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“I can put something waterproof overtop if you want to shower now.”
“Yes, please.”
He replaced her bandage with a waterproof one. “You can take the loft. There’s another bathroom up there.”
“Thanks.” She stood, and the shirt fell to cover her.
“Hold up.” He caught her elbow. “You were unconscious when I pulled you from the car. I want to check out your head.”
Her attention slid over his chest and down his arm to the hand that held her. Yet she didn’t pull away. A slight blush touched her cheeks—a reaction to his touch or to the invasion of being stitched?
“I’ve got a headache, but I’m okay otherwise.”
He moved his hands to rest on either side of her head and inspected the small patch of red stuck to the strands on her left side. He parted her hair and tsked. “You’ve got a goose egg but doesn’t look like it bled too much. I have some ibuprofen if you want.”
She nodded, and he pulled the bottle from the kit and shook two into her hand.
“I’ll get some water for these,” she said.
“Kitchen’s that way,” he said, stating the obvious. “I’ll take your bag up to the room.”
She moved out of his space and padded toward the kitchen, her gait slow and calculated. He grabbed her bag from the front entrance and carried it up the stairs. When he reached the loft, he flicked on the light and deposited the bag on the chair in the corner. He turned as Savannah entered.
She took in the loft area, a tall glass of water in her hand. It wasn’t much, but it was clean, and the bright-white duvet made the bed look welcoming. In the bathroom she’d find fresh towels. He booked cleanings whenever he left. One less thing to worry about.
“This is pretty tidy for a bachelor pad.” She lowered the glass to the bedside table then made her way toward the bathroom. Turning on the light, she peered inside.
He tipped up his lips. “Who said I’m a bachelor?” If he could inhale the comment as fast as it had come out, he would have. He was flirting. Playing. And it was stupid. Reckless.
Savannah froze. “I. Uh. Just assumed, I guess.”
“Joking.” Well, hell. Now he’d just made an ass of himself. “I’m single.”
She leaned her shoulder on the doorframe, and the surprise on her face was quickly replaced with a smug smirk. “Shocking.”
She sashayed forward and his cock stirred. Her slim, tanned legs approached with purpose. He’d drop to his knees right now to have her wrap them around his face. Rather than touch him, though, she just scooped up her bag from the chair next to him.
He cocked his head. “Where’s your man?”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Let’s not have this discussion, m’kay? I’m going to shower and crash. Thanks for the stitches.”
She turned away and retraced her steps to the bathroom then shut the door. But she hadn’t been able to hide the wounded look in her eyes. Savannah was far from pleasant. As a matter of fact, she had a prickly stick up her sexy ass. But maybe there was more to her than her snarky exterior.
Toth dragged his hand over his face.
Not. My. Problem.
He’d need to make that his daily affirmation because Savannah was very quickly becoming his problem. In more ways than one.
***
Savannah’s hands shookas she peeled the white T-shirt over her head. Standing just outside the glassed-in shower, she turned on the water and the spray blasted out. She jumped and gasped at the force, a small shriek slipping through her lips.
A sharp knock hit the wooden door. “You all right?”
“Fine,” she called. God, she’d lost her nerve because of an overactive showerhead. Ridiculous. Okay, so maybe it had more to do with everything that had just happened.
As she waited for the water to warm up, she pulled her toiletries from her bag and set them on the edge of the tub then glanced in the mirror. Sure enough, she looked as if she’d been shot at, run off a mountain, and stabbed. Her hair was matted and speckled with debris, her eyes bloodshot, her cheeks smeared with dirt and god knew what else. On closer inspection, she saw tiny flecks of blood dotting her face.