Page 68 of Knot a Bad Idea

He searches my gaze but doesn’t answer the question.

Droplets of blood make a sickening softthudagainst the wooden floor of the gazebo. His bloody hand clutches the napkin, which is now stained with splotches of crimson.

I should let the pompous asshole bleed out.

But he keeps his gaze on me, unblinking, and the intensity of it makes me stay.

“Sit down,” I murmur, “before you bleed to death.”

His own suit is dark navy, with a pocket square that I realize matches my dress as I join him on the gazebo bench, doing my best to sit in the tight bodice. The dress fans beneath me, leaving me in a pool of crimson silk.

“Give me your hand,” I say, and Donovan hesitates.

“That’s a ten-thousand-dollar dress,” he says, and I snort.

“Of course it is. You can afford the dry cleaning, then.”

He holds out his palm, and I cringe when I see the damage the glass made. I do my best to soak up the blood with the napkin and stop when I see a particularly nasty piece of glass imbedded in the wound.

“Do you not know how to hold a drink like a normal person?” I tease. I try not to let his closeness get to me, but his scent is potent, and my mouth waters.

I missed him.

He growls. “He was flirting with you,” he says.

“He owns a coffee company.”

“I wouldbuyyou a coffee company.”

This infuriating man and his ridiculous contradictions. They make my chest ache, because I believe hewouldbuy me a coffee company.

So then why would he say those awful things?—

“I’m going to pull this piece of glass out,” I say, interrupting my own train of thought.

He grunts in agreement.

“It’s going to hurt,” I warn him, not feeling guilty at all. “You’re probably going to need stitches.”

“As long as it doesn’t ruin your dress, it’s fine.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand you,” I huff.

“You’re the most beautiful thing here. You deserve to stay spotless,” he says evenly. I meet his eyes for a moment, catching the intensity of the iciness behind them.

He’s soconfusing.

At least I know what I get with Hunter and Liam.

Donovan hides what troubles him, and frankly, I don’t have the energy to drag it out of him.

But I can’t deny the pull I feel to him, and the urge to uncover his secrets.

It’s awful.

Ignoring his compliment, I clutch the jagged shard between my forefinger and thumb, carefully pulling. I should wait until I have tweezers, but a thick piece of glass in his palm could easily grow infected.

I don’t want to see him hurt, at least not from something like this.