Just freaking dandy. She never wanted to talk to him, so why now? “Fine,” he said, still terse, and kept walking.
It shocked the hell out of him when, before he could reach his front door, she joined him on his porch.
“You’re bleeding.”
Briefly, he closed his eyes, trying to get his temper under control. “An accident. Nothing major.”
“Let me see.”
“Shouldn’t you be running the other way?”
She pulled her head back, glared at him, then took the keys from his hand and, scowling as much as him, opened his door.
“Go to your kitchen,” she ordered, and now she was the one being abrupt. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”
He didn’t know what the hell to think, but having her in his house quickly took the heat from his rage. Wondering what she would do, he said, “Under my bathroom cabinet.”
“I’ll be right back.”
As if she invaded the homes of bachelors every day—bachelors she usually avoided—Brooklin went down his hall. Their houses were set up the same. Hell, most of the houses on the street were the same inside, with only subtle differences outside.
Wondering if he’d picked up his dirty clothes after his shower that morning, Nathan went to the kitchen sink and unwrapped his hand. The pad of his thumb on his left hand had already bruised around the two-inch slice. He threw away the cloth and ran water over his hand so he could see how deep it might be.
“Here, sit down.” Brooklin showed up with his first-aid kit and pulled a chair toward him. She looked at the blood and bruises, assessing the damage, then began cleaning it with an antiseptic. “How’d you do this?”
She held his large, tanned hand in her much smaller, much paler fingers while she worked. Nathan studied the top of her bowed head. “Stupid cat got stuck in a stupid old air conditioner, and I had to get it out.”
“And you stupidly cut yourself on a stupid, jagged piece of metal?”
Her take-charge, sassy attitude lightened his own. “Something like that.”
“The cat?”
“Back in the arms of the old lady who owns his mangy ass.”
“I trust he fared better than you?”
“Not a scratch.”
Once she’d cleaned it, Brooklin carefully prodded. “Since your kit has nylon butterfly bandages, I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”
“I already decided that.”
“I’m going to put some medicine on it, okay? Then the bandages, then I’ll wrap it.”
Nathan was busy noticing that for once she wasn’t in running clothes. She also wasn’t wearing a bra under her tan T-shirt. Heat ran up his spine until his collar felt too damn tight.
So did his pants.
“Sure,” he said. “Knock yourself out.”
Instead of activewear, tonight Brooklin wore loose, striped pajama pants. Her thick hair fell free around her face, half hiding her concentrated expression, occasionally brushing his forearm.
Breathing her in, Nathan enjoyed the scents of floral shampoo and sweet, warm woman. She’d broken with her normal routine and that interested him. A lot. “What were you doing before I interrupted?”
She bent closer to his hand. “Waiting for my toenails to dry.”
He glanced down at her bare feet and saw her toenails painted a sparkly purple. For some reason, that made him smile.
“Does this hurt?”
“No.” Not his hand. Other parts were starting to strain a little. “You a nurse or something?”
She hesitated, frozen, then shook her head. “No.” She wrapped some gauze around the bandages.
With his uninjured hand, Nathan lifted her hair away, then held the thick tresses in a loose fist. Their eyes met. “You don’t sound real convinced.”
She straightened abruptly. He didn’t let go of her hair fast enough and she winced at the tug, but said nothing about it. “All done. I hope you’re right-handed.”
“I am.” This time he brushed her hair back over her shoulder. Her hair was thick and warm and it turned him on. Hell, everything about her turned him on, even her obstinate and secretive attitude.
“Good. Might have been more inconvenient if...” Remembering that she didn’t want to engage in casual conversation, she shook her head. “I should get going.” But she looked around his kitchen.
Watching her, Nathan stood. “I don’t suppose I could impose further and ask you to make some coffee for me while I go change?” He still had blood on his shirt and pants.
Again, she looked around his kitchen. “I suppose I could...”
Not giving her a chance to change her mind, he said, “Thanks,” and headed out of the room, already unbuttoning his uniform shirt.
He wouldn’t put it past her to make the coffee and then skip out, so he rushed through changing into a T-shirt and jeans. Barefoot, he stopped in the bathroom and saw that, luckily, he’d left it tidy. He shoved his now-dirty uniform into the hamper and went after her.
Brooklin was in the kitchen, standing at the sink and looking out into the yard, when he came back in.
She didn’t hear him enter.
The loose pajama pants rode low on her curvy hips. The T-shirt hugged her narrow waist and proud shoulders.
And even with her back to him, he remembered how the soft cotton material had molded to her breasts, even showing the outline of her currently soft nipples.
Drawn to her, he stepped closer. “So you used to be a nurse, but you aren’t now?”
Turning, she braced her elbows on the counter and studied him.
This pose was even more enticing, and he couldn’t help but look her over.
She quickly straightened and folded her arms over herself. “You’ve held back all week and now can’t take the curiosity anymore, is that it?”
Nathan had to admit, he loved the way she cut right to the core of things. “Did you appreciate my patience? I jogged with you three times this week, silently, and didn’t ask a single question.”
“No, you didn’t. Your polite understanding of my privacy was a good plan. A solid plan. You impressed me. You should stick with it.”
Hiding his satisfaction, he poured the coffee, one for him and one for her. He’d confused her, probably a good thing.
