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She says “nothing” but I hear the strain in her voice.
I scoop her up and set her on the island, kneeling before her on one knee. I pull her foot onto my knee. A row of three bright red splotches dots the top of her foot.
“Ian! This isn’t—”
“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”
“—necessary.”
The sight of her delicate foot, of the angry-looking burns, sets my heart racing.
“Hey Siri, call 911,” I bark. My phone, which is sitting out on the counter beside my laptop, stirs to life at the command.
She jerks her foot from my hand. “That’s unnecessary.”
Siri responds as well. “Calling emergency services in five seconds.”
Savannah leans back, snatching up my phone and hitting the cancel button before Siri can make the call.
“You’re hurt.” I pull her foot back, cupping her heel, careful not to touch the burns.
“Not enough to call EMS. This isn’t my first burn. Trust me. I’m a professional chef. I get burned all the time.”
That thought—the idea of her hurt and in pain… All the time, apparently—fills me with rage. It makes me want to destroy something in order to protect her. It makes me want to—
She reaches down and cups my jaw, nudging my gaze up to hers. “Trust me on this.”
And just like that, the rage turns to something else. Something that feels even more dangerous.
I don’t just want to protect her. I want … other things. Things I have no business wanting from this woman. Not when she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Not when I’m her boss and she’s completely at my mercy.
At my mercy, but in none of the ways I wish she was.
She studies my expression for a moment, nodding slowly. “Trust me, okay? It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Her touch, her words, her eyes staring into mine … they all hypnotize me, and I feel myself nodding along with her.
I blow out a breath. “Okay. But you have to at least let me treat the burn.”
“Okay.” Lips twisting in a faint smile, she nods towards the range behind me. “But at least turn off the heat under the spinach. It’s about a minute from being inedible.”
I don’t give a fuck about the spinach, but I follow her directions. I stand, reluctantly letting her foot drop from my hands as I turn to the range, cranking the knob to off and shifting the pan to the back burner.
“Hey, Siri, how do I treat a burn?”
Siri starts answering, but Savannah cuts her off. “Hey, Siri, stop.”
I pick up her foot again, cradling it in my palm, and Savannah gives me a gentle kick with her other foot until I look at her again.
“A cool damp cloth will be fine.”
“For how long?”
“Five or ten minutes. Tops.”
It’s my turn to arch a brow at her.
“Trust me,” she says again.
