The small smile had more than one meaning. It had my inner guy perking to attention. "Girls don't generally complain about beard burn, do they? Isn't it supposed to be a way for guys to mark girls, claim them, be all romantic in a Neanderthal kinda way, like hickies?"
I arched an eyebrow at her. Oh, is that right. She blushed, furiously and adorably, and backtracked. "I didn't mean you were trying to mark me, I just meant you didn't have to apologize."
I couldn't help myself. I leaned in, putting my hand on the wall behind her head. "How many hickies have you had?"
She bit her bottom lip. Again. "None," she breathed. She put a hand on my chest to keep me from coming closer.
I pursed my lips in approval. "That's a good answer."
"Why do you care?" she asked. It wasn't a demand that she know, it was more like she was genuinely interested. Why did I?
I enjoyed her being that close for a few more seconds before leaning back. "Thanks for taking care of me last night. And for fixing my bandage. I know I was an ass, I'm sorry. I think I owe you some breakfast." I took her hand and towed her to the room. I tied my boots and when I looked up, she was still standing there, looking a little stunned. "Get your shoes on, sweetheart."