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He rushed forward, worry tensing his stomach. “Claire?”
She froze, her hands still covering her face.
“Are you alright?” He sidestepped the tree, pausing above her when she said nothing.
Another moment passed before she responded, her voice muffled in her hands. “Yep.”
He looked again to the tree still on its side. “What, uh…What happened here?”
She remained where she was, still hiding her face. Had she tripped over the tree somehow? Hurt her nose by falling?
“Oh, you know,” she replied, her voice steady. “I was just watering the tree when the pitcher got caught on the stand, so naturally, I pulled the whole thing down on myself. But, hey. Good news. The pitcher’s no longer stuck.”
She waved an elbow to the right of her where the empty pitcher also lay beside her.
He reached down, heaving the tree up from its side as he took note of the water that had spilled across the floor and was now seeping into Claire’s side, darkening the fabric of her shirt. He pressed his lips tightly together, trying to hold in his growing smile. He needed to make sure she really was okay before he allowed himself to fully register the humor of the situation.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Yep. I managed to wiggle my way out from under it, so I’m good.”
He made sure the tree was secure, then turned to face Claire. “If you’re not hurt, why are you still on the ground, hiding your face?”
“Well, I couldn’t really stand up before because I was laughing so hard.”
So she had been laughing. That was good news. “And now?” he pressed.
“Now, I’m not getting up or showing my face because I swore you’d never see me embarrassed again.”
A smile broke out across his lips. If this woman wasn’t the most adorable, most thoughtful, most charming…
“Come on,” he said, offering her his hand. “Let me help you up.”
“Nope. I’m good.”
He dropped his hand to his side. “You don’t want my help?”
“Oh, I’d be fine with your help. But I’ll just get up when you’re gone.”
He shook his head in amusement, but when he caught sight of the scratches on her arms, his smile faded. “You are hurt.”
He crouched beside her, reaching out to smooth a finger over the white abrasions the needles left across her smooth skin, but instead of ensuring the cuts weren’t too deep, his attention was swallowed up by the energy skittering up his arm from her skin against his.
Swallowing hard, he pulled back and shook the feeling from his hands, glancing instead to her face she still covered. “Did you get scratched on your face, too?”
“No.”
As if she’d tell him the truth.
The blood thinned in his legs from his crouched position, so he knelt instead, resting a hand near her shoulder. In his movements, his knee pressed against her hip, but he swiftly shifted away.
“Just let me see your face once,” he said, “then I promise I’ll leave you be.”
He watched her closely until she finally raised her hands out to the side of her, though she kept her eyes closed. “There, see? I’m all good.”
Liam smiled at first, her ridiculous actions making her all the more endearing. But as he continued to stare down at her, the light from the fireplace flickering across her features, the humor slipped away, and a stirring swelled in his chest that he couldn’t dampen.
Just as she’d said, her face wasn’t scratched. Instead, it was flawless. Her skin smooth across her high cheekbones, her arched lips curved ever so slightly at the ends, and her hair—those full, gorgeous waves splayed out behind her head and across the floor. What would his fingers feel like, swimming through those currents?
