to need a tetanus shot!” But good Lord, she’d done this to him. She’d put a hole in his perfect, delectable bod—
“Are you going to pass out again?” he asked.
“No!” Hopefully. But to be sure, she sat back. Just for a second she promised herself, and only because replaying the night’s events in her mind was making her sweat. “First aid kit,” she said a little weakly.
“What do you need?” he asked, voice deep with concern.
“Not for me, for you!” She sat up again. “You could get an infection, we need a first aid kit!”
He blew out a sigh, like maybe she was being a colossal pain in his ass. But he rose to his feet and walked toward a door behind his desk. The problem was now she could see his back, an acre of smooth, sleek skin, rippling muscles …
He vanished into a bathroom and came back with a first aid kit, and then sat at her side on the couch. Before he could open it up, she took it from his hands and rummaged through. Finding what she needed, she poured some antiseptic onto a cotton pad and pressed it against the wound.
He sucked in a breath and she looked up at him. “Getting hit with a dart didn’t make you blink an eye,” she said. “Neither did ripping it out like a He-man. But this hurts?”
This got a low laugh out of her. She was trying not to notice that her fingers were pressed up against his warm skin as she held the cotton in place, or that her other hand had come up to grip his bicep.
Or that she was staring at his body, her eyes feeling like a kid in a candy shop, not quite knowing where to land. Those pecs. That washboard set of abs. The narrow happy trail that vanished into the waistband of his jeans, presumably leading straight to his—
“I think I’m all disinfected now,” he said, sounding amused.
With a jerky nod, she set the cotton pad aside and reached for a Band-Aid. But her hands were shaking and she couldn’t open the damn thing.
His fingers gently took it from hers. Quickly and efficiently, he opened it and put it on himself. “All better,” he said and quirked a brow. “Unless …”
“You changed your mind about kissing it all better?”
That she wanted to do just that kept her from rolling her eyes again.
He laughed softly, which she assumed was because the bastard knew exactly what he did to her.
“So,” he said. “You were right. You really do bring the fun. What’s next?”
“Hitting you over your thick head with this first aid kit,” she said, closing the thing up.
“You’re violent.” He grinned at her. “I like it.”
“You have a very odd sense of humor.” She stood on legs that were still a little wobbly. “I really am sorry, Finn.”
“No worries. I’ve had worse done to me.”
“Well …” He appeared to give this some thought. “A woman once chucked a beer bottle at my face.” He pointed to a scar above his right eyebrow. “Luckily I ducked.”
She gaped at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “She thought I was Sean.”
“Well, that explains it,” she said and had the pleasure of making him laugh.
His laugh did things to her. So did the fact that he was still shirtless. “Do you have another shirt?” she asked.
“One without a hole in it, you mean?”
She groaned. “Yes! And without blood all over it.” She bent and scooped up his fallen shirt. “I’m going to buy you a new one—” she started as she rose back up and … bumped into him.
And his bare chest.
“Stop,” he said kindly but firmly as his hands came up to her shoulders. “I’m not all that hurt and you’ve already apologized. It wasn’t even your fault. My idiot brother should never have allowed blindfolded darts. If our insurance company got a whiff of that, we’d be dumped.”
But Pru had a long habit of taking on the blame. It was what she did, and she did it well. Besides, in this case, her guilt came from something else, something much, much worse than stabbing him with a dart and she didn’t know how to handle it. Especially now that they were standing toe to toe with his hands on her.
Tell him, a voice deep inside her said.
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