Phoebe was silenced—he looked and sounded astonishingly sincere. The depths in his eyes were intense. As was his hold on her. And then she pulled herself together.
‘I thought it was my fault,’ she muttered.
‘It was. Mostly.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘You need medical attention,’ he added pragmatically. ‘Your ankle might be broken.’
‘At most it’s a sprain. You really don’t need to bother.’ She almost pleaded with him to release her from this searing attraction.
‘It’s no bother.’
Aware of all the other men—keeping their distance but keenly watching—she gritted her teeth. She felt his amusement triple and tried not to overreact more. He’d run into her—literally—and he wanted to make sure she got home safely, that was all. But her instincts warned that he posed some kind of threat.
She heard a vehicle on the road behind them, a heavy engine that sounded like it was slowing. Her non-angel paused and there were noisy shouts of Italian. More men. More laughter. They were all watching.Great.She should have spent way more time on her Italian app.
‘We can get a ride on the truck if you would like,’ he said.
Yeah, no, she didn’t get in vehicles with strange men.
Her non-angel turned slightly, keeping her screened from the stares of the men. ‘Luca has farmed here all his life. He has five daughters and he’ll ensure you get there safely.’
So was he going to leave her with the old man?
‘Or, if you prefer—’ his eyes glittered ‘—I can carry you the entire way.’
Um… No. Because while he didn’t seem to be breaking any more of a sweat, her body had decided it was all for this intimacy, and it was scraping her nerves along a very particular, inappropriate edge. She was making this whole humiliating episode a far worse spectacle than it needed to be. Phoebe wasn’t like Elodie—she didn’t like to put on a show or want to be in the spotlight, certainly not since her ex had put her there for his own performance reasons.
‘The truck would be great,’ she muttered awkwardly. ‘Please thank Luca for me before you go.’
He stared at her for another second then spun and carried her to the back of the truck. One of the warriors was already there. The heavy-set man undid the tray door, spread out an old blanket and put her bag down. She must have dropped it in the melee. Her determined rescuer effortlessly carried her up with one giant step.
‘You’ll be more comfortable here.’ He placed her on the blanket, then sat beside her and winked. ‘I told you I would see you home safely.’
The relief was insane. She didn’t want him to see it but as she couldn’t turn away from the expression in his eyes, he doubtless did. He had a slightly smug half-smile but as she stared, he sobered. Time slipped.
Suddenly she was consumed by the crazy notion that he was thinking aboutkissingher. Worse, she was definitely thinking about kissing him. Definitely considering that perfect Cupid’s bow of his top lip—considering running the tip of her tongue along the edge of it. Definitely appreciating his heat and power and wanting to feel more of it. Definitely seeing heat mirrored in his gaze. Definitely sensing his magnetism strengthen. Time slowed even more. Her head angled and she leaned—before snatching a breath, stopping herself from tumbling closer just in time. She tried to stabilise her suddenly chaotic pulse. She’ddefinitelytaken a knock to the head and maybe it had triggered some loss of her personal boundaries because she’d never felt as intensely, immediately attracted to anyone. Or as willing to act on it.
‘What about your friends?’ she asked distractedly as the driver released the brake. Good thing she was leaving the country tomorrow because she was embarrassing herself completely here.
‘They’ll be fine.’
She watched the four men sprint back in the direction from which they’d come while the truck moved almost slower than her walking pace. Her non-angel wrapped an arm around her, cushioning her from the bumps. She looked anywhere but his eyes, which left her with his body. His legs were long and muscular and she noted a fresh scrape on his knee.
‘You’re bleeding,’ she said softly. ‘Pass my bag, I’ve got some plasters.’
‘I’ll live. Your stomach is rumbling.’ He picked up her bag but as he did, it popped open and her now very bruised peach escaped the side pocket. ‘This was lunch?’ He retrieved it with a growl. ‘It’s insufficient.’ He tossed it over the side of the truck.
Antagonism flared. She was starving and that was all she had. ‘You think I can’t take care of myself?’
‘Iknowyou were walking on the wrong side of the road on a blind corner,’ he said dryly, handing her bag to her. ‘You’re lucky it was me coming down the hill and not a car or you’d have a lot worse than a broken ankle.’
‘Sprainedankle.’ But as much as she didn’t want to admit it, he was right. ‘There’s not a lot of traffic on that road. I’d have heard a car.’
‘We were not quiet,’ he replied. ‘So you’ll understand why I doubt your self-care abilities.’
‘I’d been nailing self-care actually,’ she murmured, setting her bag beside her. ‘I was enjoying the weather and the peace and the pool and I had a nice peach to eat and now you—hey, he missed the turn-off!’ She glanced up in alarm as the track to the cottage receded from view. ‘You need—’
‘You need medical attention and a decent lunch.’ His arm tightened.
Her jaw dropped.
