Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

He winds his arms around my back, pulling me tight
against his chest. His voice is a low, pleased rumble. “I’m
here. Did you miss me?”
“No. Not even a little bit.” I snuggle closer against him, as
close as I can get, dragging his scent into my nose and
shuddering a little in happiness.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Liar. Give me
your mouth.”
I tip my head back and immediately get his lips on mine.
He kisses me voraciously, holding me tight.
When we come up for air, I say breathlessly, “Why is there
blood all over your shirt?”
“Because some asshole shot me.”
Horrified, I pull out of his arms and stare at him, looking
for holes. “What? Oh shit! Where?”
“My shoulder. Relax. It’s barely a scratch.”
“Scratches don’t bleed like that! Let me see—take off your
shirt!”
He smiles indulgently at me, as if I’m a fussing baby. “Not
even sixty seconds in the door and she’s already trying to get
me naked.”
Hands on my hips, I glower at him. “Don’t talk about me
like I’m not in the room. And get your shirt off before I have a
heart attack.”
His smile grows wider. “And you say I’m bossy.”
He complies with my demand, swiftly unbuttoning his
shirt. When he drops it to the floor and stands there bare
chested, I take a moment to admire him before I remember
what I’m supposed to be doing: looking for holes.
I quickly find what I’m looking for. On the outer part of
his shoulder is an ugly red gash from which blood is still
leaking.
“Sit,” I order, pushing him toward the bed.