A shiver swept down her body in a jerky ripple as she looked around the crowd. He fought not to scoop her straight back into his arms. She tucked her chin down and brought her arms across her chest. Poor sweetheart was self-conscious. Given the crowd, he wasn’t surprised. He could help her out with that.
“Here.” He whisked his tee-shirt over his head and offered it to her, tensing his stomach muscles as he did. Oh he was a lame-ass male. The instinct to preen around her was undeniable.
But her eyes widened. He saw the way they dropped super quick to glance at his chest and stomach. Her attention briefly lingered on where his jeans sat loose on his hips. Yeah, he’d only pulled on the jeans—no briefs, no boxers. He wished he had. The extra support would’ve helped restrain a certain part of him right now.
To his relief, she resolutely looked back up at his face. But he knew a lot about women—knew their peripheral vision was stronger than a male’s. Because they were more prey than predator. And yeah, right now she was prey and he absolutely the hunter. She knew it too. The frisson—her little shivers, his tension? Sparks were a puff away. He ached to blow on them. It’d been a while since he’d played.
Sex. The idea sang in his head louder than the damn alarm that was still wailing. He couldn’t resist another look at all her gorgeous, porcelain skin.
Sharing the near nudity was the least he could do for her, right? That way she wouldn’t feel as alone in her exposure. He chuckled inwardly as she stared a split-second too long—not taking the tee-shirt.
Definite sparks.
His inner caveman wanted to see her in his clothing. Basic instinct urged him to stamp his claim. Too many of the other residents were looking at her. Even the ones shacked up with significant others were sneaking peeks at her pretty curves and long legs and the long streak of glossy brown hair that hung down her back. As for the soft red mouth set in the smooth pale face? Total femininity.
Every predatory instinct pulled to the fore in a rush. But even stronger was the protective urge. He held back from manhandling her into his shirt himself. Instead he kept it easy, just holding it out to her.
Like bait.
Chapter Two
Chelsea so didn’t want to take the shirt in his outstretched hand. But at the same time she really, really did. She glanced over his shoulder and saw people staring at them. That would be because they were the only ones baring flesh. And up this close to ‘superman’, she was revealing more than she wanted. So she took the shirt.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“My pleasure.” His eyes lit with laughter, like he knew how much it cost her to say it.
Maddening creature. She clamped her mouth shut and slipped the tee over her head. Instantly she was enveloped in his warmth and the soapy scent she’d noticed when in his arms, a tantalizing mix of citrus, lime and man. She clenched on the deep muscles firing up inside and held her breath, stopping herself from inhaling his essence. So inappropriate. So obvious.
The sleeves of the tee came down almost to her elbows, the bottom hem to below her mid-thigh. Hanging loose, it covered her perfectly. Yet now she felt even more like she’d been caught out doing something she shouldn’t have. Not so much swimming after hours, but sleeping in someone else’s bed. His. And she’d pulled on the nearest shirt quickly in the alarm... and oh yeah, his naked torso right in front of her just added to the whole movie reel playing in her head.
“Who should I return it to?” she asked roughly, trying to retain just a little cool.
“Superman never reveals his true identity.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to that eargasmic murmur. “It’s part of the fun.”
She stared up at him, the fantasy still whirring in her head. Could he be an anonymous-hot-stuff sensual dream man for her? Could they have some kind of ‘late night strangers tryst’? Have mercy. Like that happened in real life? She shook her head clear. It had been too long since she’d done anything with any man—because a thought like that shouldn’t turn her on. Except it did. It really, really, did.
“Hey Doc, no injuries here?”
She started at the interruption. One of the uniformed building team stood beside them. She knew him—Terry. He glanced at her with more interest than apology in his eyes.
“No, we’re good, Terry.” Her ‘hero’ answered briskly.
Terry quickly turned back at Superman, recognizing superiority when he saw it. “Sorry to interrupt but we need some help, if you’re able?”
“Of course.” Superman looked at Chelsea, his smile broadened again. “See you.”
