The Knight in Leather Armor

ch.45 His Golden Butterfly

I reached into Harry’s pocket and took his keys.

“What are you doing?” he asked when I took his arm and gently led him to the passenger’s seat.

“Driving us home,” I replied calmly.

“No, I’m driving,” he replied with a stubborn shake of his dark curls. He walked toward the driver’s seat, but I already sat tight in it.

“Harry, you’re hurt, let me drive,” I insisted.

“It’s a stick shift,” he reminded me.

I flustered a moment. Driving a stick was like trying to control a time bomb; there’s too much power in too tiny a spot.

But I kept my word and folded my arms over my chest, matching his stubbornness.

Harry took a deep breath and for a moment, I thought I had won.  I thought I had conquered his stubborn ways and curtailed his “tuff” guy style, but I was wrong.

He scooped me up in his arms and placed me in the passenger’s seat. Then he reached into my jeans and pulled out the keys in one swift motion that didn’t give me a chance to blink.

A dimple peeked through his grin lines.

I stared at him with as much frustration and annoyance that I could muster, but it obviously came off as ridiculous because he started to laugh.  And that pissed me off even more.

“Angie, I’m fine” he insisted and he drove with his one hand on the wheel and the other around me. 

I tried to ignore him and shake off his arm, but it would have been easier to blind my heart.

I scooted close to him and kissed his shoulder, his neck, everything that had the slightest hint of a bruise.

His hand slipped on the wheel and we swerved slightly on the road.

Then I stopped kissing him since it seemed to be distracting him.

***

When we got inside, Harry lingered outside.

I tugged at his arm gently and led him to the couch.

“Sit” I ordered.

He laughed lightly at my newfound authority. Then he sat down slowly and kicked off his boots.I pushed back at his chest softly so that he would lay down, but he stood his ground.

“Harry” I pleaded calmly. “Let me help you,” I asked of him.

He took a deep breath and then eased back slowly, like it was painful for him. I  carefully pulled the zipper down and tugged the jacket off his torso, which was not only muscularly cut, but bleeding.

When I saw the wounds again, I almost wanted to fall to my knees, like it was me who had been beaten up. It might as well have been me the way I felt his pain when I touched his skin.

I knelt beside him with my wet and dry clothes, bandages and adhesives.

Carefully, I placed a cold pack on his black eye. He avoided my eyes as I wiped off the specs of dirt, drops of blood, and ounce of sweat from over his dimples, his cheek bones, and around his eyes.

Then I kissed every spot I had just bandaged. I wanted to heal him with anything I could. He made it look so easy when he did it to me.

Harry smiled sheepishly.

I kissed his lips lightly, wanting to taste his pain.

But he refused to let me.

He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me down over his chest, but I moved back carefully, afraid I would cause more damage with the weight of my body.