Vital Signs by Em Petrova Page B

short when she tugged him down for a kiss. In a heartbeat, they were right back where they’d left off.
    Carnal desire hit her body. His hands were on her—all over her. Running up and down her sides, cupping her breasts, kneading them. Before he moved downward again to skim her waist and finally squeeze her hips and ass.
    She broke from the kiss and stared into his eyes.
    Ice water splashed over her. She stumbled back, her gaze glued to the bandage on his cheekbone. At first glance she hadn’t noticed it because his face had been angled away.
    “What were you doing?” Her tone still sounded too breathy with lust but she managed to get across her concern too.
    “It’s nothing. C’mere, baby. I’ve been thinking of you all day and this was the best greeting I’ve ever received.” He spun a hand around her spine. Where his big fingers splayed left an imprint of heat that soaked right into her pores.
    No. She resisted his pull. “Have you been fighting?” She examined the sloppy bandage, wondering if he needed stitches under it.
    “Of course not. I don’t have doctor clearances yet.” Damn if he wasn’t wearing the sexiest crooked smile ever. His eyes glinted with mischief and something blazing hot that reminded her of all the pleasure he’d promised.
    But first…
    She settled a hand on her hip and gave Corey her best stay-put-or-you’re-in-trouble stare she reserved for difficult patients. “Sit down in the kitchen and let me take a look at that cut.”
    “It’s nothing.” He reeled her in again. Her breasts caressed against his chest, igniting her. But she wouldn’t be thrown off track.
    “Into the kitchen.”
    He stared at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes and playing about his mouth. He was a beautiful man, but she wouldn’t let his good looks sway her. “I was thinking more about the bedroom but if you prefer the kitchen, I can think of some kinky places to use you.”
    Oh God. His heated words washed across her earlobe. She shivered in his hold, nearly giving in.
    Pushing against his chest, she spun away. Before he caught her, she made it to the kitchen and located her work bag containing most things needed to save a life. Or properly bandage a cut he probably got during an altercation.
    He leisurely flipped her kitchen chair backward and straddled it. His totally masculine pose almost sent her into spasms of need. She forced her eyelids to stop fluttering and concentrated on her patient.
    She unzipped her bag. He started to reach inside but she slapped his fingers. His laugh, a low chuckle, burrowed deep into her woman parts. “Hold still while I remove your bandage.” Using a pair of tweezers, she caught the edge.
    “I told you it’s fine. Cleaned it out myself.”
    She arched a brow at him. “Oh? And just how did you receive this injury?”
    “Nineteen Pasidony Street.”
    She went dead still. That address sounded all too familiar—especially since they’d been flashing it all over her TV screen this afternoon. “You went on a call.” It wasn’t a question.
    “Angel…” He cradled her hips in his big palms oh, so well.
    She yanked the bandage free, barely leaving any of his skin around the wound intact. She sucked in a breath, partly with relief that the injury was in fact minor and partly to try to gain control.
    “You went on a call and what? Got this from…?”
    “Exploding glass. Was my own fault. I didn’t have my helmet in place when I went in. Rookie mistake.” He offered her a wide smile, which she returned with a glare.
    She examined his cut from a different angle, and sure enough, spotted a glint of glass in the bottom edge. “What did you clean this out with?”
    “Water and paper towel back at the station. Why?”
    “There’s still glass in it. Can’t you feel it?”
    He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “After having a pipe in your chest you don’t notice a little twinge like that.”
    Shaking her head, she readied a bottle of antiseptic liquid to use to