Page 43 of Off the Wall

Apparently I can’t even walk properly.

“Are you all right?” Cash lets the bike clatter onto the walkway, then he drops down beside me. “Let me help you up.”

“I’ll be fine,” I groan, but Cash shifts into helper mode anyway. He lifts me to my feet and props me up as I hobble over to the fountain. It’s a three-tiered model, with water bubbling from the top down to an enormous limestone base. I take a seat on the ledge to survey the results of my clumsiness.

Both my knees are scraped up, and blood streams down my shins. My palms aren’t much better. They’re bleeding less, but tiny bits of gravel are embedded under the skin. As Cash gently examines the parts of me that hit the ground, the heatfrom his touch matches the heat scorching my face. I suck in a breath, and he winces.

“I don’t think anything’s broken or sprained,” he says. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” I rush to say. “But you should go.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

“You said there’s a kid waiting for you in the OR.”

“The anesthesiologist has to put him under, then the approach will take a while. They know my equipment’s already there. I’ve got a little time.” He frowns at the blood that’s about to reach the tops of my socks.

“So much for my new white Vans.” I press out a snort.

“I have a first aid kit in my apartment, but …” He glances up at the third floor of the building, which might as well be ten miles away, considering I’m about to leave my DNA all over the courtyard. “Hold on.” He drops to a squat and gently tugs off my shoes and socks. My feet are always extra sensitive after they’ve been stuck inside shoes, and this moment is no different. The stroke of his hands across my bare heels sends a tremor up my calves. My knees twitch, and I jerk my feet away.

“Sorry,” he grunts.

“It’s not you,” I assure him, but I don’t think he hears me. He’s too busy fisting the neckline of his T-shirt and dragging the whole thing up over his head. For the record, I had no idea the level of perfection he’s achieved under his clothes.

Rippling abs take up half his torso, split by grooves so deep, his muscles have muscles. Higher up are a set of impressive pecs. No wonder he was able to hold me and the bike up at the same time. If I weren’t already sitting down, I would’ve fallen to the ground all over again. The sight of this man shirtless takes my breath away.

All of it.

No breath left behind.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

“We need to wash out these cuts.” He reaches behind me to dip his shirt into the fountain. “Otherwise, they could get infected.” He squeezes the air bubbles from the fabric as water absorbs into the cotton. “We can do a better job once we’re inside,” he says. “For now, though, we don’t want to track blood through the building.”

“Youdon’t have to worry about any of this,” I say, dizzy from the view.

“Too late.” As he wrings the water from his shirt onto my legs, the scent of laundry detergent floats up between us. Almost instantly, the pain that had been radiating off my kneecaps begins to dissipate.

Maybe this fountain really is magic.

He dunks his shirt back into the water and douses me again. As fresh rivulets run down my legs, he tends to my cuts, gently removing the surface grime and gravel. “Let’s look at those palms now,” he says. “Hold your hands out for me.”

I do as he commands.

He takes both my hands to examine them, and adrenaline surges through my body. Pieces of dirt are embedded under my skin, so he uses his shirt to dab at the scrapes.

At least we didn’t get any blood in the fountain. That’s the good news. The bad news is that his shirt—which had been a perfect shade of baby blue—now looks like evidence from a crime scene. In a court of law, I’d be found guilty of murdering Cash’s clothing.

Wonderful.

I draw in a shaky breath. “Your shirt. It’s ruined.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He drops it on the ground, and we both look down at the puddle surrounding my feet.

“I really should clean up this mess, though,” I say.

Is that what you’re concerned about, Nori?

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