After a moment of consideration, she lets out a deep growl of frustration. “I think I stepped on something sharp.”
Keeping my hands out, as if I’m pacifying a wounded animal, I ask, “Can I come over there and help you?”
She looks down at herself and says in a distressed voice, “I’m practically naked.”
Her state of undress makes her feel weak. I get it.
With tremendous strength, I keep my eyes from traveling down her body that is equally as beautiful as her face. “I’m aware,” I grit out, my eyes locked on hers.
In all my encounters with this woman, I’ve never seen her as vulnerable. Brazen, yes. Harsh, yes. Vulnerable? No.
But right now, the fragile look in her eyes is tugging at my heart. Part of her wants to run from me, the other knows she needs my help, and both halves dance across her face.
Finally, she nods her head just slightly.
“You want my help?” I ask. I need clarification of the head nod, and I want to rub her need for my help in her face, just a little. This woman, whose name I still somehow do not know, hasn’t exactly been warm and welcoming to me. A little nose-rubbing won’t hurt.
“Yes,” she growls, an irritated look on her face. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”
She lifts her injured foot and teeters as she attempts to balance. Usually when people balance their arms come out to their sides to help them, but she’s still using her arms to cover herself. She tries to angle herself away, but now instead of seeing her front, I see her backside.
And what a fine back half it is. She’s not wearing a thong, but it’s one of those that might as well be called one. Thanks to the ever-darkening sky, it’s not on full display, but from what I can see, it’s the kind of backside any red-blooded male in his right mind would have a hard time looking away from.
She throws a dirty look at me over her shoulder. “I hope you’re enjoying the view.”
Her momentary glance throws her off balance, and she instinctively lowers her injured foot to catch herself. Instead of yelping in pain, she whimpers and lowers her chin to her chest, defeated.
“Now can I help you?” I call out.
She nods in the saddest, smallest way. “Yes.”
I take care to make my stride slow and even, not wanting to weird her out by being overeager.
Truth be told, Iameager to be nearer to her. Despite her prickly exterior, the glimpses of vulnerability I’ve seen in the past few minutes make me curious.
Her eyes are trained on me as I approach, but when I get within a foot of her, her gaze falls down to the rocky shore.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I say softly.
“Um, okay.” Sarcasm encompasses those two words. “I’m wearing a bikini meant for spring break in Europe, not a lake in Oregon. It was all I had, and it’s from years ago. I didn’t think to bring anything with me from Chicago.”
She’s embarrassed and on the defensive. Understandable.
Crouching down, I do my best not to stare at the perfect curve of her backside and reach for her slender ankle. She falters, using my shoulder to balance. Which means she’s no longer covering her chest. It takes all my willpower not to glance up.
Why, oh why, is this woman reducing me to a hormone-addled teenager? Been there, done that. Teenage Lennon gave me years of embarrassing or otherwise ill-timed tightening in the front of my shorts, and damn it if it’s not starting up at this inopportune time.
Stifling a sigh, I force my attention back to the task at hand. Shoved deep into the flesh in the center of her foot is a thick, nasty looking thorn.
I’m just about to pull it out when I get an idea. Careful to keep my eyes on her foot, I open my mouth.
“You’re a captive audience, so I’m going to use the next eight seconds to tell you about that ring.”
She starts to protest but I bulldoze through her words. “That ring belonged to my grandpa. My mom gave it to me before I left Phoenix to go back to Chicago. I found it in my dresser just as I was leaving my apartment for the airport.”
“And you wore it?”
I open my mouth to respond, but then think better of it. I don’t want to get into why I put that ring on and kept it on. Now that I’ve said my piece, it’s time to move on from the subject.
