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The fall catches me completely by surprise. One second, I’m reaching for the door handle. The next, my feet slide out from under me, and the bags crash to the ground. Without thinking, I throw my hand out to break my fall.

Bad idea.

The crunch of my wrist hitting the ice turns my stomach instantly. For a second, I lie there on the cold ground, the wind knocked out of me, sharp, throbbing pain shooting into my hand. Groceries spill into the snow, and the new bottle of bourbon shatters on the steps loudly enough to be heard inside.

The front door flies open, and Zander stares down at me, his face full of concern.

“Nina!” He drops down and scoops me up off the ice. “Are you alright? What happened? Did you hurt anything?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, gritting my teeth and cradling my limp wrist against my chest. It’s already starting to swell.

“You’re definitely not fine,” he says with a frown. “Your wrist looks broken.”

“No, seriously, I’m okay,” I protest. “I’ll put some ice on it and get back to work. You can set me down. I don’t need my wrist to walk.”

I smile to convince him I’m still fully capable of handling myself, but Zander doesn’t budge, and he doesn’t put me down.

“Not a chance.” He glances at the groceries scattered across the steps. “I’ll ask Pascal to run to the store and replace what we need. But you need to see a doctor.”

“No, I don’t.” I shake my head, trying to keep my wits about me and failing. Between the pain in my wrist and being pressed against Zander’s chest as he carries me inside, it’s hard to think straight.

“Yes, you do,” he overrules me. “I’ll have one come to the house.”

“A house call? No, Zander, really, I’m fine. It’ll cost a fortune to get a doctor all the way out here, and I⁠—”

His look stops me mid-sentence. For a second, I forget who I’m talking to. Money is no issue for these guys.

Since I can’t talk him out of it, and since my wrist really does hurt, I give in. Zander carries me into the study, sets me on the couch in front of the fire, and within the hour, a doctor arrives and sets up a portable X-ray machine.

“Well, fortunately, nothing looks broken.” The doctor pulls a brace from his bag and slides it onto my wrist. “Just a sprain. Keep the brace on for a week, and try to keep your wrist still. The less you move it, the faster it will heal.”

“Thank you for coming out on short notice,” Zander says.

“That’s what the retainer is for.” The doctor snaps his bag shut. “My pleasure, as always, Mr. Jenson.”

Pascal is at the store, and I can hear Jarek on a phone call in the other room. So when the doctor leaves, it’s just Zander and me in the study.

“Alright, you heard the doctor,” he says, settling a blanket over my lap. “No working for the rest of the day. You’re off the clock. I’ll handle dinner, and we’ll figure out what you can still do tomorrow.”

“I can’t just lounge around all day,” I argue. “There are things that need to get done. Besides, I haven’t even showered yet.”

Something flashes in Zander’s eyes, and his breath catches.

“I’ll help you with that,” he says calmly.

“Help me with what, showering?” I laugh.

Obviously, it’s a joke.

“I’ll run you a hot bath. My bathroom has a claw-foot tub. You can’t wash your hair with that wrist, so I’ll do it. While you’re injured, I’ll take care of you so you can heal and get back to work.”

I guess he wasn’t joking.

“Zander.” I blink at him. “It’s not that bad. I can take care of myself.”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. His eyes say it all. My injury isn’t the point here. Taking care of me is. The tension between us seems to suck all the air out of the room, and to my surprise, I find myself relishing the idea of sinking into a warm claw-foot tub while he washes my hair. In fact, it sounds like the most sensual, luxurious thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Alright,” I whisper. “Thank you.”