It was deep enough to bleed heavily, but it had missed the major muscle groups.

“It needs to be cleaned,” I said.

I opened the kit and pulled out antiseptic wipes and a sterile bandage.

Arthur sat perfectly still as I pressed a wet wipe against the cut.

He flinched slightly, his jaw muscles twitching as the medicine stung.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“It is fine,” he said.

I worked slowly, cleaning the blood away from the pale skin of his shoulder.

He was muscular, his frame solid and mapped with a few older, faded scars.

I had never been this close to him without his armor of expensive suits.

The scent of his cologne, mixed with the metallic smell of blood, filled my senses.

“You saved my life tonight,” I said softly, focusing on my work.

“I protected my asset,” he repeated, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

I stopped cleaning and looked up at him.

Our faces were only inches apart.

“Stop saying that,” I said.

He looked down at me, his dark eyes intense and unreadable.

“Why does it bother you?” he asked.