“OH, THAT HEALED up nicely,” Briar announced, glad to hear that her voice was crisp and efficient as she hovered over Callaghan—-especially considering her pulse was hammering at the skin of her throat in a way that made her want to press her fingers there.
Stop it, Briar. Get ahold of yourself and be professional. He was an inmate. Forget about his body and how big it was . . . how it could break anything. Forget about the way his skin smelled like man, and clean sweat and something else entirely. Probably pheromones. Seriously, he could bottle that stuff and sell it for a fortune.
She’d been working with a surprising degree of productivity since she arrived this morning. Working side by side with Josiah and Dr. Walker, she fell into a rhythm treating patients, almost forgetting they were criminals. Until Callaghan arrived and she remembered everything that had made her uncomfortable about this place in the first place.
She felt the warmth of Knox Callaghan’s breath near her chin and quickly stepped back, putting space between them as she resisted the urge to rub at her face.
He hadn’t touched her. He had hardly spoken at all, but it was still there—that undercurrent of something dangerous and unpredictable radiating off him, curling around her and making her chest tight and uncomfortable.
She turned for the tray of medical tools. “I’m sorry, but this may not be that comfortable.” She tugged on the requisite gloves and picked up the suture scissors.
“It’s all right,” he answered, the first words he’d spoken since he was escorted into the room.
Nodding, she began snipping at the sutures, thinking that his way of life wasn’t one of comfort. She glanced only once at his stoic features. He hadn’t shaved in several days and stubble dusted his strong jaw. “You look a little pale,” she murmured. “Are you feeling well?”
“No sunlight in the hole.”
She paused at this, imagining some dank little cell with no window. “You’ve been in there since last week?” For some reason, she hated thinking about that. Her mind conjured a dark, terrible dungeon right out of some horror movie. No one deserved being stuck in a place like that. But then you don’t really know him. Maybe that’s precisely what he deserved.
“They’re letting me out today. After here.”
Silence fell as she worked, tugging at a particular stubborn piece of thread that had decided to stick to his flesh. He didn’t show the faintest reaction.
Feeling the need to speak into the space of silence, she supplied, “That will be nice.”
His blue eyes flicked to her face then, like he couldn’t help himself from looking at her when she uttered such a perfectly stupid thing.
That will be nice.
As though he would be attending a picnic or a baseball game. She heard his voice all over again telling her she didn’t know fuck all about this place. Her face burned at the memory.
For a split second the corner of his mouth twitched. Her hand started to shake a little and she had to pause to regain her composure and adjust her grip on the scissors. With him this close to her, she felt certain he was examining the pimple on her chin. She was twenty--six but still had the occasional breakout. Stress didn’t help and there was no denying that working here stressed her out.
Pulling the last bit of thread from his skin, she released a shuddery breath. “There, now.” Taking a step back, she deposited the trash and tools onto the tray. Moistening a little antiseptic on some gauze, she lightly patted the wound where fresh blood trickled out.
“I don’t think it will be too deep a scar. Maybe I can give you some Mederma to help minimize—-”
“That’s okay,” he cut her off, and she flushed. Of course, he wouldn’t care about a new scar. That was for -people in her world who cared about things like their income tax and whether they would get that upcoming promotion.
“Okay.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs, mostly for something to do with them. “I’ll call for a guard to escort you.” She gripped the edge of the rolling tray, wanting to flee but knowing she wasn’t done. She had a job to do and she wasn’t doing it right if she only did half of it. Deep breath. “Why don’t I check your ribs again?”
He hadn’t mentioned they were causing him any problems, but she told herself she was just being thorough before releasing him back into the general population.
He stared at her blankly for a moment, his face as hard and implacable as stone. Almost like he didn’t understand her.
“Are you still wearing the bandage?” She reached for the hem of his white uniform shirt, ready to assist him. The fabric hung past his waist, so her fingers inadvertently brushed his thigh.
His hand shot out and locked around her wrist. She stalled, freezing at his grip on her. Her heart lurched into her throat at his viselike fingers.
“It’s fine,” Knox said, his voice thick and gravelly.
Their eyes held.
“I already removed the bandage,” he added.
Briar moistened her lips and shivered as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “And you’re not in any pain?”
He shook his head once. “I’m fine.” His fingers unfurled from around her wrist, slipping away.