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was only decent when fully dressed.”
    They’d been through this so many times.  “I’m fine.  You don’t have to take care of -”
    “Bleeding,” he interrupted, motioning to the trickle already flowing into a full-blown canal pooling on the top of her foot.  While wiping the suds from her chin, he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip.  “Do you have first aid supplies…who am I kidding?  I’ll make a run back down to the club.”
    She cocked an indignant brow.  “I have stuff in the bathroom.”
    He didn’t bother to hide his astonishment.  “Really?”
    “Yes, really.”
    “Okay.  I’ll help you with that.”  Ryan gestured in the vicinity of her legs.  “Then,” he surveyed the kitchen, blowing out a slow breath, “mop up whatever’s going on in there.  God, are you trying to electrocute yourself?”
    “I was out of the powder stuff.”
    “I’m a floor below,” he pointed out, staring down at her. “And I’m a phone call away.  Always .  But lately, I think you’ve lost my number.”
    “Ryan.”  She attempted something as both palms unconsciously came up in that pleading stance she always took when he was around.  “I have so much going on, and I can’t do this.  You give and give and I can’t keep taking from people, particularly you.”
    “You’ve never taken a dime from me.”
    “We both know that’s not what I’m talking about.  But to clarify, it’s the whole I can’t go there speech.  Except it isn’t a speech, but the truth, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear it again.   I certainly don’t want to repeat it.” She righted her skirt while pushing away the clinging suds.
    “Back to that.”
    “Never left that,” she said, squaring her shoulders.
    “We’re not having that conversation now.”  He clamped a steely palm over her arm, pulling her toward the kitchen.  Without another word, he jogged in an out of the bathroom with peroxide and cotton balls in tow.  “You don’t have bandages.”  He easily lifted her onto the snack bar.
    “I’m a tough gal.”  She grinned.  Relieved they’d dropped the unpleasant conversation she usually didn’t escape with him lately.  Of course, not wanting a relationship with Ryan didn’t stop her from ogling, not at all.  As far as she could tell, her hunky self-imposed guardian was physically flawless.    Ah, there’s no randomness in beauty , Blythe mused, since nature selects those who must be a step above, or even a few miles ahead of the rest.  It was a cosmic something or other, which happened from time to time.  A high-five from the genetic lottery bestowed upon the few lucky ones.  She admired the view, because she wasn’t nearly dead yet, and Ryan was a stunning man.
    He settled a chair between her thighs.  Giving her no other choice but to sit and endure or attempt another smack down on the tile.  Unnerving as usual, Ryan locked his possessive eyes with hers and reached under her skirt.  With a precision only a man who knew his way around a female body could take; he smoothly slid her pantyhose down her long shaky legs.  His nostrils flared a bit, going white around the edges, a telltale sign against his golden complexion.  Only then, did he break his hypnotic stare to pour the cool peroxide on the blood-matted nylon, forcing it to give way.  “Ouch,” she hissed.  Eyes flipping back to hers, he whispered lips over the worst of her cuts, staring soul-deep while kissing her bleeding leg.  “You shouldn’t,” she protested, but he simply tightened his hold when she tried to yank her leg away.
    He licked his bottom lip, openly tasting a drop of blood.  “It’s just you,” he said, voice dripping an octave with that gruff sex-filled edge of his, “and me.”
    Still holding on to her calf, he rubbed deep circles with his thumb, inching up and up and….  “Thanks, I have to get some rest.”  A level below, Six Feet Under’s throbbing music had just stalled out for