Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

I need to draw away, to create space between us, but his fingers clamp around my forearm, and he grumbles as he marches me over to the deep farm sink. He flicks on the cold water, testing the temperature with his free hand before giving a terse nod and gently lowering my stinging one beneath the cool stream. I hiss when the water hits it and try to pull away from him—I’m perfectly capable of tending to my own burn. But his hand has an unyielding grip, not aggressive, but not forgiving either. He doesn’t let me go. It’s only when I sigh and surrender to his hold that his thumb brushes against my skin. Once. Twice. I shiver. A third time. I soften. I don’t know how long we stand there, him pressed flush against me. My only protection against him is a flimsy layer of fabric. “There,” he says quietly, turning my hand over again to assess the damage, water streaming over the opposite side. “I’ve had worse burns,” I mutter. And it’s true. Burns are a fact of life when you work in a kitchen. Rhys doesn’t seem to care about my thoughts on the matter, though. He ignores me and carries on overreacting. “Where’s your first aid kit?” “Under the sink. I can⁠—” Before I can finish, he drops down at my bare feet and yanks the kitchen cupboard open. I can’t help but stare at the way his lips pop open on a breathy sigh as he rifles through the contents. “Just fucking let me take care of you. Where is it?” He glances up at me, and my stomach bottoms out. All those dark features homed in on ...