Beautiful Distraction(37)

My ankle feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

“I’m fine, “ I say again. Pushing up on my arm, I try to stand—to no avail.

“Let me see.” Before I can protest, Kellan’s pulled off my boot and his fingers are on my bare skin, inspecting, prodding.

His touch is torture.

“It hurts,” I choke out.

“I hope it’s not broken,” he mutters.

I rise up on my elbows to get a better look and instantly wish I hadn’t. A large, purple bruise is forming where the bone is located, and my foot looks like it’s about to swell.

Kellan presses his fingertips against it, and I whimper. He holds my ankle in place, then presses some more, moving his fingers around.

“Not broken,” he declares eventually. “I think it’s just a minor sprain, but it could be worse. I’ll take you back to the house and get it bandaged up for you.”

“No, thank you,” I mutter. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ava, you’re not fine. You can’t walk. You need help.”

I do, but I’m still angry with him.

“I don’t want your help,” I hiss. “I don’t need help from someone who doesn’t like me but wants to use me for a good fuck.”

He lets out a breath. “What I said was out of line. I didn’t mean it.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right. What part? The one about wanting me or not liking me?”

Sighing, he sits down next to me. “About not liking you. Obviously, there are parts of you that I like.”

I stare at him in disgust.

Is he talking about my body?

He makes it sound like that’s a good thing.

“Forget it.” I make a move to get up, but he holds me down.

“I don’t know you, obviously. I can only judge from what I’ve seen so far. You’re likeable in general. I do enjoy your company, otherwise I would have sent you away.”

He likes my company—the thought makes me smile just a little bit. “You’re just saying that because you want to help me.”

Kellan shakes his head slowly. “No, I’m saying that I sort of care for you. That’s all. I find that difficult to deal with.”

His words strike me speechless.

Our gazes lock, and something passes between us. A moment later, another jolt of pain shoots up my ankle, and I wince.

“That’s it. I’m not taking no for an answer,” Kellan says, our strange moment broken.

I nod and hold my breath as he lifts me up in his arms like I weigh nothing and cradles my head against his shoulder as he carries me back to the barn.

The shooting pain becomes a dull, consistent throb, and I bite my lip to hold back a swear word.

We reach the barn, and he saddles a horse, then helps me up, both of my legs dangling on one side. He places himself behind me, one hand holding the rein, the other wrapped around my waist to keep me secured in place as he guides the horse.

Even though it’s the last thing I want, I press my palm against his thigh to hold on for support. His muscles are hard and defined. Broad from riding and God knows what else. His chest feels like steel against my face.

“Hold on to me.” His voice is gentle. I nod and do as he requested. “Ready?” he asks.

I nod, and the horse jolts into action.

Up close, he smells amazing. I inhale the blend of heat and shower gel, of nature and something so heady it makes me want to press my lips against his skin just to see what happens.

Good thing he’s sitting behind me, oblivious to the nature of my thoughts and the irregular beat of my heart.

Get a grip.

He’s just a guy, albeit the hot and forbidden kind.

Like my mother used to say, all women go through the phase of liking a bad boy…they fuck one, cry over one, and then they marry the boring and safe accountant next door.

I’ve tried my hand at the dating part plenty of times. Most of the guys I went for were boring, and just plain jerks, who thought sex follows shortly after the drink tab and is a mandatory part of any first date. However, none of them were like Kellan.

My fingers travel up just a little bit—obviously in need of something to hold on to. Something hard is prodding my hip—I can’t tell if it’s the saddle or if the situation is getting Kellan excited.

The thought gets me so hot and bothered, I suck in a gulp of air. My lungs feel devoid of oxygen, and my breath is coming in odd little bursts. The picture of him naked and sprawled out on a bed instantly enters my mind. Certain parts of him are blurred, like even my fantasy knows that nothing I’ve ever seen before could measure up to him. I want to look, if only to see whether that part of him is as delicious as the rest. But I refuse to give in to my perverted brain’s command.