_0912_writeSM_
"Sit," he says, his voice gravelly as he pulls a wooden chair out from under a desk and sets a metal first-aid box on the table.
I sit down carefully, trying not to wince as the sharp pain in my side flares up with every breath I take.
Ramirez grabs a bottle of antiseptic, a roll of gauze, and a jar of salve. He pulls a stool up right in front of me. He sits so close that the toes of his heavy boots almost touch mine. The sudden proximity has made my skin prickle, my body instinctively tensing up as my internal radar has gone on high alert.
"I'm fine," I snap, pulling back into the wooden chair having realised that he is trying to treat my wounds for me. "I don't need your help. I have dealt with worse."
He unfastens the latch on the box. His dark eyes fix on me with an intense, unreadable look.
"Lift your shirt," he commands softly, looking at my ribs.
"What? No!" I say, flustered.
Ramirez raises an eyebrow, looking at my red face with a dry, unamused expression. "Relax," he mutters, his voice flat and firm. "I'm just trying to clean your wounds, nothing else. You're bleeding, and you can barely breathe without wincing. You need it. Lift the shirt."
<3~~~~<3~~~~<3
She's there to win his trust, gain intel to take down the mafia. But what if he wins her trust first? Does she continue the mission professionally? Or will other secrets be revealed that can change her entire life?
The story picks up pace. Sit tight through the first few chapters. It's worth it.
There will be a book 2!!!