Theron vanished for only a moment before reappearing, first-aid kit in hand. He lowered himself to the edge of the bed and gently lifted my injured foot into his lap. Heat surged to my cheeks. My nightgown clung damply to my skin, my foot was bleeding, and I still had no clue how I’d ended up here half-dressed, half-dazed, and completely mortified.
“There’s a shard of glass lodged in the cut,” he said, calm and composed. “I need to remove it.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Maybe I should do it,” I suggested, reaching to retrieve my foot, but his fingers wrapped securely around my ankle, holding me still.
“I promise it won’t hurt. Just relax,” he said with a light chuckle.
Relax? Was he serious?
I was sitting on his bed, soaked and half-naked in a nightgown that barely qualified as d
