Page 6 of Only the Wicked
“That’s not a resounding endorsement.”
I bite back a chuckle at her observation. She’s right. San Francisco shall not receive a Rhodes MacMillan endorsement.
We reach a particularly steep spot, which is more of a four-foot drop. On the way up, I climbed this piece one-handed, preserving my injured elbow. Red dust puffs beneath my running shoes when I hop down. I hold out both arms.
“Jump. I’ll catch you.”
“I’ll knock you down. I’m too big. Move.”
Her face screws up like me catching her is the worst idea in the world, and I bark out a laugh. No…I’m actually laughing. I almost forgot what it feels like to laugh.
“You’re not big. What else are you going to do?”
I’m now closer to eye level with her bent leg and inspect the injury. Compared to her other knee, there’s no noticeable swelling, but the boots and thick socks hide her ankle. The bloody knee does nothing to diminish the appeal of her spectacular legs. A runner’s legs that would probably look phenomenal in heels and a short skirt. Hell, they’re eye-catching now in Umbro shorts and hiking boots.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She’s being ridiculous. I’m at least a foot taller than her, and I lift three times a week and have maintained my workout regime for decades.
“Jump,” I insist.
She bends closer to me with outstretched arms. The dirt below her boots crumbles and tiny rocks cascade down the trail.
“Come on, I’ve got you,” I encourage.
She leaps forward, and I catch her, flat against my torso. Her arms are over my shoulders, and her brown eyes are inches from mine, the brown a lighter shade, the flecks of color closer to topaz than gold this close up. My gaze falls to her lips, full and pale pink, glossy as if she just licked them.
My dick hardens, and my hands grip her sides, putting distance between us. I just met this woman. She doesn’t need to feel that. I shift, looking down, willing my body to calm down while double-checking my khaki shorts conceal that unexpected response.
“You okay?” she asks from behind me.
“Can’t believe you thought you’d take this path on your own.” Feeling like I’m in the clear, I turn slightly, offering her my arm, and take the lead, stepping slightly in front just in case she slides.
“While I appreciate your help, with the right stick, I could’ve made it down.”
I bite back a derogatory response. “Do you go hiking by yourself often?”
“Yes.”
“Is that wise?”
“Probably smarter than going rock climbing by myself.”
“Do you climb?”
“When I can. I was planning on hitting Linville Gorge tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that now with this leg. I’ll see how it is tomorrow.”
“What’s injured? The knee or the ankle?”
“Both.” Her lips twist.
“You slipped?”
“Slammed down hard on my knee. Ankles a little sore, but it’s probably fine.”
“Rock climbing’s inadvisable.” I’m stating the obvious, but she might benefit. “I planned to climb today. My elbow.” I lift my right elbow for emphasis. “Giving it a rest.”
“What’s wrong? Tennis elbow?”
