“Oof, watch it,” I grumble ungraciously, trying to right myself on the heels I don’t wear often enough according to my mom.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” a deep voice returns before a pair of firm hands grips my arms on both sides. “Are you okay?”
I look up to find a pair of crystal blue eyes gazing into mine. “Fine,” I retort, taking a step back and extricating myself from the man’s grasp. Though I immediately regret it once I realize he’s absolutely gorgeous.
“Please excuse me, I’m … not feeling well.” He swallows hard, and I watch his chest rise and fall, as if he’s struggling to breathe.
My brow furrows as I study him. He doesn’t appear to be drunk; if anything, he’s a little too tightly wound for that. He staggers backward to brace himself against the wall while he removes his suit jacket and lets it fall to the floor.
“Do you need help?” I ask carefully as he loosens his bowtie.
He clears his throat uncomfortably and nods after a second. “I think I might,” he croaks, crossing himself as if he’s sending up a prayer.
“Okay, what can I do?”
“Use … this … please,” he wheezes between increasingly shallow breaths.One of his hands delves into his pocket while he takes mine with the other and slaps an EpiPen into my palm.
“Right, yeah, okay,” I mumble when he pokes himself in the leg, miming an injection and prompting my memory, and I’m suddenly grateful our school nurse insisted on training me for this type of emergency.
I skim the directions on the pen. It’s similar enough to the devices I’ve seen before, so I flick off the bright blue safety cap.
“Ready?” I ask.
His nodding grows more frantic as I kneel and cup one of my hands around his inner thigh, preparing to jam the syringe into his muscles. And what muscles they are. I can feel his hamstrings flexing through the fabric of his dress pants.
Focus, Claire. Sure, the man is sexy, but he’s also dying.
Cringing, I force myself to stab his leg. The stranger barely flinches as his hands fly up to my shoulders, steadying himself and struggling to slow his breathing as I count to ten. He’s still hyperventilating after I remove the needle, so I do my best to support both of us until his gasps and gulps start to sound more like measured inhales and exhales.
My eyes dart around when I realize we’ve garnered an audience. I can only imagine the assumptions they might be making, especially if they missed the part about me being down here to administer an injection.TanteVerna will certainly have a field day once she hears about me groping a stranger in the lobby.
“Thank you,” the man rasps after a minute and moves his hands to scoop me up to a standing position.
“Yeah, no worries,” I reply once I’m back on my feet, ignoring the way my skin tingles where his hands linger on my skin.
“I’m glad I bumped into you. Believe it or not, you may have just saved a life.”
CHAPTER TWO
claire
The stranger smirksand takes the empty EpiPen case from me, and I can’t help but simper back.
He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, aside from his flushed cheeks and the dark purple splotches crawling up his neck. I mean, I’m not usually into the combo of light hair and eyes or the clean-cut look, but it’s working for this guy. There’s also something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Is it his face? Or his voice? I’d have sworn we met before if he weren’t acting like he didn’t know me, reaching up to scratch his jaw absently while he waits for my reply.
“Are you always so willing to risk your life for a free meal?” I ask coyly.
He lets out a short laugh as he bends to pick up his jacket, his shoulders flexing with the movement.
“Not intentionally, but there’s apparently a hidden peanut allergen in the jambalaya,” he says, tilting his head toward the ballroom across the hall from my grandparents’ celebration. He’s a guest at a charity banquet for a local crisis pregnancy center, according to the sign outside the door, which means he probably paid a hefty price for that meal.
“And you’d think my instincts would have told me to stay inside,since I was surrounded by doctors. But for some reason, I went with the classic panic-and-run tactic when my throat started closing up. Thank God you were here,” he continues, holding out his right hand. “I’m Rowan, by the way.”
“Claire,” I return, sliding my hand into his. He shakes it gently but doesn’t let it go.
“This could be the epinephrine talking, but,” he pauses to gulp, his nerves giving him a boyish charm I never thought I’d be into until now, “can I buy you a coffee or something? As a thank you.”
