way to meet a man. Any minute now, she’d probably bleed all over his gorgeous house.
“Awful?” He seemed to take exception with that. She wasn’t complaining about his sudden caveman move, how he’d plucked her into his arms so easily. No, that part had been, well, amazing. But she felt like a helpless wounded animal. She couldn’t even stand on her own two feet.
“Embarrassing,” she muttered.
“No need to be embarrassed.”
His stride was long and smooth as he moved over the sand toward his mansion. Up close, the detail of his craft showed in the trim of wide expansive windows, the texture of the stucco, the unique decorative double glass doors and the liberating feel of an outdoor living space facing the ocean—a billionaire’s version of a veranda. Fireplaces, sitting areas with circular couches, overhead beams and stone floors all made up the outskirts of his house. The veranda was twice the size of her little Santa Monica apartment, and that was only a fraction of what she could see. Inside must be magnificent.
“Here we are,” he said, steps away from the dream house.
“Uh, do you think we could stay out here?” She pointed to the enormous outside patio.
He blinked, those dark gray eyes twinkling. “Sure. If you feel safer outside.”
“Oh no, it’s not that.”
His perfectly formed eyebrows arched upward. “No?”
“I don’t want to ruin your carpeting or anything.” Lord knew, she made a decent living at First Clips, but if she destroyed something in the mansion, it could take years to pay off a replacement.
“My carpet?” His smile could melt Mount Shasta. “There’s not a shred of carpet in the house. I promise to keep you away from any rugs lying about.”
“Oh, uh. Fine then.”
He moved through the front doors easily and entered a massive foyer, where inlaid marble and intricate stone patterns led to a winding staircase. She gulped at the tasteful opulence. She clamped her mouth shut and held back a sigh from her lips. Was it the unexpected nuances she found in his stunning home, or was it the man himself who caused such a flurry in the pit of her stomach? His size commanded attention, the breadth of his shoulders, the bronze tone of his skin and, yes, the fact that he was shirtless and wet, his moisture clinging to her own clothes, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs.
A thrill ran through her, overriding her embarrassment.
He began to climb the stairs.
“Where are we going?” Up to his lair?
“The first aid supplies are in my bathroom. Mary is out shopping, or I’d have her go get them for us.”
“Mary? Your girlfriend?”
His gaze slipped over to her. “My housekeeper.”
“Oh.” Of course.
“Have you lived here long?” She needed lessons in small talk.
“Long enough.”
“The house is beautiful. Did you decorate it yourself?”
“I had some help.”
Evasive but not rude. “I’m sorry about this. You probably have better things to do than play nursemaid to me.”
“Like I said, I have mad lifeguarding skills.”
Yes. Yes, he did.
* * *
Adam set the woman down on the bathroom counter. Long black lashes lifted and almond-shaped eyes, green as a spring meadow, followed his every movement. From what he could tell, she didn’t have an ounce of makeup on her face. She didn’t need it. Her beauty seemed natural, her face delicately sculpted, glowing in warm tones. Her mouth was shaped like a heart in the most subtle way, and her skin was soft as butter. His palms still tingled from holding the underside of her thighs as he’d lifted her off the hot sand. “Here we go. Just let me get a shirt and my glasses.”
He grabbed the first shirt he found in his bedroom drawer and then came up with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Next he selected the medical supplies he’d need out of a closet in his bathroom. He found what he needed easily: gauze, peroxide, antibacterial cream. When it came to keeping things organized, he was meticulous. It was the way he rolled, and he’d taken more than a fair share of heat about it from everyone who knew him. That aside, he’d bet he’d shock his college pals if they saw the worn, tattered and faded to ghost-blue UCLA Bruin T-shirt he’d just thrown on. Adam almost cracked a smile. It was so unlike him; yet once a Bruin, always a Bruin. He wouldn’t part with his shirt. He set his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Here goes. Ready?”
She nodded. “Go ahead.”
Gently, he unwound the towel from her foot. “I want to take a better look at that gash.”
“You’re really nice for doing this,” she said softly.
“Hmm.”
“What kind of work do you do?” she asked.
He didn’t take his eyes off her foot. It was small and delicate, and he was careful with her, surveying the damage and elevating the heel. “Uh, I’m self-employed.”
“It’s just that, well, this house is magnificent.”
“Thank you.”
“Is it just you and Mary living here?”
“Sometimes. Mia, do you think you could swivel the rest of your body up on the counter, near the sink, so I can see the foot a little better?”
“I think so.” Holding the heel of her foot, he helped guide her legs onto the counter. She had to scoot back and pivot a bit until she filled half the length of the long cocoa marble commode. She couldn’t be more than five foot five. Her foot hovered over the sink.
A tank top and white shorts showed off her sun-kissed body. Her legs were long and lean like a dancer’s. Seeing her sprawled out before him, the entire Mia package was first-class gorgeous. He caught himself staring at her reflection. Focus, Adam. Be a Good Samaritan.
“So you went to UCLA?” she asked.
“Yeah. Undergrad.” He stroked his chin and hesitated, staring at her foot. It had been years since his lifeguarding days. He’d never had qualms about giving first aid before. He’d done it a hundred times, including giving CPR to a man in his sixties. That hadn’t been fun, but the man had survived and, years later, gratefully commissioned Adam to design a resort home on the French Riviera. It had been one of his first big architectural projects. But this was different somehow, with Mia, the beauty who had landed at his feet on the beach.
“Adam?”
He looked at her. A fleeting thought entered his head. For a woman in distress, she sure asked a lot of questions. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried an unorthodox way to interview him. But surely not Mia. Her foot was slashed pretty badly.
