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“What?” Ian asked.
“What?” she repeated.
“Why were you talking about sausages?”
“I was just thinking about the dinner menu. Why are you talking about sausages?”
Ian shook his head, then frowned as he took her in. Okay, so she wasn’t dressed like some of the stylish women she’d seen walking around the shopping center this morning. But she didn’t look completely terrible, right?
She glanced down at her black sweatshirt with a picture of a skull on the front and her ripped denim jeans. Her black combat boots topped off her look.
And yeah, she was roasting hot.
“It’s too hot to be wearing long sleeves,” Ian told her. “Take it off.” He reached out as though he was going to pull the sweatshirt off her. She stumbled back and would have fallen on her bum if he hadn’t grabbed her.
Unfortunately, he grabbed both of her wrists to steady her and she hissed out a pained breath.
Immediately, Ian let her go. “What happened? Did I . . . did I hurt you?”
“I, uh, it’s fine,” she told him.
“No, it’s not. How did I hurt you? Show me.”
The worry in his voice floored her. Sure, he was over-the-top. But as someone who’d rarely experienced concern over her well-being without an ulterior motive . . . his actions were something she lapped up.
“Ian, I’m fine. I need to go help Uncle Willy.”
Her uncle was currently fiddling with his camera farther down the beach and not paying either of them the slightest bit of attention.
“Maggie, I’m not letting you go until you show me where I hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me. I just . . . I have a bruise on my arm and you touched it. That’s all.”
“Show me this bruise. Why did you not tell me about it before?”
“Am I supposed to show you every bruise I get?” she asked with exasperation.
“Yes. I’m responsible for you. I need to know if you’re hurt.”
“You’re mad as a hatter,” she told him.
“Maggie, this isn’t a debate.”
“Maggie, I need the other bags from the car,” Uncle Willy called out.
“I’ll get them.” She stepped away from Ian, but he grabbed her elbow. “I have to go and get the other bags.”
“I will go get them. After you show me your bruise.”
“I can carry the bags, Ian.”
“But you won’t, Maggie. Bruise. I’m willing to stand here all day until you show me.”
“Fine.” She pushed up the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Happy, now?”
“No. Not at all. How did you get this?”
“I don’t know. I bruise easily. I must have banged it.”
