“No one. I guess I only find myself getting into trouble when you’re around,” she said lightly, waiting for him to parry with another tease.
Instead, he looked at her, his head tilting. A notch deepened between his eyebrows, and one side of his mouth turned up with a sexy thrill and a wallop of curious surprise… which surprised her. Why did he look so pleased to hear that?
Her breath stilled, and for the life of her, she couldn’t look away.
His smiled faded as he seemed to catch his breath, the notch deepened, and the curiosity in his expression shifted as he studied her, absorbed her, quietly learning. In the years he’d lived here, and the times they’d seen each other since, he had absolutelyneverlooked at her like that.
No one had. Ever.
Trace swallowed hard and quickly looked back down. She gathered a cluster of pins, and one pricked the tip of her finger. “Poky little suckers,” she said, relieved that her voice still worked.
“Yeah,” he breathed softly as he focused on clearing more.
One by one, they picked up every damn pin. She closed the lid on the toolbox and stood, setting the box on the table.
Cole groaned under his breath as he stood. Not quite up to full height, he reached back and gripped the table hard. He puffed a long inhale, his color sapping until he was pale as a ghost. “Fuck,” he muttered, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath.
Trace quickly moved in and braced her body around his. “Uh oh. Dizzy?”
He nodded and hooked his good arm around her, dropping his head down so his forehead touched her temple. “Give me a sec. It’ll pass,” he whispered.
“I don’t think I can catch you if you faint on me,” she whispered back.
He breathed slowly in and out, unafraid and completely trusting her to support him as he held on.
Gripping him tighter, she flattened one hand on his back, and for a brief moment, she closed her eyes.
He hissed under his breath and his grip around her loosened.
Quickly, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Not a glimmer of color in his cheeks, he gritted his jaw hard, as if trying to stay conscious.
Assessing her options, scanning the floor, the table, she wondered how in the hell she could lower him to safety if he did pass out. “Nor can I guarantee that all the pins got picked up, so I wouldn’t recommend landing on the floor.”
He laughed under his breath, shifting on his good foot, the movement reassuring. “It’s fading.”
“Okay,” she murmured. So close, leaned against him, she studied the sling on his shoulder. She traced the edges and asked, “What happened here?”
“Dislocated it.”
She waited for the rest of it. He seemed to be getting steadier, lifting his head from her shoulder, but his bare skin was so warm around her, she tipped her forehead against him.
Releasing a breath, he added, “Jumped from a four-story building to a three-story and dislocated it when I caught myself on a ledge. That’s when I fell and landed on the ankle wrong.”
“Cole?”
“Yeah?” he answered with gravel thick in his quiet response.
“Maybe you should have come home sooner.”
Flipping open the toolbox, he stood tall and continued his search for scissors. “Probably.”
Carefully, he sifted through the now-disorganized mess of a sewing kit and took out a pair of small sewing scissors with narrow, sharp tips.
Trace stepped back and tilted a look, curious as he studied the wound, rotating his torso and looking comically inept but determined to not ask for help.
“Cole?” she asked again.
“Yeah?” he asked, looking up and already laughing at himself the moment he realized she was mocking him.
