The Billionaire’s Cook
I shifted back slightly and reached over to retrieve antiseptic wipes, turning back to him to begin dabbing away at the slightly dried line of blood down the side of his face.
When I noticed his breathing start to get heavier, I quietly said, “Tell me if it hurts.”
“It doesn’t.” His voice came out deep and husky, affecting me more potently than I expected. “It feels good.”
My eyes widened in abrupt shock and I stopped what I was doing to look down at him with concern. “What? Your head injury feels good?”
Was the hit from the book more serious than I first thought?
“Your touch,” he corrected unhurriedly, his eyes falling shut. “You taking care of me. It feels amazing.”