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“I’ll get Thomas to fill the script. You need to get home and keep that hand up.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve let you down.” It was like a pot boiling inside her stomach, on the brink of spilling over and letting loose all her worries and insecurities.
“What are you talking about? How could you have let me down?”
It was nice of him to try to pretend it wasn’t true. But she knew it was.
“You heard the doctor. I can’t work for at least a couple of days. I’m sure after that it will be fine. But the restaurant is opening soon and Renard wants me to make a strawberry-lemon cake. And the one I attempted didn’t turn out so I’m going to have to practice making it again. And I—”
“Quiet.”
“Don’t know how I’m going to manage that in such a short time—”
“Aspen. Be. Quiet.”
The low menace in his voice made her freeze. He pulled up outside his house then climbed out. She was fumbling with her own belt when he opened her door and, reaching in, undid it easily before pulling her out and into his arms.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“I believe I gave you an order.”
That was an order? She thought it over. Yeah, it had been. She subsided into silence. Truth was, she didn’t feel much like fighting. She was too busy beating herself up to enter into an argument with him.
He carried her into his house. She stared up at him with a frown. He didn’t give her any explanation, though, just walked with her into a living area. Unlike the main living room at the front of the house, this one was smaller. It had dark leather furniture, a huge TV affixed to the wall, and wooden, built-in shelves on either side of the TV It felt homier than the rest of the house. If a room could hug you it was this one.
He laid her down on the couch then pointed at her. “Stay there.”
“But Sax—”
“What’s my name?”
She swallowed heavily. Damn he could be intimidating. “Joel.”
He gave her a nod then turned and left. She should get up despite his order to stay put. She had to check on the boys, relieve Gwen, figure out what the hell she was going to do now. How could this have happened? Panic made her breath come in short pants. She moved her legs around so her feet rested on the floor, trying to bring air into her lungs.
“Shit.”
She barely heard the curse over the roaring in her ears.
“Lean down, head between your knees. That’s it.” A large, warm hand wrapped itself around the nape of her neck, pressing her head down. “Try and slow your breathing. You’re all right. Everything is fine. I’m here. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
From someone else she might have scoffed at those words as an empty promise. Something a man would say to a woman to get her to do what he wanted. To get her into his bed. Yet, from Saxon, they were anything but.
Gradually, she felt steadier and the hand lifted. “Easy now,” he told her. “If you feel dizzy again I want you to put your head down.”
“I’m okay.”
“No. You’re not. But you will be.” He gently took hold of her injured hand, which was wrapped in a white bandage. The doctor had stitched it up after giving her an injection to numb the area.
He placed a pillow on her lap then rested her injured hand on it. Grabbing her feet, he lifted them to rest on a velvet footstool that should have looked out of place in this masculine room, yet lent it an air of elegance. Just a touch. Another man might have seen something so feminine as a threat to his masculinity. Not Saxon.
Not that there was anything that could really threaten his masculinity anyway.
He reached for a glass of iced tea that he’d put on the coffee table. He held the straw to her lips.
“Drink.”
“I can hold it.” She reached for the glass and he lightly smacked her hand.
