Hana forced herself to turn in the small space, the hard edge of the counter digging into her spine. Logan didn’t give, keeping his arms clamped around her torso and observing her rotation with a blank expression. The fine chest hairs tickled the end of Hana’s nose as she faced him, tilting her head backwards to examine his injuries. Her gaze raked the cuts and bruises as anger re-surged and the grinding of her teeth started a dull ache at the base of her skull.
A deep graze bit into Logan’s jawbone. Open and raw, it glistened with clear sticky stuff which had dried into translucent scabs. He’d removed the tape from his temple and the tails of black stitches poked through the skin. He carried his head at an odd angle and every movement raised a wince to his handsome but battered features.
