As Brennan sat there, stunned into silence by the bomb she’d dropped on him, Evie turned away and waltzed into the kitchen.
He was playing with fire, a particularly pretty one, in a way that was much more suited to his brothers Rhett and Corbin. Rhett could charm any woman just by breathing. It was natural and sweet, and most of the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Corbin, on the other hand, had learned to flirt and used it to his advantage frequently. But Brennan? Eldest, most responsible, and let’s not forget shyest of the brood? Nope. That was not him. And yet, something in him had enjoyed the back and forth, as brief as it was, he’d just had with Evie.
A crash and the sound of shattering had him out of his chair and at the entrance to the kitchen in moments.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
With a practiced glance, Brennan quickly assessed the situation and the danger. Spiky shards of the broken bowls littered the small kitchen floor all around Evie’s bare feet.
When had she taken off her boots? There was a scratch along the top of her foot, complete with a trickle of blood. Nothing that should need any more medical skills than he had.
“Where’s the broom?” he asked.
“Beside the fridge.”
It was the quietness of her voice that snagged his attention. The look on her face, her eyes brimming with tears, and the quivering bottom lip struck like multiple daggers to his heart. He retrieved the broom and made short work of sweeping all the shards to a safe spot before moving to her. Cleaning up was secondary to finding out what was wrong.
With his hands on her waist, Brennan lifted her straight up onto the nearest clean countertop. One hand settled on her hip, the other cupped her jaw and tilted her head so he could see into her still-tear-filled eyes.
“Evie, where else are you hurt?”
She shook her head, and a lone tear ran down her cheek. “I’m not hurt.”
“Your foot’s bleeding. Not much, but…” That shouldn’t warrant tears. “Why are you crying?”
She reached up and swiped at the tears on her other cheek. He caught her hand, and—he had no idea what possessed him—brought it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her fingers. Her eyes widened, and the pain there slipped to the shadows, replaced by surprise and, if he wasn’t mistaken, desire. Her mouth made a little ‘o’ shape that was incredibly tempting, but he managed to hold on to a sliver of control and not give in.
“Talk to me. Please.” He released her hand, somewhat reluctantly, and then wiped the remaining tears from cheeks even softer than he’d imagined.
“The bowls,” Evie whispered. “They were my grandmother’s. And they were the last two.”
Brennan pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used them.”
“No.” Evie shook her head, reached for his hand, and squeezed it. “No. I always use them. I would’ve tonight, too. It’s not your fault. I just… I’m clumsy. I’m surprised they’ve lasted as long as they have.” She shrugged. “Not your fault,” she finished softly.
“You were close to her?” He didn’t know when he’d done it, but their fingers were now threaded together, and he couldn’t help but register how perfectly they fit.
Evie nodded. “Yeah. I was.”
While Brennan still had both sets of grandparents, he knew what it was like to lose someone close to you. The pain still flared with thoughts of his father, and he doubted that would change anytime soon. “I’m sorry.”
Her gaze dropped to their fingers, and after a moment, she pulled hers from his and swiped at her cheeks again. He stepped back to give them both some space. The sad emotions rolling off her, combined with the scent of her sweet, yet subtle floral perfume, were dangerous to his self-control, especially given how close he’d already come tonight.
“First aid kit?”
“Under the sink.”
Putting his entire focus on the task at hand was what he needed to do. This was what he was good at. Helping people. He found the surprisingly well-stocked kit and came back to her. Retrieving the necessary supplies with only mildly shaking hands, he forced himself into firefighter mode. Focus. Distraction. Anything, within reason, to keep the patient calm and working with him rather than against. That he could do.
CHAPTER 4
He’d liftedher as if she’d weighed nothing. Not a grunt or complaint. No sarcastic comments about pulling a back muscle. He’d just… done it. And he’d been worried about her. Evie had practically melted when he’d pressed his lips to her fingers. Not only that, but during those precious seconds, she’d forgotten all about her beloved grandmother’s last bowls being shattered on her kitchen floor. She loved those bowls. Her grandmother had kept them specially for Evie’s visits, and then put the whole set as part of her inheritance. The rest were in her cupboard, all safe and sound, and complete. Except the bowls.
Brennan’s touch brought her back to the present and distracted her again. He lifted her foot and settled it against his chest. Warmth radiated from him and her toes curled into the tempting firmness of the muscles under them.
“But your shirt.” If she bled all over that she’d have to?—
“I know how to get blood out, Evie. Relax. I’ve got you.”
