Liora
Bob arrived with the first-aid kit as promised, setting it on the coffee table with a soft, “Young Master will take care of it.” The way he said it made my cheeks burn. Ezra didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened as he knelt down in front of me again.
Kneeling. In front of me.
I still wasn’t used to the sight. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.
“I can do it myself,” I murmured.
He didn’t even look up. “You can. But you won’t.”
And with that, the matter was settled.
His touch was surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the broken skin along the back of my heel. Every time he brushed too close to a tender spot, my breath caught, and I hated that he noticed each reaction. Hated even more that he slowed down because of it.
“You need lower heels,” he said quietly.
“I’m supposed to look prof
