his momentum pulled his hand right through hers. She had to catch herself from falling on top of him.
“Are you okay?” Stupid question. His complexion had gone white and his jaw was clenched against the pain. She crouched next to him. “How can I help?”
“Back the hell up.” He shooed her away. “Give me some room.”
Respecting his wish, she stood back but watched him carefully. In high school she worked two years as a lifeguard at her dad’s golf club. From his paleness and the clamminess of his skin, he looked about to pass out. If that happened, she’d have to call an ambulance because there’d be no handling his deadweight.
“Garrett, are you light-headed?” She knelt next to him.
“A little,” he admitted, which said a lot.
“We don’t want you passing out. I would have to call an ambulance...” Mention of an ambulance got his attention.
“No hospital. I just need a moment.” He supported himself on one arm, leaning sideways. The other hand clutched at his right leg, the obvious point of his pain. He tried to rise but slumped back. “My head is spinning.”
“Okay, you need to sit up. And put your head in your lap.” He no doubt saw spots before his eyes. She helped him into position and rubbed a hand over his back. It was supposed to be your head between your knees. She hoped this would be enough to stop the dots from merging into total darkness.
After a moment, he lifted his head. “It’s better. Thanks. Sorry to snap at you.”
Dark tendrils fell over his eyes. Brushing them back, she felt the dampness of his skin. It had been a close call. “Okay, let’s get you on your feet.”
Without asking this time, she tucked an arm under his right shoulder and lifted. He managed to get his left leg under himself, and between the two of them, he reached his feet.
He brushed off his clothes, teetering, but unwilling to ask for help.
“I’ll send you a bill for the carpet cleaning.” It would be a great exit line, except his right leg wouldn’t hold his weight. He almost went down again when he tried.
“Enough of this.” She invaded his space, cupped his face in her hands, feeling the prickle of an approaching five o’clock shadow, and met his pain-filled gaze. “Either you accept my help or I call for that ambulance. It’s your choice.”
Just for a moment he hooded his eyes, leaned into her touch. In the next instant, he jerked away. Squaring his shoulders, irritation stamped his features, eradicating any flash of vulnerability she may have imagined.
“No hospital.” He repeated his earlier decree. “I strained an old injury. I just need to get home and put some ice on it.”
“It’s your right leg. You aren’t driving anywhere.”
His jaw clenched as he struggled between desire and reality. “Fine.” He gritted the word through his teeth. “You can drive me home.”
Lucky her. As if hauling his injured rear was a highly sought after reward. She rolled her eyes, pretended her heart hadn’t leaped at the notion of driving the Maserati and tucked her shoulder under his arm to help him around the car. This close he smelled of a spicy cologne touched with lavender and citrus, raw male and, oh, Lord, leather.
The sexy combination nearly knocked her on her tush.
Unfortunately, once they reached the passenger side, it became obvious the car was too low-slung for him to comfortably lower himself into it.
“This isn’t going to work,” she declared, raw with frustration.
“For once, I agree.” He shifted on his good leg, and suddenly she was in his arms, her hands clutching his waist. “I need to keep my leg straight.” His breath caressed her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.
“We can use the company SUV. It’s higher and has more legroom. Wait here.” Relieved, she ducked out from under his arm. She blamed her near sprint inside on the need to get rid of him. She wasn’t running scared.
“Liar,” she muttered while snagging the keys to the fuel-friendly Ford and locking up the showroom. Wanting him gone had everything to do with running scared. And a strong sense of self-preservation. So she’d drive him home, pay to clean his blasted carpet and put him firmly from her mind.
* * *
Garrett clicked the locks on his prized Maserati, a gift to himself from the profits of his first successful film. He rued the impulse that brought him to West Hollywood and the offices of By Arrangement.
When he found the toe prints in his car this morning, he’d been annoyed.
Tori Randal’s barefooted impersonation of a valet fell short of professionalism in his opinion. He’d come here today in the hopes she could redeem that impression before he put his company’s reputation in her hands at the upcoming international film festival.
Of course the insolent blonde couldn’t simply admit her mistake and agree to right the wrong. No, she questioned his motives and his eyesight. Whatever.
What really needed questioning was his sanity.
He should have remembered how he’d reacted to her. She glowed as only a true optimist could, lush lips too ready to smile, amber eyes sparkling, demanding everyone she came in contact with join her in the dance of life. And the long line of her ivory neck displayed by her sophisticated ponytail at the party and a serviceable braid today just made him want to take a bite.
Exactly when had he become part vampire?
During the long, lonely, pain-ridden nights since the accident came the ready answer. Better to be exhausted from physical therapy and reviewing studio business than to lay awake raked by pain and regrets.
Now he’d let the perky blonde with no sense of boundaries get to him again. And the result was a pulled muscle in his bad leg. His own damned fault, tripping over an inch-deep hole and twisting his foot. Pain had streaked up his weak leg and it gave. He’d done it before, pushing himself too far, too fast, but it still hurt like a bitch.
A white SUV pulled up next to him, and Tori hopped out and came trotting around to his side. He didn’t wait for her. He opened the door, plunked his butt down and pulled his leg in.
“Oh, yeah, much better.” Tori arrived in time to help lift his leg in.
“I can do it.” He scowled at her, both for the interference and the cheerful optimism. “Let’s just get going.”
“Aye-aye.” She saluted him and made the reverse trip around to the driver’s seat.
He might appreciate the impertinence if he weren’t in pain. And mortified. He closed his eyes, as it was he just wanted to get home.
“Here.” She thrust a water bottle at him after climbing in next to him. “Do you have any pain pills with you?”
“I don’t like taking pain meds.” The usual protest sprang automatically to his tongue.
She gave him
