lovely olive complexion colored, and a flash of hesitation entered her eyes. “Do you have a foot fetish or anything?”
He grinned. Maybe he did make her nervous. “Nope. No fetishes at all.”
She made a little noise when she inhaled. “Good to know. Okay.”
He filled the sink with warm water. “Let me know if it hurts.”
She nodded, squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her legs.
“Try to relax, Mia.”
Her expression softened, and she opened her eyes. He rotated her slim ankle over the sink with one hand and splashed warm water onto her foot. Using a dollop of antibacterial liquid soap, he cleansed the area thoroughly with a soft washcloth. Heat rose up his neck. It was about as intimate as he’d been with a woman in months, and Mia, with her cotton-candy-pink toenails, endless legs and beautiful face was 100 percent woman. “The good news is, the bleeding has stopped.”
“Wonderful. Now I can stop worrying about destroying your furniture.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” He furrowed his brow.
“After the foot fetish thing, yes.”
He shook his head and fought the smile trying to break his concentration. Not too many people made him smile, and Mia had already done that several times. “You can stop worrying. I don’t think you’ll need stitches either. Luckily, the gash isn’t as deep as it looked. It’s long, though, and it might be painful for you to walk on for a day or two. You can have a doctor take a look, just to make sure.”
She said nothing.
He dabbed the cut with peroxide, and bubbles clustered up. Next he lathered her wound with antibiotic cream.
“How’re you doing?” He lifted his head, and her face was there, so close, obviously watching his ministrations. Their eyes met, and he swallowed hard. He could swim a mile in her pretty green eyes.
She took a second to answer. “I’m, uh, doing well.”
It was quiet in the house, just the two of them, Adam’s hand clamping her ankle gently. “That’s...good. I’ll be done in a second.” He cleared his throat and picked up the bandages. “I’m going to wrap this kind of tight.”
He caught Mia glancing at his left hand, focusing on his ring finger, as in no white tan lines, and then her lips curled up. “I’m ready.”
Suddenly, he’d never been happier that he was romantically unattached than right at that moment.
* * *
After Adam had patched her up, Mia’s stomach had shamefully grumbled as he’d helped her down from the bathroom counter. She’d probably turned ten shades of red when the unladylike sound echoed against the walls. Luckily, he’d only smiled and had graciously invited her to breakfast. She had to keep her foot elevated for a little while, he’d said, and Mia had been more than willing to continue to spend time with him.
To get the scoop on him. It would take some doing; he was tight-lipped. Making conversation was not in his wheelhouse. But so many other things were. Like the way he’d immediately come to her aid on the beach, how thoughtful he’d been afterward, carrying her into his house, and how deadly handsome he looked behind those wire-rimmed glasses. Oh, Mama!
She sat in a comfortable chaise chair in the open-air terrace off a kitchen a chef would dream about. Part of the terrace was shaded by an overhead balcony. Adam was seated to her right at the table. Her foot was propped on another chair. Both faced the Pacific.
The morning gloom was beginning to lift, the sun breaking through and the sound of waves hitting the shore penetrating her ears. White curtains billowed behind her as she sipped coffee from a gold-rimmed china cup. Adam knew how to live. It was all so decadent, except that Adam, for all his good looks and obvious wealth, seemed down-to-earth even if he didn’t talk about himself much. And she had to admit, her Viking warrior looked more like a beach bum in khaki shorts and a beaten-down Bruins T-shirt. But she still hadn’t found out much about him.
“So you work as a hairdresser?” he said.
“Actually, I own the shop but I don’t cut hair. I have two employees who do.” She gauged his reaction and didn’t elaborate that First Clips, her shop, catered to children. The hairdressers wore costumes and the little girls sat on princess thrones, while the boys sat in rocket ships to have their hair cut. Afterward, the newly groomed kids were rewarded with tiaras or rocket goggles. Mia was proud of their business. Anna had developed the idea and had been the main hairstylist while Mia ran the financial end of things. She had to be careful about what she revealed about First Clips. If Anna had confided in him about their business, he might connect the dots and realize Mia wasn’t exactly an innocent bystander out for a beach stroll this morning.
Mary, his sixtysomething housekeeper, approached the table and served platters of poached eggs, maple bacon, fresh biscuits and an assortment of pastries.
“Thank you,” she said. “The coffee is delicious.” Adam had brought it out from the kitchen earlier.
“Mary, this is Mia,” he said. “She had an accident on the beach this morning.”
“Oh, dear.” Mary’s kind pale blue eyes darted to her bandaged foot. “Are you all right?”
“I think I will be, thanks to Adam. I stepped on a broken bottle.”
Mary shook her head. “Those stupid kids...always hanging around after dark.” Her hand went to her mouth immediately. “Sorry. It’s just that they’re in high school and shouldn’t be drinking beer and doing who knows what else on the beach. Adam has talked about having them arrested.”
“Maybe I should,” he muttered, and she got the idea he wasn’t fully committed to the idea. “Or maybe I’ll teach them a lesson.”
“How?” Mary asked.
“I’ve got a few things bouncing around in my head.”
“Well, I wish you would,” she said, and Mia got the impression Mary had some clout in Adam’s household. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mia.”
“Nice meeting you, too.”
“Thanks, Mary. The food looks delicious,” he said. Mary retreated to the kitchen, and Adam pointed to the dishes of food. “Dig in. I know you’re hungry.” His lips twitched. When he smiled, something pinged inside her.
She fixed herself a plate of eggs and buttered a biscuit, leaving the bacon and pastries aside, while Adam filled his plate with a little of everything. “So you said you’re self-employed. What kind of work do you do?”
He slathered butter onto his biscuit. “I design things,” he said, then filled his mouth and chewed.
“What kind of things?” she pressed. The man really didn’t like talking about himself.
He shrugged. “Homes, resorts, villas.”
She bit into her eggs and leaned back, contemplating. “I bet you do a lot of traveling.”
“Not
