CHAPTER SIX
Shane
Conscience quieted, I emerge from the bedroom to see Jake still wearing his shirt—damn—and flipping through the yoga magazine on the counter. “You do yoga?” he asks as I set my bag down next to him. “My conditioning coach keeps telling me to try it, but I haven’t been able to find the time.”
“Yes, I do. Practice every day. Recommend it to everyone. Life changing stuff.” I open the bag and begin pulling out the items I might need, including materials to clean and bandage the wound, a thermometer to check Jake’s temperature, and stitch tape on the off chance that it will do any good this long after the initial injury. “I like to practice up here.” I pat the marble countertop. “Keeps me focused.”
“How so?” he asks, amusement in his voice.
“Knowing I could fall helps with my concentration.”
“So you enjoy a little danger.” His hands go to the bottom of his shirt. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
A response starts to assemble itself in my head—something about how I don’t enjoy danger, I use it as a tool when I need a boost in my give a damn—but then Jake strips his dark blue sweater and undershirt over his head in one smooth movement, and my words get lost on the way out of my brain.
Holy abdominal muscles, Batman.
And pectoral muscles and shoulder muscles and bicep muscles and all the other muscles. So many flipping muscles.
It’s a muscle smorgasbord. The man is a fit and toned masterpiece, so perfectly made it takes a long, drawn out beat for me to remember that I’m looking at his chest for reasons other than pure admiration.
When I do, I clear my throat and swallow hard. “So the entry wound, is…”
He lifts his left arm slightly, revealing a pink, puffy slash above where his arm begins to curve down into his armpit. “Here.”
“Hmm.” I slip gloves on as I move in for a closer look.
“Like I said, it’s not serious,” he says as I gently probe the area around the inch-wide slash, my awareness of him as a tall, dark, and delicious sex god fading as I slip into exam mode. “It went through skin. Might have grazed the muscle a little, but it doesn’t hurt bad enough to be serious.”
“Is it tender here?” I push down on either side of the wound. The area is hot to the touch and pinker than I would like.
He grunts. “A little, not bad.”
“But more than it hurt yesterday?” I press on the skin farther out, noticing a marked change in firmness as I return to the swollen flesh near the puncture point.
“Maybe.” His breath stirs my hair as he exhales. “It doesn’t feel great when you push on it like that.”
“That’s because it’s getting infected. I can tell without even bothering to take your temperature.” I frown as I reach for my bottle of rubbing alcohol and a gauze pad. “I’m going to clean and bandage it, but you’ll need a round of antibiotics to make sure a little infection doesn’t become a big infection. Do you have a general practitioner you can—”
“I can’t go to a doctor.” His chest muscles clench as I apply the alcohol soaked pad to the wound, making me think the tenderness is worse than he’s letting on. “By law they have to report knife and gunshot wounds to the police.”
I sigh heavily, congratulating myself on asking for the expanded background check. Something is up with this man and the cops, and I intend to figure out what that is before we get in much deeper. “That’s only if it’s an assault situation. Couldn’t you just tell your physician you fell on a knife while you were cooking supper or something?”
He lifts a brow. “Fell on a knife and stabbed myself under the armpit?”
“Stranger things have happened.” I replace the alcohol pad with dry gauze and reach for my bandage tape. “You should hear some of the stories I’ve heard from my people-doctor friends. Humans get into much more creative trouble than other animals.”
“I’m sure we do, but I don’t need a doctor. Or antibiotics.” He lifts his chin. “I’m fine. My body can kick the infection on its own.”
“But what if it doesn’t, you stubborn goat?” I glance up at him with a frustrated huff to discover his face only a few inches from mine.
I pull in a breath, but my words get lost again as my focus narrows to the heat from his lips warming mine, and the smell of earthy cologne and powerful, in-the-prime-of-his-life man rising around me. He smells like heaven, so good all I want to do is lean in, press my nose to his bare skin, and draw the electric smell of him down into my soul.
And after I’ve smelled him, I would press a kiss to the center of his chest, right above his heart. I would kiss him, slip my tongue out to taste him, bite one flat, light brown nipple and then the other before tilting my head back and—
“I’ve got fish medicine.” The words emerge as a strangled croak as I struggle to beat back the heat licking across my skin.
I suspect this man is hiding a dark, maybe criminal secret about his past, but even if he isn’t, lusting after him is still dangerously bad news. Forget that he’s my client; he’s also a womanizer of the highest order. He’s dated at least six A-list celebrities in the past year alone. One of them even wrote a song about him—“Ice Cold Dragon Heart”—which doesn’t paint a flattering picture of Jake’s sensitivity or let-’em-down-easy skills.
I would be as dumb as a box of cold rocks to let this lust burn unchecked. I need to put out the flames, get my head in the game, and remember that the only person I can trust to do right by me is me.
“Fish medicine,” he echoes, his gaze fixed on my mouth, making me think I’m not the only one with a fire down below.
Shit. I have to rein us both in. Now. Before we get off on the wrong foot and can never get back on the right one.
“Fish medicine. Antibiotics for fish,” I stammer as his mouth dips closer and my breath comes faster. “Most people don’t realize it, but the antibiotics used for animals are made in the same factories where they make human medicine. Same ingredients, same pill design and color coding, same everything except that you don’t need a prescription to buy pet meds.”
He props his hand on the counter, so close to mine that our fingers brush and fresh electricity zips up my fingertips. “So you want to give me fish antibiotics.”
“No, I don’t want to give you fish antibiotics.” I take a step back, hoping it will help calm my racing heart. “But if you refuse to go get medicine from your doctor, then I will give you fish antibiotics and tell you how to use them. Though, honestly, I would rather not take my human doctoring that far. I’ve taken pet meds myself several times, but I’m more comfortable experimenting with my health than yours.”
“That’s sweet.” He steps closer, until my entire body is toasting in his furnace-like heat. “You’re sweet.”
“I am not. I’m stupid,” I huff. “I shouldn’t give in to your stubborn nonsense.”
“You’re about the farthest thing from stupid I can imagine.” He reaches up and brushes my hair over my shoulder with a gentleness that makes my bones melt. “It doesn’t seem fair that you get to be sweet, beautiful, and a genius doctor, too.”
“I’m not a genius doctor.” I tilt my head back, mesmerized by the heat in his eyes. “I’m a spineless, uncertified vet, and I should make you go to the emergency room.”
“You can’t make me do anything, Miss Willoughby.” His fingers thread into my hair, triggering a clench of awareness low in my body. “I’m an immovable object.”
“And I’m an unstoppable force,” I murmur automatically, though it’s the furthest thing from the truth. Right now I’m at a standstill, breathlessly waiting to see what this man will do next.