Second Chance Summer(54)

He rolled her over and pinned her there with a hand low on her back.

She sputtered and fought him, but then went utterly still when he ran his fingers up the back of one thigh, scooping the edge of her boy-cut panties up a cheek.

“Also bruised,” he said.

“That’s where I landed. No worries, I’m padded nicely.”

“Nicely is right,” he said, and he removed his hands from her.

She leapt off the bed, tugged down her shirt, and had to tighten her lips not to whimper at the fast movement. “Okay, thanks. Be sure to lock the door on your way—”

“Did you hit your head or lose consciousness at any time?”

“No!” She didn’t want to need his help, wanted to lick her wounds in private rather than get turned on by his gentle touch. But she was stupid light-headed from getting up too fast and knew she wasn’t in the greatest shape.

And as much as she didn’t want to like it, she did like how he always seemed to be there for her, even if her brain kept telling her heart she didn’t want him to be.

He still wasn’t leaving. “Tell me what really happened.”

“I loaded up some wood and was making my way up the stairs when”—she broke off and grimaced—“something popped out of the wood. I nearly had heart failure and fell down the stairs. The end.”

He never took his eyes off of her. “What popped out at you?”

“A spider,” she said, because hey, that could’ve totally happened. Just because she’d freaked out over the baby bunny didn’t mean that there wasn’t also a spider. Maybe she’d been so busy falling down the stairs she just hadn’t seen the spider.

“A spider made you fall down the stairs?” he asked in disbelief.

“A big one.” She lifted her hands so that they were about a foot apart.

His lips twitched.

Her hands spread apart even wider. “It might have been a mutant spider.”

“Or a baby bunny,” he said.

She stared at him while he grinned wide.

“You knew the whole time,” she accused.

“Yep. Lenny told me.”

“Well isn’t that just like a man,” she said in disgust.

Aidan tipped his head back and laughed out loud.

“Fine. Whatever,” she said. “I’m taking a shower. Alone.”

“Make it lukewarm, not hot,” he said. “I’m going to the truck for my first-aid kit.”

“Aidan, I’m so not in the mood to play doctor.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll play doctor and you play the nice, sweet, passive patient.”

She opened her mouth to retort to this but he was gone. Argh. She limped/hobbled after him and hit the lock. Proud of herself, she limped/hobbled to the bathroom and locked that door as well.

And then she crawled into the shower, where she had herself a nice, private cry. When she was done, she turned off the water and stared at herself in the mirror. She was bruising from head to toe, her damn hands hurt, and her knees hurt and so did her butt. She was still staring at herself when someone clicked open the bathroom door and made her jump nearly right out of her towel.

Aidan.

“Hey, I locked my front door!”

He set a red duffel bag on the counter. It had a white cross on it and read: first aid.

“And the bathroom door,” she added.

He narrowed his eyes. “Were you crying?”

“No.”

Looking pained, he let her have the lie as he gestured to the closed commode. “Sit.”

She instantly put her hands to her backside. No way was she going to be sitting. Maybe not ever again.

He stared at her, clearly trying to decide whether to force her or not. And maybe also worried she’d start crying again. She was tempted.

Instead of waiting for him to figure it all out, she brushed past him, nose high. “I’m busy.”

“Yeah, busy healing. Now if you won’t sit, then lie down.” He dropped his bag on the bed.

She decided to put up with his annoying boorish behavior, because she figured he had Band-Aids in his bag and she didn’t have any.

So she very carefully sat on the bed, sucked in a breath at the pressure on her sore butt, and came to the conclusion that he was right. Lying down seemed like the way to go. She lay back.

Without another word, Aidan perched a hip on the bed and went to work, doctoring up both knees first.

She hissed out a breath when he sprayed antiseptic over the abraded skin. “Hurts.”

He lifted his head and met her gaze. “You fell down the stairs without a peep, but this hurts?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“How about the baby bunny?” he asked. “You want to talk about that?”

She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s talk about why you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” she said. Lied. But there was no way she’d explain that the anger was really self-directed and came from wanting him again. And not just a silly crush want, either, but much, much more. She couldn’t have that conversation because the wanting was mutual, she knew that much. Just as she knew it couldn’t go anywhere. Aidan and his lifestyle—putting his neck out on the mountain daily—would kill her.