Page 44 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
“Now what should I do?” I asked.
“Come to my right side… good. Okay, I’m gonna lean on you and try to take a step. You let me know if it’s too much, if I’m too heavy.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I assured him. “I can handle you.”
That got a chuckle out of him in spite of his obvious agony.
We started moving. Slowly. Not gonna lie—hewasheavy. He was so much taller and larger than me. But I’d literally have died before complaining.
With each step, Wilder let out an involuntary groan of pain, and I felt it all the way to my gut. In fact, just hearing it had me on the verge of tears.
What a mess I’d made of things. Not only had I failedspectacularlyto seduce Wilder at the beach—and the sundeck—and the waterfall—now I’d hurt him.
And now he would be even more standoffish than ever. He’d be evenmoreinclined to view me as the annoying little girl he’d known way back when.
Real smooth, Jess.
Step by painstaking step, we made our way down the muddy hill to the house. By the time we reached it, Wilder was shaking all over and breathing like he’d just run wind sprints.
I opened the door and helped him inside.
“Help me over to the fireplace,” he said in a voice that sounded like gravel in a garbage disposal. “I’ll sleep there tonight on the rug.”
“No. You should take the bed. You can’t sleep on the floor with a hurt leg.”
“No way I can do the stairs tonight.” He chuckled then winced. “Believe me, I’ve slept in far worse places with far worse injuries. I’ll be fine here. Besides, I need to warm up and dry off. You do, too. Maybe you can get a fire going for us? Do you know how to build one?”
“Wood and matches?”
“And kindling.” He pointed to a small bucket containing short, blocky pieces of light-colored wood. “I’ll walk you through the process.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was just joking with you. I know how to build a fire in a fireplace. My dad showed me how as a kid, and I have at least one at each of my houses.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure. They might have been gas-burning. Or maybe you have servants who do that kind of stuff for you.”
Wilder eased himself down onto the fluffy rug in front of the hearth, sighing in obvious relief.
“Servants?” I laughed out loud.
Selecting a few smaller logs from the wood bin on the hearth, I stacked them on the grate in a criss-cross pattern. “Do you really think Jessica Bailey from Eastport Bay, Rhode Island has servants?”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be unheard of. You’re a celebrity with a busy schedule.”
“Well, I don’t have servants. I do have assistants, but they’re for the business. When I’m home I take care of myself. And tonight… I’ll be taking care ofyou.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Wilder said, sounding embarrassed. But then a hard shudder worked its way through his body.
Reaching over his head to the couch behind him, I snagged the throw blanket and pulled it over his shoulders. Then I went back to the fireplace, arranged the kindling beneath the logs, and lit it.
“You should get those wet clothes off,” I suggested. Then my tone shifted to something far less certain. “Do you need help… getting your… shorts off? And your... the rest of your clothes?”
Wilder shook his head, smirking. “No, I can manage.”
“Okay well I’ll… I’ll go get you some dry clothes. What do you want? T-shirt and shorts? And underwear?”
“Just the t-shirt and shorts will be fine,” he said. “I like to keep it simple.”
I felt my face go hot. I was probably bright pink, too. Which wassostupid. It wasn’t like I was some little tween just realizing boys had penises in their underpants. Some men didn’t wear underwear, so what?
