With Every Heartbeat(67)

Letting go of my hold on the main bowl, which let the water spray out again, I hurried to answer the door, hoping the building super had miraculously sensed a problem and was here to rescue me.

But it was Quinn.

“Is the water still on?” he asked, his gaze running over my soaked clothes and hair.

“Yes.” Miserable and almost in tears, I clutched my wet head. “I have no clue how to turn it off.”

He stepped into the apartment. “Let’s have a look.” I followed him back, nearly having to skip into a run to keep up with his long-legged stride. He wore a ball cap, tight black T-shirt and jeans that looked...really nice on him, especially when he bent over to reach for something behind the toilet.

Half a second later, the water stopped spraying him in the chest. He let out a sigh before he sat back on his haunches to glance over at me.

I scowled and crossed my arms over my wet chest. “Oh, that’s not even right how fast you fixed that.”

He grinned. “Sorry.” Then his gaze skipped around the bathroom before he murmured, “Wow.”

“You’re telling me,” I grumbled as I waded inside toward him. “Now show me what you did, so I’ll know what to do the next time this happens.”

“You just turn that lever there to turn the water off,” he explained, stepping aside and pointing so I could squeeze in closer to see.

“Oh. Well, cool. That’s actually what I would’ve chosen next. But I kind of lost my experimental nerve after the first doohickey thing I twisted came off in my hand.”

Quinn chuckled and glanced at my row of pots and pans. “Yeah, I probably would’ve lost my experimental urge too.”

I straightened and smiled at him as I wiped stray drops off my arms. “Thank you so much for coming. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. And you got here so fast.”

“I wasn’t too far away. I was driving home from work.”

“Oh,” I said lamely as my gaze spanned down to his outfit. He must get good tips if that was what he wore to work.

All wet like that, he looked really—

“Oh my God,” I yelped, realizing just how wet he was. “I’m so sorry you got soaked.”

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one.” When his gaze met mine, he grinned, and before I knew it, I was grinning back. Within seconds, we were laughing at the mess around us.

“Why don’t you change into something dry,” he finally suggested, “and I’ll get started cleaning up in here?”

The very idea made me recoil in horror. I already felt awful about him having to come over and rescue me. No way was I leaving him here to clean what I had messed up. “But you’re wet too,” I argued.

He glanced briefly at my chest. “Not as wet as you are.”

That’s when I remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra, and with my white nightshirt soaked through, he could see...everything. Flushing hard, I crossed my arms over my chest and retreated to my room to change.

Quinn had a good portion of the bathroom mopped dry with a heap of towels when I returned. And he’d dumped out all the pots and pans and put them back in the kitchen.

“Seriously, you didn’t have to do all this,” I said, shaking my head as I watched him toss that last wet towel into the hamper.

He merely shrugged as he took in the outfit I’d changed into: baggy flannel pants with frogs on them and an equally large, but dark T-shirt.

“It was no problem. You’d already had quite a night. I was happy to help.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. So I cleared my throat and glanced away. “Well...thank you...again. I have no idea how to repay you.”

“No, you don’t—” he started, waving his hand, only to pause and glance down the hall toward Cora’s room. “Actually, do you mind if I stick around until Cora gets home? Just to make sure she’s okay?”

My eyes grew big. Whoops. I’d kind of forgotten about Cora. “No, not at all. Here let me try her cell phone again. Maybe she was just out of service for a bit.”

But Quinn shook his head. “I already tried. She still has it turned off.”

“Oh. Well...” I kicked at a spot on the carpet. “Psych time?”

“Sure.’ He nodded, looking glum, but started to follow when the wet squish under his shoes made me pause.

“You have to be miserable in those wet things. Do you have any extra clothes in Cora’s room? I could throw the ones you’re wearing in the dryer.”

He scratched his ear, not looking very hopeful, but checked Cora’s room anyway. He exited a minute later, wearing nothing but the sleep pants he wore on Saturday mornings when he made pancakes. My gaze dropped briefly to the wet shirt and jeans he gripped in his hand, but strayed right back to his bare, rippled chest.