Wrecked by Shiloh Walker

circulation.” She guided his hand back into the water and held it there as the water started to fill up, slowly rising over his wrist and forearm. Once it was up a few inches over the burned areas, she shut it off. “There. You need to keep it in there for twenty minutes or so. We’ll keep letting the water out as it warms up and adding in more cold.”
    “I need to finish the food,” he muttered, staring down into the sink.
    She rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll do it. It’s the thought that counts and all.”
    “I was supposed to be doing the breakfast
for
you . . . not having you cook for me. You always cook for me.”
    “I don’t mind.” She went to glance at him. Such a mistake. That dream, that torrid, wicked dream continued to dance through her mind and when their gazes locked, the heat in his dark blue eyes was enough to leave her feeling like
she
had been scalded. Only there was no pain.
    Just burning, burning heat.
    The breath whooshed down out of her lungs and for a moment, she could picture herself doing exactly what she’d done in that dream. Reaching up, framing his face with her hands, and holding him as she pressed her mouth to his.
    Have a torrid affair with a hot guy
.
    Such a simple thing, it seemed.
    And if this was anybody but her best friend . . .
    Sucking in a breath, she eased away from him just as he opened his mouth. Nerves punched through her, hard and vicious, and she caught the bright edge of them dancing in her voice as she said, “So, what do you want in your omelet? Do you want to be able to taste anything afterward or do you just want it your normal level of spicy?”
    * * *
    The pain in his hand seemed to pale in comparison to the sudden, vicious ache in his dick. Zach brooded. Staring at the back of her head, he had to swallow twice and clear his throat before he could manage anything more than a rasp to answer. “Just do what you want,” he said. “I’m not picky.”
    Then as she knelt down on the floor, the robe she’d pulled on riding high on her thighs, he had to swallow back a groan. “Abs, I’ll clean that up. Why don’t you go get dressed?”
Please? For the sake of my sanity?
“I didn’t mean to drag you out of your shower.”
    When she glanced at him, he nodded toward the stove and said, “It’s not like anything is going to burn.”
    “You need to keep soaking your hand and I’d rather get this cleaned up before it becomes a bigger mess.” She shrugged and went back to the task at hand.
    He went back to fighting the urge to stare at the creamy slope of her breast, which he could see all too easily from where he was standing. And
fuck
 . . . now he knew the answer. Her nipples were a deep, dark rose. Feeling like a fucking Peeping Tom, he dragged his eyes away from her and focused back on his hand. “Sorry about the mess, Abs,” he said.
    “It’s no big deal. I’m just glad you didn’t do anything worse to your hand. Grease burns can be nasty.”
    Staring down at the red splotch spreading across his skin, he grimaced. This was going to be a bitch to deal with for a few days—he could only imagine how much fun it was going to be trying to work. And it served him right. Down here, mentally jacking off while she was in the shower, blissfully unaware of what was going on in his screwed-up head. Yeah, he was lucky it wasn’t a lot worse.
    He shot another glance over at her and wondered if maybe he just shouldn’t scrap his entire plan. He’d come over here because he’d thought about trying to work up to telling her that he’d seen her journal. Or getting her to tell
him
what was in the journal.
    Then what?
he thought sourly. He’d done such a bang-up job so far this morning. Making a mess in her pretty little kitchen. Burning the fuck out of his hand. He ought to just—
    “You look pissed.”
    Startled, he looked up as she moved to come stand next to him. “Huh?”
    “You heard me.” She smiled at him, her dimple