Sweetest Temptations by J.C. Valentine

his lips twitched. “Just let me take care of you. It’s good for my ego.”
    I rolled my eyes. Well, when he put it that way, how could I deny him?
    A moment later, Jack stood, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “The wounds are superficial. Just a few scrapes. They probably sting like a sonovabitch though, am I right?”
    I could have told him that.
    Satisfied with his friend’s assessment, Kennedy helped me to my feet. “Hell, yes, they do,” I declared, grimacing as the skin on my knees shifted, highlighting the prickle of pain where air kissed broken skin.
    “Ray?” Kennedy asked, turning his attention to the guy who checked my vitals.
    “Everything is good, man.”
    Seemingly satisfied with their verdicts, Kennedy cupped my elbow and tugged me toward the door. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
    I followed him through the firehouse’s main floor to a private bathroom where he grasped my waist and deposited me on the edge of the sink counter. Without a word, Kennedy dug around in the cabinet below my feet. When he came back up, he held the makings of a first-aid kit.
    Slipping my sandal off, Kennedy set it on the counter beside me, and then placed my bare foot against his chest, pressing just hard enough to keep it in place. I felt a string of butterflies fluttering in my stomach on contact, but I found that I liked where I was—in Kennedy’s strong, capable hands.
    “You don’t have to do this,” I told him, but my protest was weak, even to my own ears.
    Kennedy glanced up at me, studying me closely for a few seconds. “I know.”
    Those two words held so much power, so much promise. They said that he wanted to be here with me, he wanted to take care of me. Or maybe I was reading more into it than I should. Either way, I said nothing. I just continued to watch Kennedy go to work on me, using his hands to fix me up.
    In the cramped confines of the room, there was nowhere else to look but at Kennedy, which wasn’t a hardship. He was gorgeous, especially when he was in his element, as he so clearly was now. His brows pulled together as he concentrated on dabbing the dried blood from my knee with a wet cloth. Once he sufficiently cleaned the area, he reached for a bottle of disinfectant. “This might sting a little,” he muttered, just before he rained unholy fire on me.
    “Ah!” My leg jerked, trying to break free, but Kennedy gripped my ankle. I sucked air through my teeth, willing the burn to go away, when I caught him watching me.
    Holding my eyes, Kennedy slowly lowered his head and I found myself beginning to relax as I watch his lips pucker. He blew gently on the area, soothing the burn, and my muscles slowly began to unwind. “Better?” I nodded. “Good.”
    I watched his fingers as he finished cleaning and bandaging me up. I was mesmerized by the steady, confident, competent way in which he worked, the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he tore open bandages and set them just right, the way his mouth moved each time he blew cool air on my wounds to chase away the burn, and how the light from overhead seemed to cast him in the perfect amount of shadow, making him appear equal parts dark, sexy, and authoritative. I didn’t so much as flinch when he moved to the other knee, and by the time he got to my palms, I was nearly quivering with the need for him to kiss me.
    “It’s not too bad here,” he said, smoothing light fingertips over my open palm. “I don’t think you’ll need any bandages.” He lifted his eyes and I felt the fluttering in my stomach increase.
    “Okay.”
    “Some antibiotic cream should do it.”
    “Okay.”
    His eyes burned into mine as he stood there, close enough that my knees pressed against his taut stomach, watching me with a quiet intensity that should have been unnerving, but only served to send my heart rate into overdrive. Holy hell, did I want this man.
    For a long moment, I was lost in his eyes, in the feel of his warm, strong hand holding mine,