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She did like her guys to be fit, simply because she was herself. If they weren’t it simply meant they couldn’t enjoy the leisure pursuits she preferred and what was the point in that? A shared love of hiking usually meant the guys she dated were pretty fit, but not in an overblown, testosterone fueled way, and that suited her just fine.
But the sight of these two mostly naked men had her nipples perking and she was pretty sure it wasn’t from the cold, although she would totally blame it on that.
She would have pegged the three of them as brothers, even if they hadn’t confirmed it. They each had the exact same shade of dark chocolate colored hair, although they wore it in different styles, and shared finely boned features that gave their faces a chiseled look.
None of them were hard on the eyes, that’s for sure. But they must all be very close in age, because try as she might, she couldn’t tell who was the oldest and who was the youngest.
While Lazarus busied himself collecting up and folding the bedding, Jericho shook out several items of clothing that she recognized as her own, which had been placed strategically in front of the fire. He held them out to her, and Shyla’s cheeks pinked when she realized one of the items he held out were her sensible, built for comfort, black panties. Nothing sexy about those.
Shyla took them from him with a smile. “Thank you,” she said, berating herself for the places her mind was going. What did it matter what kind of underwear she was wearing? She must have banged her head harder than she thought.
With that reminder, her hand flew to her temple. She sucked in a breath and winced as her fingers met dried blood and matted hair around an area spreading from the corner of her eye, right into her hairline which was tender and lacerated. The cheekbone below felt bruised and fragile.
Shyla wanted to laugh, but she was scared it might come off on the wrong side of hysterical. Here she was worrying about the state of her undies when she probably looked like she'd been dragged through the snow backwards after going a couple of rounds in a boxing ring.
She was pretty sure she wasn’t anybody's idea of desirable right now.
The reality of the situation brought her down to earth with a bump. She’d lucked out and been stranded with three good looking guys who were easy on the eyes, and they’d been lumbered with her. A skinny, bruised, and bloody mess. She was pretty certain she didn’t need to worry about her dignity being compromised.
Funnily enough, it was that thought that made her relax, even though she hadn’t actually realized she was tense.
But the minute she became aware that none of them were likely to look twice at her, unless it was out of pity, she was finally able to put any thoughts of airs and graces out of her head and be herself.
She loosened her hold on the fluffy blanket and shrugged into her top. It was still blessedly warm from the fire, and she hummed in delight. Poking her feet out of the end, she pulled one thick sock over her good ankle before dropping the covering completely so she could wriggle into her panties. She didn’t flaunt herself at all. But, having established that they weren’t likely to be attracted to the mess she presented, neither did she worry unduly about being coy.
Leaving her legs bare, but scooting a little closer to the fire, she leaned forward and gingerly poked at her swollen ankle.
It was the size of a grapefruit and was starting to sport some interesting colors, but it didn’t hurt too badly as long as she kept it still. She was quite surprised about that. In fact, her head was the same. Curious. She expected to ache more.
Still, the ankle would benefit from some support before she put her sock on and she was pretty sure she had a crepe bandage in her backpack… if her backpack had made it here with her, that is.
She looked around but couldn’t see it. Then, a moment later, one of the guys dangled it in front of her face.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
Shyla looked up to find Dante, the reticent one, looking down at her with unsmiling eyes that almost seemed to hold a hint of accusation. Did he blame her for the fact that they were stuck in this cabin? Not that she knew exactly what the situation was yet, but she could hazard a guess from the little bits she could remember and the situation she found herself in now.
“Thank you,” she responded, reaching out to take it from his hand.
Their fingers brushed, momentarily, and he pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.
Did he feel it too? That odd tingle. Maybe there was a lot of static, Shyla told herself, although she didn’t really believe it.
“I’m afraid I’ve been through it so we could pool our resources,” he told her almost defiantly, without the remotest hint of apology in his voice.
She wasn’t going to take him to task over it, even though his tone bordered on rude. It was simply what one would expect in a situation like this. But she did wonder why he was so antagonistic. Like she had done something to offend him. Something more than simply falling on top of him earlier.
Shyla wondered if she’d been difficult or unruly while she was out of it. Perhaps she’d better get those blanks filled in sooner, rather than later.
But first things first. She needed to get this ankle strapped up.
Delving into her bag, she dug around for the first aid kit she always carried. It had been emptied, but she found the rolled bandage easily enough.
Leaning forward, she tried to prop up her ankle so she could wind the bandage around her foot, but that was easier said than done in this position.
She was just wondering how painful it would be to hobble to the sofa and sit down when strong, lean fingers plucked the roll out of her hands.
“Here, let me help you with that,” said Lazarus.
