“Oh, I’m fine,” I say, waving him off.
He gives me a skeptical glare as if he doesn’t actually believe me.
“Sit on the counter, Blair.”
Lord.The way he says my name has me ready to obey his every command.
Except the moment I try to pull myself to sit on the ledge of the counter, pain slices through me. Griffin is there instantly with his hands on my waist, helping me up. My body trembles from his touch. He pulls away quickly, but the touch is now branded on my skin. The heat spreading to every part of me.
Griffin opens the case next to me. His eyes bounce between the cut on my leg and the first aid kit to see what supplies he needs. I watch his eyes with every movement. In them, I can see a man who deeply cares, even though he pretends to not.
As if he can sense me staring, he keeps his head down, lifting only his eyes to meet mine. Goose bumps pebble over my skin even though I still feel hot all over, but I brush my hands over my forearms to hide the effect he has on me right now.
He clears his throat before averting his gaze back to my leg.
His large, calloused hand rests on my opposite thigh from where the wound is, and it only makes me realize how big this man really is.
“This might sting,” he warns, lifting a bottle of antiseptic.
I nod, because I can’t find a word to say back, even if I tried. Because Griffin Barlow is standing so close to me, in my kitchen, with his hands on me. Him being here is turning my brain to mush. It’s distracting me from the pain enough, but it’s causing me to fumble any words I dare try to say out loud.
I shouldn’t feel turned on by this. I shouldn’t be thinking about my neighbor this way. I shouldn’t want to kiss him right now.
It’s not why I came to Bluestone Lakes.
I didn’t come here to find a new relationship or get involved with anyone.
But the way he’s so close right now sends my brain into overdrive.
He pours the antiseptic on it, and I hiss from the pain. My hands fly up to grip both of his biceps on their own accord, while I wait for the burning sensation to pass.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly.
My hands release their claw-like hold on his upper arm, and our eyes meet. Stormy blue eyes bore into mine and capture all my attention.
“Are you?” I ask, the corner of my lip twisting in a half smile.
I watch his throat bob as he swallows and then nods before grabbing something from the kit and looking back down at my leg. I can’t help but keep watching his face. Assessing every feature and fighting the urge to run my hands along the thick scruff on his jawline or remove his baseball cap and run my hands through the hair he keeps hidden.
“Got it,” he says, lifting the tweezers in the air with a large chunk of wood between them.
My lips part in shock that he pulled that out without me even noticing. I expected to feel the pain when he did, but clearly, I was so transfixed by this man that it took away any pain I was just feeling.
“How are you feeling?” he asks me.
“Lightheaded,” I answer quickly and honestly. It’s not just the splinter removal that’s making me feel lightheaded, it’s his presence. “But okay.”
He places the tweezers down next to the first aid kit before taking half a step back and resting both hands on each side of my thighs. He leans down until his face is eye level with mine. My heart pounding rapidly in my chest with each passing moment of him staring at me with uncertainty. As if he’s afraid I’m going to keel over any second.
If he keeps looking at me like that, I might.
“I’m okay, Griffin,” I assure him.
He clears his throat, breaking whatever the hell that just wasbetween us before looking down at the ground and taking a step away from me. I already feel cold at the lack of his body.
I want him in my space.
I don’t want him to leave.
