Page 17 of Viper

He smoothed his thumb over her shoulder and all she wanted to do was lean into him. She could. They’d been this close before. Had walked the blurred line that stood like a crater between them.

A line he wouldn’t cross first but wouldn’t refuse to if she did.

That wasn’t who she was. She’d never had to ask for a man’s affection. Never had to lean in for the kiss or take control. Men had always come to her.

But Troy?

No. Nothing could happen between them because of Atlas.

“You can stay at my place tonight.” The statement came out smooth and easy, as if he hadn’t had a lick of reservation—but she knew better. Knew how hard it was for him to even be in the same car as her.

He pulled his fingers away as if the match had caught fire. “Come on. Let’s get your things.”

Troy leaned against the kitchen counter after he’d cleared the house of any threats. Though it was unlikely that Craig could’ve made it to her place before them, the asshole could’ve had someone waiting for Paige.

Christ, Troy hadn’t been prepared for the tortured look on her pretty features when he’d finally faced her once they’d reached the shore.

Dammit, she’d expected him to be angry. And he was, but as he’d said, not at her.

At himself.

Because as stupid as it sounded, maybe if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward, she wouldn’t have gone looking for male attention elsewhere.

A deep ache pulled at the center of his chest. He massaged the area, but it didn’t help. Turning to the cupboard, he pulled down a glass and then filled it with water.

After downing it all, he lowered the glass into the sink and braced his hands on the edge of the counter. Still, the tightness remained. Jesus, what was wrong with him? He couldn’t be having a heart attack. Not now.

Hell, if the guys found out he’d gone into cardiac arrest after swimming a mile, he’d never hear the end of it.

No, that wasn’t the cause of his discomfort. He’d been fine until he thought about Paige and how if she’d been with him—really with him—none of this would’ve⁠—

“Are you okay?”

He forced a steadying breath then turned around. “Fine.”

Her blond hair was mostly dry and the strands were tangled. She’d changed into gray joggers and an oversized bubblegum-pink sweatshirt. The fluorescent lighting spilled between them, bright and invasive, leaving nowhere for him to hide the strain likely crinkling his face.

She plopped a duffel bag onto the black granite countertop. “You seem tense. Did you—” Her eyes widened on his abdomen. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding!”

Her hands flew to his shirt and lifted the material. “Troy, you didn’t even tell me.”

He glanced down at the wound—a neat cut across his abs, just above his belly button. His dark, wet shirt had hidden the blood from Paige. The wound had continued to sting ever since he got out of the ocean, but that wasn’t the source of his chest pain. “It’s fine. Not even that deep.”

“He did this?” Outrage lit her pretty eyes, and her lips pursed into a ferocious bow. With her face free of makeup, he could see the speckling of freckles across her nose and sun-kissed cheeks. She looked pissed enough to go after Craig for his sake. And damn if that didn’t warm his heart.

A smile pulled at his lips. She was so fucking cute when she was mad. He cupped her elbows. “He got a lucky shot.”

He kept the humor in his tone but in truth, it both embarrassed and angered him that the slimy bastard had gotten in a good strike and was still walking around.

“You need stitches.”

He snorted. “Not for this.”

She widened her eyes and leaned closer to inspect the wound. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”

Still holding her elbows, he eased her back an inch. “It needs a good cleaning and maybe a butterfly bandage at most.” He brushed his fingers over the mark on her cheek. “How’re you holding up?”

The disgruntled pinch to her face fell away and her expression softened. Her body melted a few inches toward his.