Arranged Marriage

Chapter 14

"They're not deep," Patrick told me as he assessed the palms of my hands.

After Patrick let the boys take over finding out how a shooter got past the front gate, he had led me back to my bathroom to clean me up.

"Come on," he said softly, pulling me from the toilet seat and leading me over to the sink.

I hissed when the cold water hit the tiny cuts.

"Ow, ow, ow!" I growled through my teeth before Patrick finally turned off the tap.

"God, do you want to hurt me or something?" I groaned, taking back my hands and walking over to the towel.

"You know that's not what I want," he told me, though I still needed proof, "Hey."

I turned around at the different tone in his voice before flinching. When did Patrick get that close to me? We were inches apart but not touching at all.

"Just stay still," he told me, reaching his hand to my hairline.

Pinching pain seized my forehead causing me to hiss.

"One, more, second," he groaned, "Got it."

I frowned, holding my forehead and staring at the tiny bit of glass in Patrick's fingers.

"Damn, my whole hair is probably full of that," I scoffed, annoyed.

If I hadn't been so frustrated, this would never have happened. I would never had been in the study and we wouldn't have been shot at.

"Here."

I didn't have time to protest. Patrick already had my hair and had pulled out the band that held the messy bun.

"Hey!" I cried, backing away from him, "We really need to work on your personal space."

He chuckled but before I knew it, he was running his fingers through my hair. I would have protested, at least groaned, but it felt so good to have him massaging my skull.

"See," he whispered, "All gone."

I smiled, a form of a 'thank you' though I couldn't quite get the words out. My mouth dropped when I spied a red stain on Patrick's white dress shirt.

"Patrick, you're bleeding," I cried, grabbing the collar just in time before he stepped out of my reach.

"It's nothing," he groaned.

"You were cut," I snapped.

"Shot actually, well grazed," he corrected himself.

I couldn't believe him. He was truly a Man's man. He seriously dealt with my tiny cuts when he had been shot? What the hell was wrong with him?

"Sit down," I ordered.

The shock on his face was worth it, "Excuse me? You're ordering me now?"

"Got a problem with that? Sit down."

At first, I was surprised that all he did was groan before sitting down on the toilet. Then I felt kind of smug and proud. I just ordered Patrick Maestri.

"Get that smug look off your face, this is a onetime thing," he told me, only making it grow.

Taking the hand towel, I ran it under water. The towel soaked up every little drop, the wetness spreading to the edges.

"Take off your shirt," I ordered, turning off the tap.

Patrick grumbled, like expected, but started to unbutton his shirt.