Roy, my hot hero.
My legs shook as I headed back up the stairs, the adrenaline that flooded my system reaching every extremity.
Roy stayed at my back, getting the full view of my swaying ass as I navigated the stairs in my heels. I’d never been one to play damsel in distress, but something about his protectiveness, the calmness he projected while his entire focus was on me, made me warm and tingly.
He was dripping blood right now and didn’t seem concerned. His only worry seemed to be for me.
Once we reached his penthouse suite, he used the keycard to let us in.
“Sit and let me look at that arm,” I ordered. I rushed to grab some towels from the bathroom.
“Yes, ma’am,” he called. He grinned and dropped onto the couch when I returned. I sat on the coffee table in front of him, setting the towels beside me.
Damn, this guy was sexy.
Sliding forward, my fingers shook as I reached out and tried to unbutton his cuff to get the blood-soaked shirt off. I couldn’t get the little button to do what I wanted.
He covered my hand in his, squeezing my trembling fingers. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” I exhaled, trying to calm down, but his touch didn’t soothe me.
It revved me up. Those big hands swallowing mine, the rough callouses brushing over my skin. The heat of his palms.
I looked up. Met his dark gaze. Got caught in it. He smelled good. Like soap and pine and rugged man.
It was crazy, but the jitters were morphing into something else.
Attraction. Turn-on. I squirmed on the coffee table when he didn’t let go.
“Here, let me.” Roy’s voice was deep and resonant. A perfect gruff, cowboy vibe.
He had to let go of me to undo the cuffs, then the buttons down the front of the flannel.
It was like my own personal strip tease. I licked my lips watching the show. Inch by inch, a broad chest appeared. Flat nipples peeked out from a smattering of dark hair.
I eased his shirt off, my fingertips brushing against solid muscle. He was hot to the touch everywhere.
Damn. Roy was built. Total Magic Mike material–with a wide-shouldered, sculpted chest and washboard abs. Those soft curls that I wanted to rake my nails through.
Heat pooled between my legs. My nipples tightened in my bra. When his gaze lowered to the front of my shirt, I knew without looking down that he could see their outline.
He discarded his shirt on the floor. The right sleeve was crimson with blood.
I took hold of his arm to examine the wound. Touching him felt easy. Natural.
It must have been the sense of shared trauma from what just happened that made this stranger feel so familiar.
So safe.
So attractive.
He’d saved me. Not once, but twice. I felt protected. Like nothing could hurt me with him around. That in itself wasn’t something I’d felt before with a man, but it was heady. It was really, really attractive. A knight and a fair maiden. A Highlander rescuing a fair lass from an English soldier.
Okay, I read too many romances, but still. This guy, Roy, was like my own lumberjack to the rescue. And I didn’t seem to mind being the damsel in distress, minus the bad guys and getting shot at part.
I sucked in my breath when I saw the wound. “Oh, God. I can see the hole. It’s… do you think the bullet’s still in there? Don’t you think we should call an ambulance or something?”
Roy peered at the back of his arm as best he could. It had to hurt like hell, but he didn’t show any signs of pain. Maybe he still had adrenaline flowing and would probably feel it later. “Arm wounds bleed a lot. I promise I’m okay.”
“I thought that was head wounds,” I countered, holding a washcloth against the wound to stop the bleeding although it had already stopped. Maybe he was right.