Georgia's POV
When Nick spoke about Reagan, about what he and Liam had overheard from their grandparents, his voice was low and rough, filled with anger that still hadn't burned out.
I could feel it pulsing in the air between us, thick and hot, matching the way his jaw clenched every time he spoke his brother's name.
I didn't interrupt. I just listened, letting him release the storm while my fingers moved gently, carefully, cleaning his wound with antiseptic. By the time he finished his story, I'd already spread ointment across all his bruises and cuts.
"Now kiss me," he said.
I blinked. "What?" I was totally surprised.
"You heard me," he murmured, his gaze burning into mine. "Kiss me."
I gave him a look. "Why all of a sudden?"
He smirked, that familiar teasing glint appearing despite the tension. "My lower lip hurts. They say saliva helps wounds heal faster… so kiss me. Maybe lick it a little."
I couldn't help but laugh softly. "Really? Won't that hurt more?"
