Page 21 of Miss Fortune

Was I happy? The question had indeed plagued me ever since she’d posed her question. “No, I’m not upset.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the office on Monday.” She took off walking again, causing me to follow.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you. Just let me drive you.”

I couldn’t explain why it was so important for me to see her home, but I absolutely intended to keep arguing until she gave in. Hell, I did it for a living. Why did she have to be so stubborn?

She turned around to walk backwards. “You’re not leaving me; I’m leaving you.”

I realized too late she was about to walk into a divot in the gravel. “Watch out.”

She was already tumbling down. And it wasn’t an elegant trip. Nope, she went down hard on her backside.

I ran over to help her to a sitting position. Kneeling, I inspected her for damage. “Shit. Are you okay?”

“I think so. Dammit. I would have to go and have a clumsy moment now.”

“Not so much clumsy as silly not to watch where you were walking.”

Her glare shut me up.

“Can you stand up?”

“Uh-huh.”

I put my hand in hers and helped her to a standing position. All the while, I tried not to notice how fucking incredible she smelled or the soft curve of her waist as I put my arm around it to steady her.

“I’m fine. Except for my pride. All I have are a few scrapes, except the back of my arm hurts.”

We both stared at the chunk of jagged metal piercing the underside of her forearm. She removed it before I could tell her to keep it in. As a result, blood started gushing.

“Ope,” she whispered, all color draining from her face.

Quickly needing to stop the blood flow, I took off my T-shirt and wrapped it around her arm.

“Are you squeamish about blood?”

“Yep, it’s not one of my best qualities,” she murmured. Her knees were buckling and her eyes threatening to roll back in her head.

“Nope, nope, stay with me.” I had little choice but to lift her up into my arms.

“Oh my God, put me down. I’m too heavy. You’ll hurt your back.”

“You’re not too heavy.” She wasn’t. When she tucked her head into my chest and let out a long breath, I was hard pressed to remember the gesture was because she was hurt and not for any other reason, no matter what my dick might think. Stopping next to my truck, I fumbled with the door. Once it was opened, I let her down easy until she was standing.

“You have a truck?” she exclaimed.

“I do.” It wasn’t exactly practical in LA, but I used it on the weekends for everything from surfing to hiking in the mountains. Unfortunately, it didn’t have running boards, which would have made it easy for her to get up into the cab. Instead, I needed to help her. Doing so was both a pleasure and torture.

Judging from her pale face, she was in no way reciprocating my body’s reaction with her own. Of course not. She was in pain.

“Did anyone see us?”

It hadn’t occurred to me to look around, but now I did. “No. You’re in the clear.”

“I was thinking more of you. Considering how you didn’t want people to find out we first met during a car crash, I figured letting them see you carry me to your truck shirtless would be way worse.”

“You’re hurt.” I didn’t like her impression of my priorities. Then again, given the way I’d defined our professional relationship thus far, I shouldn’t have been surprised.