I wind up on my bruised butt in the puddle, my legs splayed, my laptop bag crushed against my chest and the rain beating down on me. The seam of my skirt is definitely toast now. There arethingsfloating in here: dirt and fast food wrappers and even a hair tie. I half expect to see the paper boat fromIt.This has been a Pennywise kind of day.
“Are you all right?” Donovan looms over me, still holding the umbrella. And, I realize, the heel of my shoe, which he’s somehow retrieved. He looks like he’s struggling not to laugh.
“If you sayI told you so,” I snap at him, struggling to get to my feet, “I will kill you.”
His teeth sink into his lower lip, as if it’s a physical effort to restrain himself, but somehow he manages. Instead, he reaches out to me with his free hand. “Anything broken?”
Muddy water sluices from my ruined skirt as I let him pull me to my feet. His hand is warm and dry and Ihatehim. “Just my dignity.”
“At the risk of wounding it further,” he says, sounding a little choked, “I guess I shouldn’t mention that people are staring.”
Balancing on one leg, I look around to see what he means. I was unlucky enough to take a spill in front of the yoga studio, which has a glass storefront, and I can count at least four familiar faces plastered against it: Jenny, a former beautyqueen who operates Sapphire Springs’ animal shelter; Bea, who owns the studio and whose logo I designed; Hot Yoga Grandma, whose apples I liberated this morning (because of course); and D’Andre, the local gossip.
Bea is snickering. Traitor. And Jenny is…waving at Donovan, who waves back at her, smiling like an actual person rather than a human version of Oscar the Grouch.
Great. Maybe it’s only me he can’t stand. And the entire staff of Smashbox.
In about five minutes, this scene will be all over Sapphire Springs. D’Andre has already pulled out his phone. I can see the rumor mill churning now. Combined with this morning’s arrest, I’ll never live it down.
As if my reputation weren’t bad enough already.
I yank off my broken shoe, then my good one, tears prickling behind my eyes. “If you’ll stop flirting with Jenny,” I snap, “then maybe we can get out of the rain? Not that it’ll make much difference to me at this point, but still.”
Donovan jerks his gaze away from the yoga studio. “I wasn’t—oh, never mind. Yes. Of course. Let’s go. If you…can you…”
His eyes flicker over my feet, then the rest of me, growing more horrified by the moment. I can practically see the wheels turning in his mind:There are sharp objectson the ground. She could cut her feet. Maybe I should offer to carry her. But no, she’s wet and dirty. If I carry her, thenIwill be wet and dirty, too. And then… and then…Cue system shutdown.
I try not to think about how it would feel to be held against that broad chest. To inhale that cedar-and-vanilla scent and be close enough to determine the precise shade of blue of his eyes. It’s a horrible joke that he is so attractive and so awful, all at the same time. I have absolutely no business fantasizing about shutting his obnoxious mouth by pressing a kiss to those stern lips and?—
No. No no no. Crime scene, Rune. Do not cross.
Donovan is still staring at me like I’m a puzzle he doesn’t know how to solve. Irritated with us both, I stomp away from him. A moment later, he catches up, lips quirked. “Where are you going?”
“To your car.”
“But you don’t know where it is,” he points out. “And I have the umbrella.”
“So what? It’s not like I can get any wetter.”
“Your laptop can.” His eyes fall to the bag, which I’m holding in a death grip against my chest. Then they skitter away, and I could swear the implacable Donovan Frost isblushing.
I glance down at myself. Sure enough, my shirt has given up the ghost and unbuttoned itself, revealing an impressive amount of cleavage.
Oh dear God.“Fine,” I say, feeling my own cheeks heat. “Lead the way.”
He does, walking a little slower this time. But the damage has already been done. Now all I can do is mitigate the fallout.
Chapter
Five
Donovan’s Prius,just like the rest of him, is spotless. I’m tempted to ask him if he irons it, too. But I’m too busy trying not to get filth all over it. I stand, clutching the handle of the open door, biting my lip.
Without a word, he reaches into his back seat and grabs a towel. I assume he’s going to offer it to me, to dry myself off. But instead, he unfolds it and drapes it over the passenger seat, so I won’t sully his precious upholstery. Whatever littlemomentpassed between us when he helped me out of the puddle and then blushed is long since gone.
Bastard,I think, loud enough that I’m surprised he doesn’t hear it. But telepathy isn’t one of my gifts, more’s the pity. Instead, I slide into the car, snatch the towel off the seat, and make a show of drying myself with it before spreading it out on the seat once again. I’m pretty sure I hear a horrified gasp from Donovan’s side of the vehicle, but I don’t bother looking at him to make sure.
No one so attractive should be such an unmitigated, narcissistic ass. If I have to look at his relatively dry, unruffledself right now, I might punch him. And I don’t need a second arrest today.
