LITMIR.BIZ

      Reid leaned his head sideways over the kitchen sink as Brynn poured another cup of cool water over his eyes. They still burned like the fires of hell, but at least his vision had returned and he could speak again. She brushed her hand over his ­forehead, pushing his hair out of the way. “Any better?”

      “I think I’ll live,” he said, straightening. She handed him a clean dish towel, and he patted his face with it. “Next time aim for the bad guy, okay?”

      “Which one was that, again?”

      He shot her a withering look.

      She gave a sheepish smile. “Kidding. I got him, too.”

      “Good, I hope he stumbled into the street and got hit by a goddamned truck,” he said, his anger firing up again in his belly. Fucking bastard. The guy was lucky Brynn had sprayed her mace. Otherwise, Reid might not have been able to stop himself from beating the man into an early grave. The way Brynn had been shaking. Jesus. From wildcat to kitten with the flip of a switch. “We need to call the police. Report him.”

      She rubbed her bare arms and nodded. “Yeah, although I’m sure he’s long gone by now.”

      “He may have to go to the hospital for the nose. They could check for him there.”

      She sank into one of the dining chairs, her cheek still scarlet from where the jerk had struck her. “What were you doing there anyway?”

      He smirked and propped a hip against the kitchen counter. “Because a hotshot lawyer can take care of the bad guys in a pinch, so I followed you. I wasn’t going to let you come out here alone at night… looking like that.”

      She glanced down at her dress. “Like what?”

      His gaze traced the delicate line of her neck, the deep V-cut of her dress, and the swell of her breasts. His mouth watered at the memories of how that ivory skin tasted—like sugared strawberries. He cleared his throat and looked down at the now bloodied dishtowel clenched in his fist. “Never mind. It’s just not a place you should come to by yourself.”

      “Hell,” she said, getting to her feet again, “I didn’t even notice your hand. You’re bleeding.”

      “I’m fine.”

      She grabbed his biceps and guided him back to the sink. “Rinse it with soap and water. I’ll go and see if Kelsey keeps any first aid stuff around.”

      She disappeared into the bathroom, and he turned on the faucet. The soap stung, but the cuts seemed minor, although his knuckles were already starting to swell. He shook his head. That’d be great for first impressions with clients on Monday. Yes, let me help you with your domestic violence case. Oh, yeah, don’t mind the black-and-blue knuckles. I’m really a good, responsible professional.

      Brynn emerged from the bathroom with a handful of Band-Aids and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She pointed to the dining room table. “Sit.”

      He dried his hands with a paper towel and fought a smile. She always had been a bossy little thing. But he knew the truth. Under­neath all that tight control was a woman who, at least when he’d known her, loved handing over the reins. He swallowed hard, tamping down memories he didn’t need to rehash at the moment.

      He dropped into one of the chairs, and Brynn sat across from him, her knees bumping against his. He widened his legs, and after the briefest of hesitations, she scooted forward, allowing his thighs to frame the outsides of hers as she reached for his injured hand. She circled her fingers around his right wrist, his pulse jumping at her touch, and brought his hand up to her face to examine it. His fingers itched to reach out and trace the bow of her lips.

      Dammit. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his desire to touch her in check, but the citrus scent of her shampoo drifted to his nose and sent a bolt of carnal need straight to his groin.

      He stared down at her. One quick grasp of her waist and he could lift her to straddle his lap, bunch up that dress, and slide his cock right into her sweet heat—kiss away all the tension furrowing her brow, drive her to that place of wild abandon he knew she could reach.

      Without thinking, he lifted his other hand and twined her broken dress strap between his fingers, brushing the backs of his sore knuckles across her collarbone in the process. The small catch of breath in the back of her throat made his balls tighten. Such a feminine sound, so close to the noise she would make as he entered her.

      But she didn’t raise her eyes to him and beg him to take her like he secretly hoped she would. She simply took the slip of material from him and tucked it under her bra strap to hold it in place, sending her message loud and clear. Not yours.

      Not anymore.

      “This may hurt a little,” she said, her voice tighter than it had been. She laid his hand on the table, moved her chair back a notch, and dampened a cotton ball with disinfectant.

      He winced when the cotton touched his open skin, the sting helping to drag his mind back from the depths. He shifted in his seat. “So where is your sister anyway? Isn’t she the whole reason you rushed out here?”

      She glanced up, her green eyes glinting with worry before she dropped her focus back to her task. “She wasn’t here when I arrived, and I can’t get her on her phone.”

      He frowned. “Is it standard MO for her?”

      She shrugged, but the motion seemed tense instead of casual.

      “Is

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