Chapter 5. ­­Hands

The man came back after what seemed ages and holding a first aid box.

Was he a doctor? He could have been...but then, was he going to check me out himself?

“Are you… a doctor?” I asked him.

“No,” he sat down next to me, “but I’ve called one and he’s on his way.”

“So what are you doing with that?”

He bent down in front of me, which should have been impossible because he was wearing dress pants. But he did and the pants stretched alarmingly across his thighs making me more than ever conscious of him. This was insane because never before had I ever focused on a man like this. I was getting hot under the collar now. I started fidgeting under his scrutiny.

“We should clean up your wound so it doesn’t get infected,” He looked at me then for a long minute, the man was making me wish I had worn jeans or something. In my scraped knee and this dress, I was feeling like a child.

He looked at me over once, sighed and then gently took my leg in one of his hands while he reached for something with his other. It was a wet cloth; he must have brought it with him.

He had really big hands, I thought as he brought the washcloth closer to my ruined bleeding knee. I swallowed as I saw the mess I was in.

Gently, so gently it seemed impossible for a man with such giant hands, he started to wipe away the congealed blood and dirt off of my knee in circular motions.

I winced as he touched a particular spot and he looked up at me in concern.

“Did that hurt?”

I shook my head.

He looked at me a minute and then abruptly stood up

“Cmon..”

“Where?”

“This is not working; we need to go to the washroom for this”

“This is fine,” I argued, not intending to leave this sofa as I’d been glued to it. I didn’t want to enter more of his house than necessary.

“We’ll do it the way you like it then,” he shot me an exasperated look and then reached down and picked me up.

Again.

“I don’t like to be picked up and carried around like a sack of potatoes,”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” he replied very casually

Did he know I wasn’t totally averse to being carried around by him? This was scary, something I shouldn’t be thinking, and something I shouldn’t be doing.

I mean, I didn’t even know the man. A fact which I kept repeating to myself but that didn’t register.

I was thinking with my hormones.

We went down a long corridor with a few doors along the way and then we entered into what seemed to be the master bedroom, all done up in greys and whites.

It seemed to be a powerful, masculine room with what looked like priceless art pieces around the room. The room was pristine, apart from the bed, which seemed slept in.

So he didn’t make his bed? I was relieved at that one clue that made him seem human.

I didn’t know why I was so fascinated by all these details.

He took me straight towards another door which was a full ensuite washroom, a room as big as my entire small flat. Why did anyone need a washroom this big?

He took me towards a glass shower cubicle with a low ledge on one side.

As if I needed another reason to be intimidated by him, I thought as he gently lowered me down on my feet but kept a hold on me, his warm hand wrapped around my waist.

“Sit down on that ledge, I’ll wash this blood off.” He started fiddling with his overhead shower and just brought it out. Oh, it was a handheld showerhead. Wow well, that made things easier.

“I’ll do it,” I quickly said, reaching over to take it from him.

“Leave it to me, we don’t want more accidents.”

“It’s my leg.” He shot me a look at that reply.

I made a face and folded my hands. I wasn’t the child he made me feel like.    

His hand grasped my ankle and he brought it up, making my breath catch. He had amazing hands, long, lean with beautiful finger. I found myself wondering what else he could do with those hands, with those fingers.

“Seline?”

I realized he was talking to me.

“uh, yes?” My voice barely came out.

He looked at me then, his smirked as if he knew what I was thinking. I quickly readjusted my imagination to safer thoughts.

“Can you pull the skirt of your dress up just a bit?”

Why did he have to say these things in that tone? That tone that suggested other things. It wasn’t a long way from pull up your skirt to just take it off or was it?

That tone made me want to do things. Things for him. Whatever he said.

I shivered and pulled up my skirt.

I pulled it up an inch and then another until it was out of the way of the water.

He turned on the shower and gently washed all the blood and dirt off. It didn’t hurt so much now.

Or maybe I was sufficiently distracted by his hands on my bare leg.

I felt too hot even though the water was barely warm. Was I coming down with a fever?

I frowned and reached up to feel my head, it seemed fine.

What was happening to me?

“Cmon, here take my hand,” I looked down at his hand to see that he was standing up.

Oh, he had cleaned me up and I hadn’t even noticed, so absorbed was I.

Why did he talk to me as if he had known me forever? I was just a girl he’d met. Unless, he made a habit of bringing over girls to his penthouse.

I swallowed.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll try to stand up on my own,” I tried to be as formal as I could.

 “Okay, as you wish,” he replied equally formally but I detected a hit of a smile as he turned away. The shower was still running in his hands.

“You shouldn’t waste water like that,” I said pointing towards the movable showerhead in his hands as I gingerly stood up on my feet and started to get out of the cubicle.

A sharp pain shot down my leg just like the last time Id tried to stand on it and I stumbled colliding into Damien, who had been reaching for the knobs.

“Fuck!” He caught me to him as we went down, the showerhead flying over us.