With Every Heartbeat (Forbidden Men, #4)(58)

Henry, the faithful doorman, was not in his usual spot. I stared wide-eyed and gripped my head, not sure what to do now. I was sure there had to be a super somewhere in the building who could help me, but Cora had never told me who or where to go for emergencies like these.

So I had to ride the elevator back up to our apartment and find my cell phone in my room to call her. But her phone immediately went to voice mail.

She’d told me she was going to spend the evening with Quinn before she’d left earlier, so I didn’t even think. I called him next.

Surprisingly, he sounded awake when he answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

His voice sent a jolt through me, but I shook it off as quickly as possible. “Hi,” I rushed out. “I’m so sorry for waking you. It’s Zoey. I’m looking for Cora, but her phone’s turned off. Please tell me she’s still there.”

“Still...here?” he sounded vaguely confused. “She’s not with me if that’s what you’re asking. I thought she said she was doing something with you tonight. Everything okay?”

My roommate had lied. Again. What a surprise. But I had no time to dwell on that right now.

“Um...sure.” I cringed. “No, not really. I broke...something in the bathroom. Water is spraying everywhere, and I don’t know how to turn it off or where the number for our building’s superintendent is. Then Henry wasn’t at the front door. And Cora’s...” Who knew where Cora was.

“I’ll be right there.”

Even as my insides leapt with relief and joy, they shuddered with worry. Him, me, alone. Not such a good idea. “No, Quinn. You don’t have to—”

But he’d already hung up.

Well...

I scowled at the dead phone, but the sound of rushing water from the bathroom called my attention back to things at hand. So I hustled down the hall and peered in at the disaster. Everything inside was splattered and drenched.

Hoping to catch as much of it as possible, I dashed to the kitchen and threw open cupboards, looking for as many bowls and pots and pans as I could find.

Ten minutes later, I’d devised a system where I held a bowl right over the direct spray and could aim it to pour into a pan on the floor. When that one got full, I aimed it to the next pot in line beside it and tried to wrangle the full bowl into the bathtub with one hand to drain it. My arms were screaming in agony; I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this up. So it was a relief to hear someone knock on the front door.

Letting go of my hold on the main bowl, which let the water spray out again, I hurried to answer the door, hoping the building super had miraculously sensed a problem and was here to rescue me.

But it was Quinn.

“Is the water still on?” he asked, his gaze running over my soaked clothes and hair.

“Yes.” Miserable and almost in tears, I clutched my wet head. “I have no clue how to turn it off.”

He stepped into the apartment. “Let’s have a look.” I followed him back, nearly having to skip into a run to keep up with his long-legged stride. He wore a ball cap, tight black T-shirt and jeans that looked...really nice on him, especially when he bent over to reach for something behind the toilet.

Half a second later, the water stopped spraying him in the chest. He let out a sigh before he sat back on his haunches to glance over at me.

I scowled and crossed my arms over my wet chest. “Oh, that’s not even right how fast you fixed that.”

He grinned. “Sorry.” Then his gaze skipped around the bathroom before he murmured, “Wow.”

“You’re telling me,” I grumbled as I waded inside toward him. “Now show me what you did, so I’ll know what to do the next time this happens.”

“You just turn that lever there to turn the water off,” he explained, stepping aside and pointing so I could squeeze in closer to see.

“Oh. Well, cool. That’s actually what I would’ve chosen next. But I kind of lost my experimental nerve after the first doohickey thing I twisted came off in my hand.”

Quinn chuckled and glanced at my row of pots and pans. “Yeah, I probably would’ve lost my experimental urge too.”

I straightened and smiled at him as I wiped stray drops off my arms. “Thank you so much for coming. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. And you got here so fast.”

“I wasn’t too far away. I was driving home from work.”

“Oh,” I said lamely as my gaze spanned down to his outfit. He must get good tips if that was what he wore to work.

All wet like that, he looked really—

“Oh my God,” I yelped, realizing just how wet he was. “I’m so sorry you got soaked.”

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one.” When his gaze met mine, he grinned, and before I knew it, I was grinning back. Within seconds, we were laughing at the mess around us.

“Why don’t you change into something dry,” he finally suggested, “and I’ll get started cleaning up in here?”

The very idea made me recoil in horror. I already felt awful about him having to come over and rescue me. No way was I leaving him here to clean what I had messed up. “But you’re wet too,” I argued.

He glanced briefly at my chest. “Not as wet as you are.”

That’s when I remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra, and with my white nightshirt soaked through, he could see...everything. Flushing hard, I crossed my arms over my chest and retreated to my room to change.