“Hey,” Aidan said, and when she didn’t look at him, he wound his hand in her hair and gently tugged until she lifted her face.

“What?” she asked, more than a little defensively.

His eyes had softened—when did that happen?—and he kissed her softly. “You take your time,” he whispered.

Stunned, she stood there.

Not Aidan. He went back to nuzzling now, making a low, very male sound deep in his throat, like maybe she was the best thing that had happened to him all day.

And then there were his hands. Big and somehow both rough and incredibly tender at the same time, slipping down her back to squeeze her ass—which elicited another of those sexy growls from him, damn him—and then up and beneath her shirt.

He was hot, too hot, body heat radiating off him, and that feeling she’d had that something was off came back. He was leaning on her again and breathing fast. Too fast.

All hard to focus on when his hands cupped her breasts. He groaned, maybe because she wasn’t wearing a bra. She might have asked him, but his work-roughened fingers rasped over her nipples and she couldn’t form a sentence.

“You smell good,” he murmured. “And you feel good. So fuckin’ good, Lily.”

Giving in, she ran her hands over him, too, unzipping his sweatshirt, peeling it off, letting it fall to the floor. This left him in his dark blue firefighter polo. “Aidan, why’s your shirt wet?”

“It’s not.”

“Yes,” she said. “It is—” She pulled back and her heart stopped. Just stopped. “Oh, my God, you’re covered in blood.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” She carefully tugged up his shirt and gasped. “You’re got a huge gash across your side.”

He looked down. “Huh. Look at that.”

She gaped at him. Then went hands on hips. “Strip,” she demanded.

His mouth quirked, but there was a tightness to it and a grimness to the set of his face, making her realize that he was in real pain. And he’d hidden it. “I mean it,” she said firmly. “Strip.”

“Not even going to buy me dinner first?” he asked, but kicked off his boots and then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He tried to pull his shirt over his head and hissed in a breath. “No go,” he said, and tore it off instead.

She gave a completely inappropriate shiver of sheer lust before taking in the bruises and cuts on his torso, and her heart squeezed again. All her fears coming to life right before her.

He’s still breathing, she reminded herself, trying to calm her racing pulse. And joking around. He was going to be okay but God … his poor body. “Oh, Aidan.”

“That’s ‘Oh, Aidan, I want to fuck you right now,’ right?” he asked with a male’s eternal optimism.

“Lie down,” she said, and pointed to the bed.