She transferred one crutch to the other hand and hobbled around in a half circle until she could lower herself into the chair.
Jackson took the crutches from her and leaned them against the wall. “How’s your leg?”
“It’s great. Clean cut. Shouldn’t even leave a scar.”
“Really?” That seemed outrageous considering the amount of blood he saw. Instead of rounding the desk to resume his seat, he perched on the edge of the mahogany surface, his knees only inches from hers.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t as deep as it seemed. Should be good as new in a few more days. I guess my queasiness had more to do with shock than actual blood loss.”
He nodded, unable to imagine how the wound he’d seen could possibly heal that well that fast. Of course he hadn’t ever actually seen the cut. But he had seen the blood.
“Well, you look much better today. You were so white.” She looked amazing. With the exception of last Friday night, he’d never seen her hair down. When she worked at the ski lodge, she wore a ponytail. When he found her on the side of the road, she’d been a mess, her hair all over the place.
Today she took his breath away. Her long thick waves hung down her back as if she’d just left the salon. She wore the perfect amount of makeup. And she had on a cute dress that hit above her knees, probably making it easier to accommodate the bandage that wound around her leg from her ankle to her knee.
He took in her strappy sandals and then let his gaze wander up her muscular legs and higher. The light-blue dress was fitted across her chest, leaving very little to the imagination when he paused at her breasts. He jerked his gaze the rest of the way to her face, licking his lips.
It suddenly seemed too hot in the room, and he was rethinking his idea of sitting on the desk where it was nearly impossible to hide his growing erection. He was so close to her he could smell the floral scent of her shampoo.
How many words had he exchanged with her now? A few dozen? He needed a head exam if this was how he reacted to women he barely knew.
“I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come over for dinner one night. I make a mean lasagna when I put my mind to it.” She opened her mouth to say more and then hesitated. “I mean, as a way of thanking you for rescuing me, of course.”
He scrunched his forehead tighter, realizing he was frowning. No wonder she backtracked.
With her head tipped back to look up at him, her neck elongated. He wanted to nibble a path up that expanse of tan skin until he reached her ear. Would she shudder when his lips wrapped around the tiny lobe?
Get a grip, Wolf.
“That would be nice.” His voice came out sounding too high pitched. He swallowed around the knot in his throat and continued. “But you don’t have to go to all that trouble. You can hardly stand on your own. How about if I take you out instead?”
She shook her head.
Dammit. Did he push too hard? Maybe she really did simply want to thank him. But he refused to believe a woman would go to all the trouble to make herself up, put on a sexy dress and makeup, and drive forty minutes to a man’s office with one good leg just to say thank you.
She waved a hand in front of her in dismissal. “It’s no trouble. I like to cook. I’m not as good as my mom, but my brothers have never complained.”
Oh.
Oh.
She wasn’t turning him down. She was redirecting. She wanted him to come to her place. Okay, then.
He smiled. “Fine. I’ll bring wine.”
“Excellent.” She beamed. “Are you free tomorrow night?”
Tomorrow was Friday, one week since he’d seen her at her brother Logan’s house and known he was doomed. He’d told Jazmine he wasn’t about to go out with her, and he’d meant it. And then the little imp had needed rescue and all bets were off. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”
She pulled herself to standing again. “I’ll let you get back to work. I didn’t mean to disrupt your day, but I didn’t have your number.”
“Oh, right.” He snapped. “Let me give it to you.”
She reached inside the purse hanging over her shoulder and pulled out her phone. After tapping the screen in several places, she handed it to him.
His fingers shook as he input his number, hoping he got it right. His brain was scrambled. His number could be anything at this point.
She smiled sweetly again when he handed it back. “I’ll text you the address.”
“I’ll be there. Seven?”
“Sounds good.” She nodded across the room.
When he jerked his gaze from her to the wall, he remembered her crutches and pushed off the desk. “Shit. Sorry.” He grabbed them, separated them, and lined them up with her hands as she hopped in a half circle to face the door.