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“Shit,” she mumbles. “Cruz and his stupid big clown feet.”
Her hand clutches onto the top of the towel as she turns around and begins to hop on one foot. Whatever happened, she appears to be in pain.
I step in behind her, but when it’s obvious she’s struggling, my hands reach beneath her legs to carry her.
“What are you doing?” she shouts in my arms.
She barely weighs anything while I carry her to the kitchen. It’s only a short walk and thankfully doesn’t give me enough time to focus on how fucking sexy she looks in a towel.
Don’t fucking go there.
We reach the countertop to which I carefully set her on. She briefly rests her hand on my shoulder for support, then realizes what she’s doing and pulls away.
“Why did you bring me in here?”
I purse my lips, trying to control my frustration since she’s so damn stubborn, just like her sisters.
“You’re hurt,” I remind her, then scour the area to see nothing but boxes. “Do you have a first-aid kit or anything?”
“No,” she mumbles. “I’m fine.”
Beside the sink is a dishtowel. I lean over to grab it, running it under the faucet to soak it in cold water. When it’s damp enough, I turn the water off and bring it to her gash. The moment the cloth touches the small cut, she winces in pain.
“Hold this.” I direct her hand to continue holding the cloth against her head. “Is it your foot or ankle hurting?”
Addison remains quiet before letting out a huff. “My ankle, okay? Since when did you turn doctor?”
“Since I completed a first-aid course as part of my role in the company.”
“Oh,” she mouths softly.
My hands run down her leg against her smooth skin until I reach her ankle. I’m unable to look her in the eye, trying to control how the warmth of her skin is stirring my dick and making me hard.Jesus Christ, this isn’t the fucking time.
“I’m going to move your ankle slowly and press in a few places,” I inform her. “I want you to tell me if it hurts, okay?”
She nods, watching me while scrunching her face.
I remember my training, slowly twisting her foot while watching her expression.
“Does that hurt?”
“No.”
Slowly, I turn her foot in the opposite direction.
“How about that?”
“Just a little bit,” she admits.
“Okay, well, the good news is the chances are of it being broken are very slim. If you’re able to walk and move it, it’s most likely you just rolled it.
“Great,” she complains, letting go of the cloth. “And on my first day of work.”
My gaze is fixated on her face with the way she parts her lips every so often to the blush in her cheeks. I’m sure she’s highly aware of the fact she’s only wearing a towel as she continues to clutch onto it as if her life depends on it.
Slowly, her head rises, and our eyes lock. This urge to reach out and run my thumb along her bottom lip is too much to bear, but thankfully, there’s a knock on the door to break the momentary tension.
“Were you expecting someone?” I question with a head tilt and smirk. “It’s early. I didn’t interrupt a booty call, did I?”