Chelsea watched him swiftly walk away and drew a sharp breath. He was a doctor? She didn’t know why she was so surprised. In an apartment complex, even a medium sized one like hers, there’d doubtless be at least one medical expert who happened to live there. And he was it. So he really did rescue people for a living. Talked them through the fright in whatever way worked. He’d not actually been flirting with her—not meaningfully—it was just play. A way of getting her to smile.
She remembered the paramedics talking to her about the most inane things. Keeping her in the present, away from the darkness. Superman had been doing a job. Which was fine. She wasn’t disappointed because she didn’t want real flirt. She didn’t want a date or a fling or anything. She was still off the market. Her time in New York was about establishing independence—her parents had been so over-protective these last couple of years. Not that she could blame them. But now was her time to get her studies back on track and make her life her own again. Alone.
But she couldn’t help glancing over to the group of people who’d formed a huddle on the other side of the building entrance. As the doctor stepped up, a number of bystanders stepped back, giving him access. An older woman was on the ground, someone’s jacket rolled up as a cushion under her head.
“Dr Xander? That you?” The old woman looked up at him, sounding almost as breathless as Chelsea had. “Nearly naked?”
“I was hot.” He smiled as he hunched down beside her.
“I’ll say.” Someone—female—in the crowd commented.
But the doctor didn’t respond to the stifled titters around him. Instead he turned all that intense focus to the septuagenarian on the ground. “What are you doing lying at my feet, hmmm? You know I prefer a woman who stands up to me.”
The older woman actually giggled. “You going to give me mouth to mouth?” she wheezed.
“Sadly, not tonight.”
“What’s it going to take? Should I faint?”
“And deny me the pleasure of talking with you?” He shook his head, holding the woman’s wrist in his big, strong, undeniably experienced hands and looking that intense way into her eyes. “Now it’s sore somewhere? Hard to breathe?”
“Tight in the chest.” The woman nodded.
“Got your meds with you?”
“I left them.” The woman looked worried.
“No problem.” He reassured, rubbing his thumb over the woman’s bony wrist.
Chelsea turned away, determinedly focusing on where the building management team were busy conferring. But she could still hear ‘Superman’ murmuring to the old lady.
Yeah, he definitely flirted with his patients. That ultra-charming bedside manner was practiced and slick. So her beating heart—and softening insides—could settle right back down. Besides, she wasn’t going to do a doctor. She’d dealt with too many of those in the last two years. He’d end up taking more interest in her recovery than her moves. And she definitely didn’t need the heroic type. That was even worse.
Truthfully she didn’t need anything. Except the libido that she’d thought long dormant had kicked back to life—in one look, one smile and one too tight carry. In that moment before he’d set her to her feet, his arms had gone like bars around her. Making her his prisoner.
She’d liked it.
And he knew it.
Which pretty much made it all the more embarrassing when it seemed his greatest strength as a doctor was his ability to make his patients smile and blush.
Unable to resist, she turned back in time to see how sharply he was assessing the older lady even though he was joking with her.
“You know you’re going to be just fine Mrs H.”
Another bystander joked again about mouth to mouth and a slim curly-headed blonde pretended to faint. The doctor grinned but kept his focus on his patient. He was clearly well known. And very much admired.
“You got a problem, Xan?” A tall guy called out, approaching the group rapidly.
“Hunter? Good.” Superman suddenly stood. “You’ll take care of Mrs Hopkins, won’t you? Make sure she’s okay until those medics get here.”
“Sure.” The tall guy accepted the command—and it was definitely a command, not a question. Every bit as built as the doctor, but with a far more serious demeanor. The ultra cropped hair looked military. So he was used to obeying then? Good job. He looked like the kind of guy you’d want covering you in a tight corner.
Chelsea turned her head again. She couldn’t stand here all night just staring.
Xander held back the grimace of frustration. All he wanted to do was get back to the damsel-who-refused-to-be-in-distress. He’d kept an eye on her once he’d checked Mrs H was okay—which she was. A bit of shock, nothing major he didn’t think, but he’d be happier once the real docs had given her the once-over.