Page 34 of Blood Vows

“God, you’re irritating,” she said.

“So you keep telling me,” he teased. She pushed herself upright, and pain tugged at her shoulder.

Dante seemed to notice immediately. “You need that bandage changed.”

“It’s fine,” she lied.

“Elena.” She glared at him as he stood and crossed the small room. The conversation was apparently over. Dante picked up the medical kit sitting on the dresser.

“When did that get there?” she asked.

“While you were pretending to sleep.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You left the room?”

“For thirty seconds,” he said.

“And I survived?” she teased.

“Barely,” he growled. She laughed as he sat on the edge of the bed, and her amusement disappeared.

Dante opened the kit.

“Shirt off,” he said.

Elena stared at him. “You really do enjoy ordering people around, don’t you? I’m not taking off my shirt, Dante.”

“Yes, I do like telling people what to do. And I won’t be able to properly care for your shoulder with your shirt covering the wound. I promise not to look at anything but your shoulder.” At least he was consistent. She removed her shirt, slowly pulling the fabric away from the bandage.

Dante frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Blood soaked through the bandage,” she admitted. “It was just a graze.”

“It’s still a wound,” he said, reaching for the tape. Elena watched his hands. They were large and steady. He had scars across the knuckles. His hands were made for violence, and yet when he peeled back the old dressing, his touch was surprisingly gentle. She hissed anyway, and Dante’s gaze snapped to hers.

“Sorry,” he breathed.

The apology caught her off guard. “You know how to say that word?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled as he looked over her wound. He cleaned it, and Elena tried not to react when his fingers brushed her skin. She tried even harder not to notice how close he was or the way his knee pressed against hers. His head bent toward her shoulder, and the scent of him filled the space between them—clean soap and something darker. It was something that was simply Dante. Her pulse sped up, which was ridiculous. She should be thinking about the key, the accounts, and Vincenzo Hale. Or the fact that someone had spent years building a financial trail around her name. Instead, she was thinking about Dante’s mouth and all the wicked things that he could do with it, and that was unacceptable.

“Done,” he said, his warm breath brushing against her shoulder.

Elena blinked over at him. “What?”

His eyes lifted to hers. “Where did you go?” he asked.

“What do you mean? I’ve been right here,” she insisted.

“You disappeared for a second,” he said. “What were you thinking about?” There was no way that she’d admit that she was thinking about kissing him, or the way the weight of his body would feel on top of her.

“I’m just tired,” she lied. His gaze held hers a beat too long, and she wondered if he knew the truth. God, she hoped not.

Dante stood. “Get dressed.”

“I’m already dressed,” she said, tugging her shirt back on.

“For outside,” he corrected.