Page 83 of Secrets on Ice

She points a warning finger at me. "Look after yourself.”

“I will.”

She gives me one last look before taking off again.

I wait until she's around the corner before testing my ankle.

Ow.

Definitely not fine.

I limp back toward the building. I hobble back through the lobby, where Cristo, the concierge, asks if I need a doctor. I reassure him that I am fine, it’s just a little sprain, and I’ll be okay. He holds open the elevator door for me, and I head up to my floor. I hobble along the corridor toward our apartment, trying to hold back tears from the pain. I lean against the wall inside the door and start easing my sneaker off my sore foot, wincing, balancing on one leg like a flamingo with a grudge.

The sound of a door opening echoes through the quiet apartment, and when I look up, I see Sully walking around in a pair of black briefs. That's it. Black briefs, wet hair, and he stops dead when he sees me. I freeze, too, because I’m not sure if I hit my head when I twisted my ankle because I don’t believe what I’m seeing. I'm looking, I am absolutely looking, at all of it, the chest, the stomach, the lines that run down past the waistband, the thighs, dear God the thighs.

I’m so surprised that the next thing I know, I’m going over. My ankle gives out completely, and I start to fall. Before I can even gasp, Sully is there, moving fast, one strong arm wrapping around my waist, the other catching my back as he pulls me against his bare chest to steady me. The heat of his skin is shocking. He’s still damp from the shower, and the scent of his body wash fills my nose as I’m pressed flush against all that hard, warm muscle.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with concern. His grip tightens, one big hand splayed across my lower back, holding me upright. “I’ve got you.”

My hands land on his chest instinctively, palms flat against warm, smooth skin. I can feel his heartbeat, fast, strong, thumping under my fingers. My face is inches from his, close enough to see the way his jaw is clenched with worry.

“Are you okay?” he asks, blue eyes searching mine.

There’s real concern there, as his gaze drops to my mouth for half a second. His thumb unconsciously strokes a small circle on my back, right where my shirt has ridden up. The touch is light, but it sends heat rushing through me.

“I … yeah.”

His brows pull together. “I thought you were going on a run?”

Oh yeah, I was. “Twisted my ankle,” I manage, voice shaky.

Concern falls across his face. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, and before I can protest, he bends slightly and hooks one arm under my knees, the other around my back, and lifts me clean off the ground like I weigh nothing. A surprised sound escapes me as I’m suddenly pressed fully against his bare chest, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. His skin is still warm and damp from the shower, muscles flexing under my hands as he carries me down the hall. My breath catches.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low and rough near my ear. “I’ve got you.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. I can feel every inch of him, the hard planes of his chest, the steady beat of his heart, the way his arms hold me securely like it’s the easiest thing in the world. His breath fans across my neck, warm and steady, and I’m hyper-aware of how little fabric separates us. My thigh is pressed against the firm muscle of his abdomen, and I can feel the heat of his body everywhere.

He carries me into the living room and lowers me carefully onto the couch, one knee braced on the cushion beside me as he keeps a hand on my waist to steady me. For a moment, he doesn’t pull away. His face is close, eyes dark with concern … and something else.

His hand then moves down to my sock. He removes it, and his eyes widen as he sees the bruise coming through. “Does this hurt?” he asks, voice quieter now, fingers gently pressing along my ankle.

The pain is nothing compared to the way my body is reacting to him, to the scent of his skin, the strength in his arms, the way he’s looking at me like he wants to do a lot more than just check my ankle.

In your dreams, Em, you really must have knocked your head.

I swallow hard. “A little.”

He nods once, but doesn’t move right away. His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before he catches himself and clears his throat.

“I’ll get ice,” he says, voice rough as he finally pulls back.

But the heat of his touch lingers long after he disappears into the kitchen.

Sully returns a minute later with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel. He drops to one knee in front of the couch, gently lifting my injured foot onto his thigh. The position puts him between my legs, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin.

“Hold still,” he says quietly.