Chapter 10

"Are you cold?"

He dropped his forehead to her temple. "The opposite." His nose brushed her cheek as he lowered his head, and she emitted a full-body tingle. "Just the opposite," he repeated, his rough voice barely above a whisper.

Shaking his head, he shut off the faucet and reached for a paper towel. He dried her hands like she were a toddler in need of assistance, then held up her hand to examine it. Only a small half-inch knick on her outer palm, but it had created a lot of blood.

He pressed the paper towel to the cut and held it there. "It's not deep enough for stitches."

She nodded, recalling his initial response. "Does the sight of blood bother you?" Half her ranch hands passed out cold at the hint of red. It was a pretty common phobia and men could be babies.

"Not usually."

"You seemed a little rattled before."

"Justin died next to me. My mind flicked back for a second." He straightened suddenly and cursed, then muttered something that sounded like filter. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

She turned in his arms, finding his eyes closed and his jaw tight. In all her grief after losing her brother, she never stopped to consider Nate's feelings. She'd had to bury Justin, but Nate was the one who'd been right there when he'd been killed. That kind of thing had to leave scars.

"Don't apologize. You should feel free to talk to me."

His eyes opened and he looked at her. Shook his head. "You're not my therapist and it was insensitive."

"If we're going to be friends, you don't need to bite your tongue."

"Friends." His confused expression indicated the concept was foreign.

Lord, he needed a stiff drink and a deep-tissue massage. In that order. "You know? Friends. Staying up all night gossiping and braiding each other's hair."

He frowned, but after a beat, his lips curved. "I don't have hair."

She glanced at the top of his head. "True. You have that Hell's Angels meets Mr. Clean thing going. But you're way more badass than that cartoon cleaning wuss."

As if wanting to laughor groanhis lips parted. Nothing came out.

"I swear, I'll get a grin out of you yet."

"I smile." His brow wrinkled as if he was affronted.

"No, you tease with traces of a smile, but only do the actual deed when being polite." She poked his chest, but nearly broke her finger for the effort. Dang, the guy was made of concrete. "I have a feeling when you actually do grin, like from the gut, you'll make panties melt."

"Panties..." He huffed a laugh-groan combination and cleared his throat.

"Don't pretend you have no clue what I'm talking about. If you didn't want females dropping at your feet, you should've thought about that, Mr. Perfect Row of White Teeth. Too late now to bypass the hot tats, bulging biceps, and abs of steel."

"I've totally lost track of this conversation."

She offered a dramatic sigh. "We'll just have to be the kind of friends who paint one another's toenails instead."

With a dip of his chin, he eyed her like she'd gone mental. "Tempting as that sounds, I'm going to have to pass on that, too." He studied her. "I started working out in the gym to bulk up, so I'd never be considered weak again. It also helps with frustration. The...abs of steel? They were just a side effect."

She stared at him, leveled once again by the verbal bombs he kept dropping amid conversation. "Who said you were weak?" She'd claw their eyes out.

Bearing his teeth, he glared at the ceiling. "Christ, it's like my mouth is under hypnosis around you."

Her heart broke. Again. He didn't seem to have anyone else in his life and, Lord knew, he needed someone to talk to. Why not her? She'd never judge him or repeat what he said.

"Nate." She cupped his tense jaw, but he stiffened and closed his eyes. She dropped her hand immediately, fisting her fingers. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

"Olivia, listen"

"No, it's my fault. I promised to stop. I'll be more conscious about where my hands are at all times. I know you hate it and I'd never want you to be uncomfortable here."

"I don't..." He looked away, rubbing his neck. "To set the record straight, I don't hate being touched. I'm sorry I made you think you did something wrong."

"But you"

"I'm unaccustomed to it. Okay?"

No, not okay. "What does that mean?" That implied he could, at some point, get "accustomed" to contact. But what kind of person wasn't used to being touched? Then again, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

He didn't answer, but the tension drained from him before her eyes. Like he'd resigned himself to the situation, his shoulders relaxed and the stress lines on his face disappeared. Staring somewhere over her head, he sighed.

"All right. One thing at a time." She waited for him to meet her gaze once more. "Take Bones in your bedroom with you from now on."

"He's your dog, Olivia."

"I learned to share back in kindergarten."

His expression was a mix of frustration and amusement. "I can't sleep with the door open. He won't be able to get in or out."

"My suite has a doggy door. We'll switch yours for mine in the morning. You can do that, yes? Hang a door?"

"Sure, if they're the same size. Otherwise, I might need to trim. But I don't"

"Problem solved."

His eyes narrowed. "And how will he come and go from your room?"

"I'll leave the door open. Stop being argumentative." She grinned to diffuse his irritation. Which didn't work. "He woke you from a nightmare tonight. He seems sensitive to your moods. You might get a better night's sleep knowing he'll rouse you before it gets too bad."

He studied her for so long, she had to fight the urge to squirm. At times, he could be intense to the point of scary. Not that she was concerned he'd hurt her, but whatever thoughts and memories roamed inside his head were obviously not for the faint of heart. He must've seen something in her expression because his gaze softened, swept over her face like a tender caress, and then lowered.

Taking her hand, he removed the paper towel she'd fisted and set it on the counter behind her. His thumb stroked her palm as he examined the cut. "It quit bleeding."

Her heart hadn't. It was hemorrhaging inside her chest cavity at an alarming rate. A week, and this broken soldier was nailing her emotions to the wall. "Yeah, it's fine..."

She looked down as he brought his head up, and their cheeks brushed. Instantly, he cupped the back of her head and held her in place. She couldn't tell if it was to stop her from turning her face and bringing their lips in alignment or to keep her from pulling away.

Whatever the reason, her pulse thumped, and she became acutely aware of everything. The clock on the wall and its slow, steady tick. The rasp of his stubble against her skin. His chest rising and falling at an unhealthy pace. The way her breasts were crushed between them, making her nipples bead. His hard muscle covered by hot skin and how much of it was plastered to her. He smelled like soap and denim and

"Don't move," he grated.

"I didn't."

"I was talking to myself." His full lips grazed her cheek when he spoke, creating an unfair erotic tease.

She trembled. "All right. Why?"

His fingers clenched in her hair. "To remind myself to ignore what my body's telling me to do."

"What's it saying, your body?" Because if it was on the same page with hers

He groaned, and the rumble vibrated her chest. "To pin you against the counter and take your mouth in a hard, deep kiss until you can't stand on your own two feet."

Lord. She whimpered. "Why don't you?" Her panties were soaked and her breasts ached something fierce. It had been ages since she'd been this turned-on and... No. She'd never been this aroused.

"Because I'm not the right guy for you." He drew a slow inhale. "In ten seconds, I'm going to back away and head upstairs. Aside from putting a bandage on your hand, you're going to forget this entire exchange ever happened."

"Nate..." Dang, she couldn't think straight.

"Ten." In a blinding millisecond, he severed all contact and strode out.