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I nod. He runs his hand up the top of my foot and then underneath the arch. His hands are rough like sandpaper and I flinch.
"Sore?" he asks.
"Your hands are rough."
He breaks into a slow sexy smile as he concentrates on my foot.
"What?" I ask.
"No woman ever complained about my hands before." His eyes rise to meet mine. "They like ‘em rough."
I swallow the lump in my throat, jeez. I drop my shoulders as I pretend that isn’t the hottest thing I've ever heard. "Well, I guess I'm not used to it." I pull my foot from his clasp. "My foot is fine."
He goes to a cabinet and lifts down a metal box and rats through it and produces a bandage. "I'm going to wrap it."
"Honestly…"
"Just be quiet woman, I'm wrapping it," he interrupts me as he lifts my foot and begins to carefully wrap the bandage around my ankle. I watch him as I feel his hand on my calf muscle. He really seems to know what he's doing. "Are you a medic?"
"I'm a builder."
"Oh," I watch him, "I’ve never known a builder before. Growing up in New York it's not someone that you meet."
He wraps the bandage around and around.
"What kind of men live in New York?"
The player kind.
I shrug. "I don’t know, people who work in offices."
He nods. "Suits."
"Yeah."
He fastens my bandage with a small clip. "Yeah, I got nothing in common with suits."
I watch the huge muscles contract under his t-shirt as he moves. "I can imagine."
He picks me up and places me carefully on the sofa; he puts two cushions under my foot to elevate it. "Are you hungry?"
I bite my lip, I'm starving. It was raining so hard that I couldn’t see a shop along the way; that is if there even was one. "A piece of toast would be great. Do you have toast?" I ask.
His eyes hold mine. "I have toast."
"I can make it," I offer.
"You stay there," he demands as he gets up. "You want a drink?"
I glance at his glass of amber fluid on the coffee table. "What is it?"
"Whiskey."
Hmm, I love whiskey. "Umm."
"I'll take that as a yes," he cuts me off. He fusses around in the kitchen and returns with a glass of whiskey and ice. "This will take the sting out of your foot," he says as he passes it to me. He goes back into the kitchen. I take a sip and wince as I stare at the glass.
Fuck, what is this…200% alcohol? "Thank you," I call.
I look around the room; it's innately masculine. The walls and floors are timber, a huge rug in muted colours is on the floor. The fireplace is big, and a giant metal tub has a heap of huge timber pieces inside of it, waiting for their turn to burn. The dog that lies in front of it hasn’t moved. Is it dead? The couch is tired and slouchy, but very comfortable, and there are curtains and cushions. I wouldn’t imagine a man like him to have cushions. I wonder, does he live here alone?
There's a framed photo on the TV cabinet of a family portrait. It looks like a group of people all standing together in front of a waterfall, though it's too far away for me to see who's in the photo.
"Do you live here alone?" I call.
"Aha," he replies as he does whatever he's doing.
I take a sip of my whiskey. Who bought those cushions?
"Do you have a girlfriend?" I call.
He appears and places a tray down on the coffee table in front of me. It has a big bowl of goulash on it with crusty ciabatta toasted bread on the side. It smells delicious. I look up surprised. "You made this?"
"Last night."
"Wow, I'm impressed."
He holds out a spoon. "You didn’t taste it yet."
I smile as I take it from him. "Well, it smells delicious."
He walks back into the kitchen and the rain comes down hard outside. It's absolutely disastrous and sounds so loud on the tin roof.
"Are you not having any?" I call.
"I already ate."
"Oh." I pick up my bowl and take a spoonful. Holy shit…this is good.
I notice he didn’t answer my girlfriend question, he obviously has one.
"So, have you lived here long?" I ask.
"In the area, all my life. I bought this farm about ten years ago."
I smile as I eat. "You should open a restaurant; this is really good."
"You obviously hit your head, too," he answers dryly.
I hear him washing dishes in the kitchen.
"How did you see my car?" I ask.
"I was out feeding Rex and I looked down the hill when I saw your headlights spin and then go off the road."
I get a flashback of how scary that few seconds were.
"I thought someone may have been hurt so I came looking for you," he says.
