Her laughter sounded breathless. “I doubt it’s that easy.”
“You don’t think so?” He lifted the edge of his shirt so she could see his ridged abdomen, the smooth skin interrupted by scars every few inches. A now-familiar feeling of dread kicked up a fuss in her stomach. “You want to know how important it is to me that nothing bad touches you? This’ll be my reminder.”
He ground out the lit cigarette on his stomach.
Sera screamed a denial, making a frantic attempt to stop him, but it was too late. His hand fell away and she could see the charred ring of flesh just above the waistband of his jeans. She slumped against the counter, watching in disbelief as he flicked the cigarette butt into the sink without taking his eyes off her. Not once. He hadn’t even flinched once.
Suddenly furious, she shoved against his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Stop using me as an excuse to hurt yourself, dammit. What is wrong with you?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
The black smoking hole on his stomach, the blood on his face, it became insufferable. She needed it gone, now. Whether or not his behavior had been
rational,
she
needed
every
reminder of what she’d driven him to do gone. Seeing him in pain when she could stop it went against everything in her nature. With a groan of frustration, she took his hand and dragged him toward the bathroom, making a valiant attempt to ignore the victory that flashed in his eyes. It made her question his sanity, yes, but she was also grateful for that look. It would give her a reason to resist him. Today, in this moment, she would not give in. No matter how much willpower it took.
She flipped on the light as they entered the small bathroom, having to tug her hand away when he didn’t let her go immediately. Seeing them in the mirror, his taller, more muscular frame inches behind her, watching her as if his heart were
in
his
throat,
made
her
determination waver all too soon.
Closing herself off to the emotions, she turned on the shower taps and found a lukewarm temperature in deference to his fresh wound.
A glance in the mirror showed him stripping his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor. His hands went to the fly of his jeans then, but she refused to turn around completely, as if watching him disrobe in the mirror would somehow affect her less. How he could make every pulse point in her body pound while covered in blood and a self-inflicted wound staring her in the face, she had no idea. But if the power he had over her body continued to be this potent, after everything they’d faced since last night, it would never go away.
Doesn’t change anything. “Get in,”
she instructed, cringing inwardly over the huskiness in her voice. Behind her, Bowen pushed his jeans and boxer briefs down in one quick movement and stepped out of them, revealing his too-beautiful body. Despite all the scars, the bruises, the blood, she’d never seen anyone so magnificent. “I’m not going to stand here all day.”
One edge of his lips tugged up, but it looked unnatural thanks to his cuts. “I thought you were a nurse, Seraphina.
Where’s your bedside manner?”
“Do
you
think
it’s
funny?”
Swallowing her nerves, she turned.
“Throwing these things you knew all along about my life in my face?”
“No.” His expression went from playful to fierce. “Nothing about this shit show is funny. Your life being in danger isn’t funny. Knowing you’re leaving.
Isn’t. Funny.”
His passionate speech sent her back a step, much to her irritation. “You’re right, it’s not. But it’s reality.”
Her words seemed to set him off.
“And let’s not forget you knew every gritty detail of my life, too, Sera. I saw the disgust in your eyes the second you found out my name. Found out whose hips you’d had your legs wrapped around, whose mouth your hot little tongue had been inside.” He grabbed the shower curtain and yanked it aside.
“You must hate wanting me. That should make me happy. All that bad I want to protect you from? I’m the fucking worst of it.”