I press my lips together, trying not to giggle like an idiot all over again.
The gravel shifts under my heel.
“Shit!”
My ankle rolls hard, and I yelp just as my body pitches sideways.
Before I hit the ground, a pair of strong arms catches me clean around the waist.
“Easy there, Doc.”
Deep voice. Warm chest. The scent of cedar, leather, and fresh male soap.
I inhale deeply.
I blink up at him beneath the porch light of his cabin. He’s barefoot, wearing sweatpants slung low on his hips and a black T-shirt stretched across a broad, rock-hard chest.
Fantastic.
I lift the hand holding my shoes. “Stupid shoes,” I inform him.
His mouth twitches, and I narrow my eyes at him. Or try to. My eyes may not be cooperating at the moment.
He glances down at my shoes. “Those do look dangerous.”
“They are dangerous,” I say seriously. “But they make my legs look phenomenal.”
His gaze flicks to my legs before jerking away again. Then, before I can process what he’s doing, he bends and scoops me straight into his arms.
I squeak, “What are you doing?”
“Preventing any other accidents,” he says as he starts toward my porch.
“I can walk!” I squirm, instinctively grabbing at his shoulders as he carries me up the steps to my door. “Axle, put me down.”
“Nope.”
“I’m fine.”
“You hurt your ankle. And the gravel is jagged.”
“And you have cracked ribs!”
“Bruised ribs.”
I smack his shoulder. “You should not be carrying me!”
He doesn’t even grunt. “Doc, I’ve ridden two-thousand-pound bulls with worse injuries than bruised ribs.”
“Because you’re an idiot.”
“Never claimed to be smart.”
“Stubborn,” I mutter.
His chest vibrates with laughter against mine. The sound rolls through me in a way that feels intimate. I squirm again,mostly because if I don’t, I might accidentally melt into him and beg him to stay with me tonight.
Unfortunately, all the movement does is make his grip tighten.
