Swept Away by the Tycoon(5)

“Lucky for you, I’m good at improvising.” Before she could ask what he meant, he’d shed his jacket and begun peeling the sweatshirt over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax. The shirt’s fresh from the laundry.” He mopped at the cut with one of the sleeves.

Chloe caught his wrist. “You’re ruining your sweatshirt.”

“A sacrifice for a worthy cause,” he replied.

By now, they’d attracted curiosity and several people had stopped to check on them.

“We’ll be fine,” the slacker told them. “Doesn’t need stitches.”

“How do you know?” She hated to admit it, but with the gentle way he was dabbing at her wound, she wouldn’t care one way or the other.

“Let’s say I’ve seen my share of cuts and wounds. How are your hands?”

She turned them over. Road burn marred her palm. “I’m betting your knees match,” he said. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the coffee shop and clean you up properly. We can call the police from there, too. Chances are there’s not much they can do at this point, but you should file a report, anyway—just in case.”

Chloe could do little more than nod. The way her insides were shaking, she couldn’t think straight if she tried.

Meanwhile, the slacker took charge, effortlessly. Letting someone else carry the load for a change felt good. When his arm returned to her waist, and he helped her to her feet, she couldn’t help curling into his body. He smelled of coffee and wood. Strong, masculine, solid scents that filled her insides with a sense of security.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said, realizing that fact almost with surprise. “Slacker” definitely no longer applied.

He paused a moment before answering. “Ian Black.”

Ian Black. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. Didn’t matter; her rescuer finally had a name. “Thank you, Ian Black,” she said, offering a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome, Chloe.” Hearing him use her proper name only made her smile wider.

They held each other’s gazes, not saying a word. Finally, Ian stepped back, his arm slipping away from her waist. “What do you say we get you cleaned up?”

Right, her chin. Unbelievably, Chloe had forgotten.

“I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t happened along when you did,” she told him as they walked slowly back.

With the immediate drama over, adrenaline had kicked in, causing her legs to shake. She was afraid her knees would buckle beneath her if she moved too quickly. Ian kept pace a few inches from her elbow, not touching, but close enough to grab her should something happen. He held her bag tucked under his arm. The big leather satchel looked ridiculous, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m only sorry I didn’t arrive a minute earlier. I might have spared your chin,” he said.

Which throbbed. To make walking easier, Chloe had taken over the job of pressing it tight. She was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped long ago, but Ian insisted she maintain pressure. “I don’t care about my chin.” She’d suffered worse playing college ball. “I’m more bummed out about my bag.”

“Pocketbooks can be replaced.”

“Not at that price,” she muttered.

“Then on behalf of your bag, I’m sorry I didn’t move faster.”

“You showed up. Better than nothing.”

Why did he show up, though? He’d been sitting at his table when she’d left. She started to frown, only to have pain cut the expression short. “Were you following me?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Oh.” At least he scored points for honesty. She scooted an inch or two to the right. “Why?”

“To apologize,” he told her. “I had no business being so rude to you earlier. You bought the coffee to be nice. I was wrong to bite your head off.”

Had all that taken place tonight? The exchange seemed like eons ago. “Be pretty rude of me not to accept now, wouldn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t be the first person.”

It was such a strange response, Chloe couldn’t help frowning again. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t get an answer. They’d rounded the corner to the coffee shop. A Closed sign hung in the window. “Shoot,” Chloe muttered. “I’d hoped we’d get here before they locked up for the night.”

“No worries.”

There was a female barista wiping down the counter. Ian rapped on the window to draw her attention. Her chin must have looked pretty bad because the woman immediately stopped what she was doing and unlocked the door.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

Once again, Ian took charge, steering Chloe straight to the table in the corner. “We’re going to need the first aid kit, Jesse.”

Now, Chloe knew she had to be a mess, because the woman obeyed without a word. On the other hand, Ian’s demeanor didn’t exactly invite discussion.

While the barista disappeared into the back room, Ian made his way to the sink behind the coffee bar. Reaching into an upper cabinet, he retrieved a fresh towel. Then, grabbing a stainless steel bowl that was drying on the counter, he filled it with water.

“You look pale,” he said when he returned. No surprise there. The shaking in her legs had spread to the rest of her body. Took all she had not to fall off the chair.

“Hold on.” He crossed the room again, this time to help himself to a bottle of water from the display case. “Here. Drink some of this.”

“Thank you.” Drinking and keeping the sweatshirt pressed to her chin proved difficult, especially with her free hand trembling. Some of the water dribbled past her lips and onto the shirt.

“You’re really making a mess tonight, aren’t you Curli?”

Chloe was about to comment when she caught the twinkle in his eye. A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “Good thing you didn’t give me coffee. I might have stained your sweatshirt.”

“Heaven forbid. Coffee’s such a bitch to get out.”

As opposed to blood. “I hope this wasn’t your favorite shirt.”

“A worthwhile sacrifice,” he said again, then ran his index finger down the bridge of her nose before giving the tip a playful tap.

Fighting to keep to the color from flooding her cheeks, Chloe looked away. Maybe it was the change in temperature after being outside, but her chill had begun to fade, replaced by an odd fluttering deep in her muscles. Like shivers, only more intense and without the nervous edge.

“Here’s the first aid kit. I can’t vouch for the contents. Been awhile since we’ve had to use anything in it.” Jesse’s return removed some of the electrical charge from the moment. “I grabbed some plastic bags, too. In case you want to make an ice pack.”

“Good idea. Could you make me a couple? You might want them for your knees,” he added to Chloe.

As soon as he mentioned them, she lifted her skirt for a peek. Sure enough, both knees had quarter-size scrapes right below the kneecap. Dark red marred the outer skin, the beginnings of what would be large purple bruises. The cuts didn’t hurt now, but they would soon. She looked around for a way to prop her legs so she could balance the ice bags. Finding none, she left her feet dangling. She’d ice the bruises later.

Meanwhile Ian was sorting through the first aid kit. “I see what you mean about the contents,” he said tossing a half a roll of gauze on the table. “Better make an extra ice pack for her chin, too.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Boss? The sweatshirt pressed against her chin was the only thing keeping Chloe’s jaw from dropping. “You work here?” she asked Ian.

“Something like that.”

“Define something.” She’d caught the look Ian and the barista exchanged. Either he worked there or he didn’t. Why the evasive answer?

Ian didn’t reply. “We’re going to be here awhile, Jess,” he told the other woman. “Will you be all right getting home?”

“I’m meeting my boyfriend up the street for drinks.”

“Be careful. We don’t need a second incident.”

Chloe waited until Jesse said goodnight before resuming her questioning “You could have told me you were an employee here.” Might have saved her an afternoon of speculating if she’d known there was a perfectly logical reason for him to be hanging around. Not to mention saving her from being mugged.

“Could have, if I was an employee.”

“But she called you boss.”

“Uh-huh.”

The answer hit her like a ton of bricks. Good Lord, but she could be dense, “You’re the new owner.”

“Guilty as charged. Ow! What was that for?”

She’d kicked him in the shin. If her knees didn’t hurt, she’d kick him someplace else. “For making me think you were down on your luck,” she snapped.

“I didn’t make you think anything. You drew your conclusions all on your own.”

“You still could have said something. Do you have any idea how much—” Time I spent thinking about you? Thankfully, she caught herself before the rest of the sentence left her mouth. The hole she’d dug herself was deep enough, thank you. “Why didn’t you correct me?”