I nod, rolling my shoulders back and tilting my head back.
“But the skin glue, it’s an option, right?”
He chuckles. “No, Babygirl. The cut’s too deep for skin glue. If we don’t stitch it, it will get infected. And if it gets infected, it could go straight to your brain, and you’ll die. And you don’t want a little cut from falling through a glass door to be the thing that kills you, do you?”
I lower my chin to shoot him a glare. Using my own words against me is a cheap trick.
“I’m not going to die. I don’t think the glass had rabies. Unlike that raccoon that bit you.”
Seamus laughs. “So, it was a raccoon.”
“Yeah.” I catch Artem’s gaze and smile. “But it was huge, you should have seen it. Claws as big as my head and teeth as long as Artem’s?—”
“Leg.” He cuts me off before I can finish, shooting me a warning look. “Now hold still so I can get this shard of glass.”
Seamus walks around the island, coming to stand beside Artem, then leans in to inspect the wound.
“You’re in my light.” Artem nudges him with his elbow. “And get your eyes away from her.”
The last bit comes out in a growl. Seamus is no danger to me; Artem’s possessiveness is just showing.
I’m know I’m supposed to remind him that he doesn’t own me. That I belong to no man, but I can be honest with myself.His possessiveness heats my blood and gets the rest of me all gooey. I’m a lost cause.
“Where were you when this larger-than-life raccoon attack happened?” Seamus asks.
I wince as the tweezers brush across the wound and then pull back when he yanks a piece of glass free. He holds it up between us. I cover my chest loosely with my hand.
“Are there any more?”
“No.” He drops the glass shard onto a dish, then picks up the gauze and antiseptic again. “I’m going to clean it once more, then I’ll suture it.”
I look away as he presses the damp gauze to my chest, biting back the groan at the intense burn it brings. A low growl comes from his chest as he holds it in place, and when I chance a look at him, the muscles in his jaw are so tight he might actually break a tooth.
“I’m okay.” I touch his hip, needing the connection to him.
His dark eyes are hard when they meet mine. “I have to use the suture now.”
“Right. I know.” I roll my shoulders back again. “Go ahead.”
When I was a kid and it was time for a shot, my mother would hold my hand like any mother. But she told me the reason moms do it is because they can take the pain from their children. So, she’d tell me to squeeze her hand and give it to her. She could take it from me. It worked every time.
It’s amazing how much the brain can do. A simple lie from a mother to a child to ease their pain is all it took.
As soon as the needle pierces my skin, I suck in a breath and squeeze his hip. This is different than a shot. This burns and feels like my skin is being stretched.
“You’re okay, Babygirl,” he whispers, leaning closer to see his work better. “You can squeeze me, that’s fine.”
In all, it takes four stitches. When he snips the end off, I let out a long breath.
“You can let me go now,” he says. “It’s all over.”
I bring my hand to my chest, feeling the stitches. “Yeah. No problem.”
He lifts an eyebrow with a gentle curve of his lips.
“No problem at all.” He leans into me, so Seamus can’t hear him. “You did so good, Babygirl. Very brave for daddy. I’m proud of you.”
His words put a vise grip on my heart. They also soak my panties for a reason I’d rather not unpack with his actual father standing a few feet behind me. He’s proud of me? For taking a few stitches without screaming?