Breathe for Me(4)

“You know you’re going to be just fine Mrs H.”

Another bystander joked again about mouth to mouth and a slim curly-headed blonde pretended to faint. The doctor grinned but kept his focus on his patient. He was clearly well known. And very much admired.

“You got a problem, Xan?” A tall guy called out, approaching the group rapidly.

“Hunter? Good.” Superman suddenly stood. “You’ll take care of Mrs Hopkins, won’t you? Make sure she’s okay until those medics get here.”

“Sure.” The tall guy accepted the command—and it was definitely a command, not a question. Every bit as built as the doctor, but with a far more serious demeanor. The ultra cropped hair looked military. So he was used to obeying then? Good job. He looked like the kind of guy you’d want covering you in a tight corner.

Chelsea turned her head again. She couldn’t stand here all night just staring.



Xander held back the grimace of frustration. All he wanted to do was get back to the damsel-who-refused-to-be-in-distress. He’d kept an eye on her once he’d checked Mrs H was okay—which she was. A bit of shock, nothing major he didn’t think, but he’d be happier once the real docs had given her the once-over.

Blue Eyes hadn’t spoken with anyone. She’d wrapped her arms around her waist, leaned her weight on her good leg and acted like she was patiently waiting and in control of the situation. But he’d seen the hidden insecurity in those eyes, the bravado.

His tee-shirt was too long for her. But that was better than all the other guys staring at her the way he knew he’d been. Like starving wolves they were circling, wanting to know who she was. But none had been game enough to breach her ‘stay away’ stance. She had a touch of the Snow White about her. Beautiful raven locks, dark blue eyes, pale, pale skin and then there were those full red lips. In that navy swimsuit she was luscious. Her resistance to his assistance deepened his fascination. An independent woman? He did like those. He got hot for a woman who wanted to hold her own—even when she couldn’t.

Now his fingers itched to slide where his shirt skimmed—those slender legs needed easing apart. He’d happily go on his knees for a taste of her. With a little time, a little laugh, she’d let him, the way she’d responded to him already told him that. But he wanted more than her to let him, he wanted her to wriggle close and reach out for what she wanted. Come and get me. Come for real. That’d be good. It had been some time since he’d had some fun. He was due some.

“Xan?”

“Hmmm.” Xander blinked and turned.

Hunter was eyeing him suspiciously. He turned and deliberately looked at the girl Xander had not-so-subtly been staring at. Hunter’s rare smile burst forth. Damn, his buddy knew that was Xander’s shirt swimming on her.

“See why you need my help. You got interrupted, huh?” Hunter chuckled and made a show of looking at his watch. “I’d have thought you’d be happy to have her out and heading home by now. Done and gone,” he said softly.

“You’re confusing me with Logan,” Xander answered briefly to put an end to it. His cousin was the slayer, not him.

“Oh, not done?” Hunter laughed. “No wonder you’re aching.” He whispered as he looked her over again. “I can see why.”

“Shut up and help me out.”

Hunter immediately switched to business. “Fire guys are here. Ambulance is less than a minute away. I’m on guard. You’re free to go.”

“Good.”

Xander hunched down again and raised his voice. “Mrs H? My man Hunter here is going to stay with you until the ambulance gets here, he’ll take good care.”

Hunter got to his haunches on the other side of the old dame and gave her a rare, brilliant smile.

“Okay.” Mrs H smiled back at Hunter and then looked at Xander, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Next time I see you, I’ll give you a thank you kiss.”

“Only if you insist.” He stood up, grinning at the notion. There was someone else who owed him a thank you kiss.

Chelsea listened attentively as the duty manager apologized for the false alarm and thanked them for their prompt evacuation. At that she winced—she’d been last out by a long shot. And given how slow she was, she’d be last to go back in too. She didn’t want people noticing her more. Certainly didn’t want anyone else offering help. So she stood back as people began filing in. Most were relaxed, it had been obvious from fairly early on that the building wasn’t about to burn. A few had peeled off to grab a midnight snack at the all-night diner down the street.

“I’ll see you back to your apartment now.”

She jumped. She was so self-conscious she stumbled over her own feet.

“Careful.” An iron-strong hand clamped round her upper arm. “You need me to carry you again?”

“No thanks.” She pulled on her arm and he slowly released it. “There’s no need for you to see me home.” She didn’t need protecting like that. But she tried to hide the shiver running down her spine.

“I know. But I want to.”

And he always did what he wanted? Got what he wanted? She bet he did. He was walking her along and she found herself helpless to resist.

The crowd of people piling into the lift with them made her swallow her reply. Wearing his shirt was worse than underwear. She saw a few sly looks, and knew just what half the people in the lift were thinking, given most hadn’t seen her in the building before. Same as what she was thinking.

That she’d come from his bed.

The elevator stopped on every floor of course, people taking a painfully slow time to exit. She was awkwardly aware of him standing too close because of the crowd. But even as it thinned he didn’t step away. As she was sandwiched between him and the wall, she couldn’t back away. She grew hotter and hotter as insanely inappropriate thoughts raced through her head. She stared straight ahead.

Get a grip, Chelsea.

It was clear he wasn’t similarly afflicted—not with the joking words he shared with another resident. The heat burned in her cheeks as he walked with her out onto her floor—his hand on her back. Oh so polite. Except for the inordinate amount of skin they were both displaying.

As soon as the elevator doors shut behind them, she stopped and turned to face him. Oh mamma, it was damn hard to verbalize anything when confronted by that body.

“You really don’t need to see me to my door,” she said huskily.

He merely walked around her, strolling along the corridor before turning back to face her, right outside her apartment. His smile was shameless. “You’re wearing my favorite tee-shirt.”

“Oh,” she glanced down and walked the last few paces to her door—where he already waited.

Suddenly he was standing closer than he had in the elevator. She could feel the raw denim of his jeans brushing the outside of her thigh. Wicked laughter danced in his eyes. Too overwhelming.

She looked down at his bare chest. A sprinkling of hair. Flat brown nipples that she could easily reach with her tongue. And a tan. And she’d already experienced the warmth of it, and the hard strength. It was a chest for touching, admiring, tasting. She’d have it beneath her, above her, his arms around her. He had such sensuality emanating from him—challenging her.

A frisson of aggression rippled through her body. She’d never been challenged this way. Never met anyone so blatantly wanting with just a look and a smile.

She didn’t want blatant. When she got back in the scene, she’d be taking it very, very easy. Not squaring off with some playboy. She lifted her chin and pulled the tee-shirt off in a quick movement, letting it dangle on the end of her finger.

“Thanks,” she said, totally feigning moxie.

With a grin he lifted the shirt from her crooked index finger and hooked it into his belt so it hung like a rag down the side of his leg.

“My pleasure.” The polite rejoinder sounded way too intimate to be all that polite. It sounded dangerous. And tempting. He leaned closer, bracing his arm on her doorway—so he took up even more of her vision. Dominating.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a move.”

Oh my. How was that for blunt? “Isn’t there some code of ethics that stops you superhero rescue guys from getting involved with the people you save?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“There should be. Women might mistake gratitude for lu—something else.”

“You think you’re feeling ‘something else’ for me?”

“I… no.” Somehow she held eye contact. The way he was looking at her sent flickers of heat along every nerve cell.

“Anyway, I didn’t really rescue you,” he said. “You’d have slid down the banister or something if you’d had to. Really it was all an excuse to get my hands on you.”