it’s because of my injury or the electricity of his touch.
“That hurts,” I pout, as he examines my right knee after pushing my ripped scrubs up.
He ignores me and places my leg down before picking up my left ankle.
I wince and bite my lip to keep from cursing him as he touches me.
“It doesn’t look broken. Probably just a sprain.”
I know his words are meant to be encouraging, but I don’t like hearing ‘just’ anything. Whatever it is, it hurts. Sprain or broken makes no difference.
“Thanks, doctor, but I got it from here. I know all about RICE.”
“Rice?” he asks, cocking his head to look at me like I’m crazy.
I roll my eyes. “Rest, ice, compression, elevation. I know how to take care of a sprain. I’m a nurse.” Well, not technically. But I will be a nurse in a few short months.
He nods, looking at my scrubs again like he’s just now realizing why I’m wearing such a thing on a hike.
He holds out his hand to me, but I’m too stubborn to take it. I don’t need his help.
He looks amused as I try to push myself off the dirt. It takes a couple tries to get my shaky legs under me, but I’m finally able to get up.
“Need any help?” he asks, smiling at me like I’m the funniest thing in the world.
“No.”
I take a step, and my ankle gives out. Luckily, there is a tree nearby I can grab to keep from falling again.
“Seems like you could use some help.” His hands grab my hips trying to steady me. And I swear I feel his erection on my ass. “I could always kiss it and see if that helps.”
I swat his hand away as I turn glaring. “I don’t need help from a man who almost got me killed and just wants to hit on me.”
I start stomping down the mountain ignoring the pain of each step, and the man slowly walking behind me. It takes everything in me not to turn around and check him out again. Sweat drips down his chest from his run, but when he approached me earlier, he barely seemed out of breath.
I will not look at him.
I will not ogle him.
I will not think about him.
I will not ask him for help.
Ten steps later, tears are filling my eyes. I can tolerate pain just fine. I have a high pain tolerance. But knowing it’s going to take thousands of more steps to get down the mountain is melting my morale.
I stop, unable to continue on my own.
The man behind me stops as well. If he ran down, he’d probably already be down by now.
I sigh and turn slowly to him. “I guess you are my only option.”
“Oh? I didn’t think you wanted my help.”
“I don’t.” I exhale into a frown. “But I want to live more than I don’t want your help.”
He smiles smugly but doesn’t move to help me. In fact, he crosses his arms like he’s not going to touch me now, even if I asked.
“What are you doing? I need your help. You’ve been following me this whole time because you intend to help me. So help.”
He shakes his head.
“What?”
I’m so impatient with this man.
“I think you owe me something first.”
My mouth gapes. He can’t be serious. His eyes say he is dead serious. I see the lust there.
“I’m not going to blow you or fuc…” He raises an eyebrow as he realizes I hate using foul language. “Or have sex with you. I’m not that desperate.”
He steps toward me, filling my personal space with his strong presence. It consumes all my thoughts, my smells, and my space.
“I think you are that desperate,” he breathes onto my neck.
I freeze. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.
But I am. He’s not my type. Not at all. I like men who are good for me. Good-looking but not too good-looking so they think they can do better than me. Smart, caring, cautious, sturdy.
This man is none of those things. He’s dangerous, threatening, and mysterious. He lives by a different moral code.
My lip trembles, considering what I should say or do. Should I kiss him? He might carry me down if I did. Make him think I’d have sex with him later, only to disappear before he has a chance.
He laughs, seeing the conflict in my eyes.
“But I’m not asking you to be that desperate. When I fuck you, it will be with your full permission and willingness. Not because I