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“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said, even though it throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch.
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“Since when are you a doctor?”
“I’ve seen plenty of injuries on the job. Jace and I have had to patch up ourselves and guys who work for us so we could get the job done.”
She huffed out a breath. “There’s an area in the back where we can go.”
Before she could stop him, he once again lifted her off her feet and zigzagged his way around the chaos and through the doorway. The large, open room would serve as a work area for making products and as a stockroom. Unopened boxes of shelving stood propped against the wall waiting to be assembled. Only then could they unpack the boxes of stock and supplies piled in a disorganized mess.
Connor set her down on a folding chair near the kitchen area. Grabbing another chair, he elevated her injured foot and removed her running shoe. With gentle hands, he stroked along her right ankle, his touch both arousing and tickling her.
“I’d say it’s a minor sprain. You have a first-aid kit?”
“In the bathroom.” She gestured to a small room off to the side.
He disappeared and returned with a red plastic box. Rummaging inside, he grabbed an ice pack, cracked it to activate it, and pressed it on her ankle. The coolness was a welcome relief against her hot skin, although she didn’t know if she was warm because of her injury or because of the man.
Finding an antiseptic pad, he cleaned a scrape she hadn’t realized she had on her knee. She flinched when he blew on it to ease the sting, the feel of his warm breath on her skin causing her heart to skip a few beats.
What the hell was wrong with her?
After adding antibiotic ointment, he covered it with a bandage. Then he moved to her right hand, which also had a slight scrape, and started the same process.
“You should try to keep your foot elevated and iced over the next twenty-four hours. Fifteen minutes on, fifteen off,” Connor said.
“I know how to take care of a sprained ankle.”
“You can also take something mild with ibuprofen to help with the swelling,” he continued.
She reached down to examine her ankle, which had puffed up like the time she was at Great Adventure and had a mild reaction from a bee sting.
Just what she didn’t need.
“I’ve got it. I’ll be fine,” she mumbled.
He closed the box and returned it to the bathroom. When he didn’t return right away, she went in search of him, wincing as her ankle protested.
She found him in the front room of the store. He’d removed the wetsuit and now stood in navy board shorts. She stared at his bare back, more muscled than she remembered, and even more enticing.
“This is a great space,” he said. “Who’s going to finish the painting and other things before you open?”
“Natalie is helping me. We’re partners,” she said.
“Right.” He bent over and picked up a paint tray with semi-dried paint and a stiff roller.
She winced. Truth be told, Natalie had the best intentions of helping but had issues with time management. And apparently cleaning up painting supplies.
“Your ankle may slow you down. I wouldn’t climb a ladder or put full pressure on it for a couple of days,” Connor said.
Was he crazy? Everything she had to do involved putting pressure on both her feet.
“I’ll be fine. A little ice, a couple Advil, and I’ll be good as new.”
She hoped.
He set down the ruined paint tray and rummaged in his backpack, pulling out a business card. Finding a pen on a counter, he scribbled something and handed it to her.
