She stood, but even leaning heavily on Vanessa, pain shot up her leg. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. She would not cry. Not here. Not now.
“God, this morning could not get any shittier,” she whispered.
“Actually, it’s about to get a whole lot better,” Vanessa told her, a cheerful lilt to her tone. “Matthew is coming!”
“No. Oh, god, no. Hide me!” Jilly groaned. But it was too late. Lifting her eyes up from the ground just briefly, she saw Matthew running down the stairs from the building. Had he seen the commotion from the office? Surely not—his was over the other side, facing the harbour. Which meant someone had told him. But who? She looked around, but couldn’t see anyone she recognised.
“What have you done to yourself, Jilly?” he asked in his gentle baritone, standing beside her, taking her weight himself, off Vanessa.
Her name sounded so good on his lips. It occurred to her then that it was the first time he’d actually called her by her first name. Usually it was Miss Watson. She liked Jilly much better.
“Nothing,” she grunted. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” he scolded. “You’re wet and you’re hurting. Look at that foot—it’s bruising and swollen already! Here, let me carry you.” She didn’t even have time to protest as he swept her up in his arms, cradling her against his strong body like she was a baby, carrying her as if she weighed nothing.
Instinctively, she wrapped her arm around his neck, her fingers brushing his thick, too-long hair, which made her lean closer to him, so close she could smell his aftershave. A musky, spicy scent, she liked it. So close she could see the rough stubble on his jaw. Freshly shaven, but there nonetheless. So close her wet body was pressed against his hard chest, dampening his shirt, his tie tickling her arm.
“Put me down,” she insisted. “I can walk.”
“You cannot walk, Miss Watson. I will carry you. Just relax.” His voice was soothing, hypnotic, and she tried her best to obey him, but it was difficult, being held by the sexiest man she’d laid eyes on in ages. His smouldering dark eyes were so close. His lashes were long, his nose straight, perfect. She could smell the gel on his hair, smoothing it in place. His hand underneath her knees felt strong, the arm wrapped around her back, supporting her weight, felt hard. Secure.
He carried her effortlessly into the lift. Vanessa pressed the button for the sixth floor.
“You can put me down now,” she assured him. “I’m fine, truly.”
“You barely weigh anything, Miss Watson. Just keep still, or I will be forced to discipline you.”
“What?” Jilly lurched herself around, struggling in his arms, trying to move herself far enough away from his chest so she could see his face. Was he actually serious? Or perhaps she had misheard? “What did you just say?”
“Keep still,” he rumbled, his voice deep, filled with laughter, his tone clearly teasing.
The ride up in the lift, which usually only took seconds, seemed to take forever. All her senses were alert, sparking with tension. Matthew’s words, I will be forced to discipline you, running around and around in her head. The laughter in his tone afterwards had been clear. Was he just flirting with her, or had it been something more? Did she want it to be anything more?
Eventually, the lift doors opened and Matthew carried her out, into the office, setting her gently down into her swivel chair at her desk. Crouching down, he carefully removed her shoe, held her wet foot in his hands, letting her heel rest lightly on his pants.
“I’m getting you all wet and dirty!” she protested, but he ignored her, and carried on with his ministrations, rotating her foot gently in his huge hand, rubbing his fingers softly around the swollen joint.
“Ice, I need ice. You—Vanessa. Is that your name? Get me some ice, please,” he barked. From behind him, Vanessa saluted and grinned at her, sending her a silent message: he likes you.
Jilly wondered why he’d added on the word please. It was clear he was giving an order, and it was even clearer that he expected to be obeyed immediately. The please was a courtesy, nothing more. He wasn’t asking a question.
Was Vanessa right? Did he like her?
She winced as pain shot through her foot, up her leg. Matthew’s strong fingers massaged softly, the pads of his fingers pressing against her tender flesh.
“I’m okay, honestly. I’m fine.” Jilly tried to push him away, but he wasn’t having it.
“We’ve been over this, Miss Watson,” he growled, his voice stern, gruff. “You are not fine. Unless you wish to find out what happens to naughty girls, I suggest you behave and let me look after you.”
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart skipped a beat. There it was again, that loosely veiled possessive threat, wrapped up in a caring, flirtatious way. What exactly was it he had in mind? She wished he would use her name again. She loved the way it sounded on his lips, the way his deep voice rumbled when he spoke it.
Vanessa returned with an ice pack wrapped in a towel and handed it to him. Still crouched down, he held it to her swollen foot, supporting her lower leg with his other hand. He was so gentle, so caring. She shouldn’t be enjoying his attentions. Sparks shouldn’t be shooting up her leg from his touch.
She shivered.
“You’re cold.” It was a statement, not a question, his voice laced with concern. He got to his feet. “Hold this and don’t move. There’s a jacket in my office, I’ll get it for you.”
Leaning down to hold the ice pack in place with one hand just as he’d asked, she watched the way his body moved as he walked down the
