Time to get it together, Talie. I could analyze myself and behavior later. Alone.
Gavin lowered me to the cushions, laying me across the plush, oversized couch and then propping a pillow behind my back.
“I’m fine,” I said and started to sit up. “I can just go have this looked at in Surf City at the walk-in clinic.”
“You’re going to drive yourself over there with a jellyfish tentacle in your arm?”
Well, duh. Of course I would.
“No,” he commanded.
Did he think I was a dog?
“You’re not the boss of me!” I snapped like an angry five-year-old and swung my feet onto the floor.
His arms shot out, caging me in against the couch. He leaned close, so close I could feel the coolness of his breath across my cheek. “You wouldn’t make it three steps toward the door.”
“What are you gonna do? Tie me down?”
“If I have to,” he rumbled.
I shuddered. The image of him tying me up and doing whatever he pleased with me sent jolts of heady desire down low into my belly.
His lips curved into a knowing smile. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I gave him a hell no look.
“Little liar,” he whispered before pulling away.
I sank back against the cushions, my body feeling like a bowl full of Jell-O. Twinges of pain shot up my arm, and I looked down. My wrist and forearm were swelling slightly and my skin was an angry shade of red.
“Could I have some ice?” I asked, thinking it would soothe the pain.
“No,” he said on his way out of the room.
That was just rude.
He was entirely too bossy.
“What the hell did you bring me here for if you weren’t going to give me some ice?” I yelled after him.
He didn’t even reply. A few moments later, he came sauntering back into the room, carrying a load of supplies. None of it appeared to be ice. He was still not wearing a shirt, and frankly, looking at all his tan perfection was making me grouchy. He shouldn’t put the goods on display if he wasn’t going to let me sample them.
“Don’t you ever wear a shirt?” I grumped.
“Only when I have to.” He was busy lining up supplies along the wooden coffee table.
“What is all that?” I asked dubiously.
He picked up a pair of rubber gloves and slid them on. “Stuff to treat you.”
“I need ice. Not…” I glanced at the large clear bottle with a white label. “Is that vinegar?”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “Ice will change the toxicity in the sting and cause more pain. Vinegar will neutralize some of the proteins and make it feel better.”
Well, didn’t he sound intelligent?
As he was opening up a little white kit, he glanced at me, his eyes assessing my face. “Are you feeling dizzy? Trouble breathing?”
“No.”
“That’s good,” he said and smiled. His voice was low and soothing. He was calm and collected and acted like he treated these kinds of stings all the time. It made me feel safe.
He held up a pair of large tweezers in his gloved hand. “I’m going to remove the tentacle. I’ll be as gentle as I can, okay? Try and hold still.”
I held out my arm to him and turned my face away.
He chuckled. “Chicken.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to watch you dig that thing out of my skin.”
I felt a small pinch and the burning intensified, and then he pulled away. “Got it,” he said.
I watched as he wrapped the nasty thing in a napkin and then slid off his glove and created a ball around the napkin. Next he handed me a large plastic bowl. “Hold this under your arm,” he instructed.
I did and he began to pour the vinegar over the wound. I held my breath, expecting more pain, but nothing happened. When he was done, he took the bowl and soaked a thick white cloth in the leftover vinegar. Then he placed it over my arm.
“It needs to soak for a few minutes.”
I wrinkled my nose against the strong odor of the liquid and settled against the couch.
“Want some coffee?” he called from what I guessed was the kitchen.
“Sure.”
He returned a few moments later carrying two white mugs. They looked small in his large hands. I took the offered mug and took a sip of the brew and groaned appreciatively.
I felt the intensity of his stare and glanced over, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He was staring, staring in a way that made me aware… aware of his attraction.
It wasn’t one-sided, all those thoughts I’d been having. He’d had a few too.
“If I just need to soak this in vinegar, I can do it at my place,” I said, starting to sit up.
He didn’t say anything, just watched me over the rim of his cup and took a long swallow. When he was done, he set it aside and stood, coming to sit on the coffee table directly in front of me.
He lifted my arm and removed the cloth. After studying it for a few minutes, he picked up a credit card. “I’m going to scrape the top of the sting. It might hurt.” He took no pleasure in that thought, which made my insides do a little happy dance.
“You want to scrape my arm with your credit card?”
“I’ll be gentle,” he said, looking me in the eye. “It’s to remove any leftover nematocysts.”
I bit my lip and nodded.
Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt. If anything, it felt good. The area was beginning to itch and this was good relief. After a few seconds of scraping the top, he reapplied the vinegar compress.
“After a few minutes, we’ll wash it off and apply some hydrocortisone cream.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. He sure knew how to act like a jerk, but it was clear he knew how to not act like one too.
“So,” I said after a couple minutes of silence. “What do you do?”
“Surf.”
“Oh. Are you a pro?”
“Nope.”
“Do you live here alone?”
“Yep.” He moved off the coffee table and went into the kitchen. I heard some cupboards opening and closing, and a few seconds later, he came back shoving a little white cake in his mouth. A rectangular white box was tucked under his arm and he carried a clear wrapper with another identical cake inside.
He sat down and shoved the other one in his mouth. Whole.
“Snack cake?” he said, offering me the box as he propped his bare feet on the table.
“No, thanks.”
He shrugged and pulled out another package and proceeded to make short work of it as well.