Yet, calloused palms brush the small of my back as this stranger helps me over to the safe side of the railing. The effort has the front of me flush against the front of him, andoh sweet Moses!Maybe he is made of marble, because there isn’t an inch of this man that’s soft. Narrow waist, broad shoulders, muscles visible even beneath the cut of his suit…
Did I die?
Seriously, did I fall in the water and drown? Am I in Hot Guy Heaven? Because it’s the only explanation for why this perfect specimen is standing here, still holding me against the rock-hard contours of his torso.
And God, he smells good.
If that isn’t enough, he’s apparently forgone shaving, allowing what appears to be at least a week’s worth of growth to cultivate from a five o’clock shadow. His nose would be perfect, if not for the fact that it’s slightly crooked, looking to have been broken at some point. There’s also a thin, faint scar that runs diagonally from it, starting between his eyebrows and down the right side of his cheek.
Damn, I’d never consider myself to be into the rough-and-tumble type, but my brain doesn’t seem to have enough room left in it for logic, because all it’s conjuring up is a fantasy of me ripping his shirt off with my teeth! I mean, sure, he looks undoubtedly edible in that suit, but anything used to cover up this guy honestly seems like a sin.
I have no idea how long I’ve spent ogling him, and I know I should say something, but any thought outside of‘Can I lick chocolate off your body?’is nowhere to be seen.
All I can manage is, “Jesus.”
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?
‘Thank you,’you dumb ass! The words you were looking for are THANK YOU!
Nope, I settle for the son of God.
Not only that, but my voice catches in my throat, the sound inexplicably breathy.
“Of all the things I’ve been called, I can’t say anyone’s mistaken me forhim.” Hot Guy chuckles softly, his voice as smooth as velvet, but the amusement vanishes as I just stand there, not moving and apparently unable to form a coherent sentence. I must look like a deer caught in headlights, because those glorious, calloused palms drop away from me as he steps back and raises his hands. “I didn’t mean to bother you—”
Bother me?
Is he kidding?
“I know it’s not my business, but I couldn’t just stand by and watch,” he’s quick to add.
That’s…a strange thing to say.
Who the hell would want someone to ‘just stand by and watch’ when you’re in trouble?
It takes a bit too long for me to process what hethinkshe saw, and—
Shit.
He doesn’t actually believe…?
“I wasn’t trying tokillmyself!” I mean to sound reassuring, but it comes out waaaay too defensive, bordering on belligerent.
As expected, he doesn’t look convinced.
“Seriously, I’m not suicidal,” I try again.
“If you say so,” he mutters, low enough under his breath that I can barely hear him.
“I’mnot!”
“Could’ve fooled me with your reenactment ofTitanic.”
“What?”
“An emotional redhead comes storming through here, climbs over to the wrong side of the railing, and is about to throw herself into the water… Sound familiar?” The slightest semblance of a grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Although, I don’t remember Kate Winslet using the profanity youdid.”
“I was just trying to numb the pain in myfeet,” I growl, angling my right foot sideways to show him the bright red skin. “And like you’re one to talk, Dracula. Do you always appear out of nowhere and scare the shit out of people?”
