Page 66 of One Wrong Move
He prayed, thanks to Andi’s shot, the man would never bother them again, but he knew better. They’d just stirred up the hornet’s nest.
“You’ve got blood on your sleeve....” She stepped forward to examine it. “Are you okay?”
“Just a flesh wound.”
“He got you?”
“Barely brushed me.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up. Where do you keep your first-aid kit?”
“In the hall bathroom.”
“Okay, come on, mister.” She waggled her fingers, and he followed. He would have argued, but with Andi Forester, he knew it would be a lost cause.
She flipped on the light switch, and he directed her to the kit under the sink.
“Okay, take a seat.” She patted the counter.
He leaned back and sat on the edge, taking in the sight of her as she fished through the red plastic box.
A sliver of bark clung to her right cheek, pine needles in her hair, and were those brambles or thorns on her yoga pants?
“Here we go,” she said, pulling out several alcohol wipes, a gauze patch, and tape. She blew a stray hair from her face, revealing a small twig stuck at her temple.
“Hang on,” he said, and with tenderness pulled the twig from her hair.
“Lovely,” she said, when she saw what it was.
“Yes, you are.” He swallowed. Had he just said that out loud?
Red flushed her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.
Something moved inside of him, and his focus dropped to her lips. Sweet and full. “Don’t hit me again,” he whispered, reaching up to cup her cheek.
“Why would I—”
He swallowed her words. He moved tentatively at first, but as she returned the heated kiss, he deepened it, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her tighter to him.
Time disappeared until the chiming of the doorbell interrupted what was the best kiss of his life.
She inched back, her lips pink from his kiss.
He feared she’d pull back farther, make an apology for giving in to the kiss, but she did neither.
The doorbell rang again.
He fought the nearly consuming urge to pull her back in his arms and ignore the world.
Thoughts raked through his mind. When exactly had he completely fallen for Andi Forester?
THIRTY-THREE
“HEY, JOEL.Thanks for coming out,” Christian said, joining him outside while Andi ran in to grab a sweatshirt—the chill in the fall air nipping now that they’d cooled off from the chase.
“Of course,” Joel said. “I’ve always got your back.”
“I appreciate it, man.” He clamped Joel on the shoulder.
