Page 109 of You, As You Are

Maisie’s eyebrow formed a perfect curve. “Pardon?”

Iain said what he’d said, and he wouldn’t back down from it. “Your clothes are soaked, and I need to check your knee in case it’s swelling.”

Her affronted expression relaxed as she realised that he was right. Her fingers went to the hem of her t-shirt, but she stopped.

“What?” he said.

Colour came back to her cheeks. “I’m not wearing a bra.”

His gaze dipped and heat warmed the tips of his ears as if he hadn’t noticed how the wet t-shirt moulded to her breasts, hard nipples poking under the material. He definitely had, but the part of his brain that told him to get her safe and dry had shoved that thought aside. She was safe now, and his brain fully recognised the sight in front of him.

The front of his trousers tightened.

He had to get out of here.

“Get changed,” he said. ‘I’ll go and make sure Ted’s clean. If you need me?—”

“I’ll shout.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MAISIE

Iain shutthe bathroom door which gave Maisie more privacy than he’d given himself this morning. Her shivers and the heavy feeling that another cold could start any second reminded her, while she peeled off her soaked t-shirt, of how stupid she’d been. Chasing Ted through the forest in the pouring rain.Huh.What kind of idiot did that?

This idiot,apparently.

Seeing the man on the other side of that door naked really had clouded Maisie’s brain. She’d been toppling sideways and landing on her arse before she’d known it.

She changed into the cream fleece Iain had given her, hissing when she shifted to pull her wet leggings down her legs. She gritted her teeth and bit back fruity language just from getting the damn material to her thighs. It all bunched around her knees, and she couldn’t reach …

Her knee yelled in pain.

“Damn it,” she cursed under her breath. There was no way that she could do this on her own, which of course justhadto mean …

“Ugh,” Maisie groaned. “Okay.” She covered her lap with a pillow. “Iain!”

The door whipped open like he’d been waiting for her call.

She gestured at the knee she’d fallen on. “It’s sore. And I can’t reach to …”

Iain’s attention fell to the leggings squeezing around her knees, but he didn’t make a move, his expression turning sheepish as his gaze moved up her legs to the pillow in her lap.

Shitting hell.

Maisie didn’t need him to be a gentleman right now.

“You’ve already seen my underwear once, Iain,” she lamented, “I don’t think this will phase you.”

That appeared to do the trick.

In a dry pair of jeans, Iain swept to her, crouched, and carefully rolled the leggings down to her ankles before taking her feet out. Maisie felt like an idiot. An idiot whose stomach clenched and breath hitched with every feather of calloused skin against her calves.

Iain tossed the leggings aside – she wasn’t sad to watch them go – and examined her knee.

“It’s not swelling,” he said as he tenderly probed the skin. Maisie gulped and forgot to listen. “Just some bruising probably.”

Turning his back on her when he stood and stepped over to where he’d left his bag of clothes on the settee was a mistake, because it meant Maisie could watch his every single movement without feeling guilty for the heat that took over her. It rose up to the surface of her skin, abandoning her need for a towel.

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