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“Can you hear me? Do you need help?” The guy was close, his words loud over the wind tearing across the beach.
I didn’t need help; I needed a giant hole to open up and swallow me whole, far away from this passerby with his friendly voice.
Lying on the sand, one arm over my eyes, I hadn’t noticed him approach. Why was he out here? The beach was empty when I set off, and I didn’t think anyone would be venturing out in this weather.
My lungs burned, and I knew my cheeks would be flaming hot enough to grill sausages on. I had to tell this stranger I was fine, but I wasn’t sure I could speak yet, let alone reassure him of my sanity and good health.
My sanity was questionable, though. What kind of idiot would go running on a day like today? A crazy one. Especially when this was the most exercise I’d done in years. The way my pulse raced and my lungs wheezed, I might be having a heart attack after all.
Sitting up was too much to contemplate, so I slid my arm down my face and peeked to the left. A walking stick lay on the sand next to me, a guy hunched over beside it.
Please don’t say some geriatric had come to my aid?
He lifted his head, and I saw his face. Whoa. My would-be rescuer had the face of an angel. Young, intense, and handsome, with dark hair flopping onto a strong forehead and cheekbones so sharp they could have been sculpted that way. Maybe I had died, and this was my welcoming party to heaven? Nope. I was still alive, and hideously embarrassed.
“Are you hurt? Do you need help?” He spoke slowly and with care, as though I was deaf or foreign.
I had to reply, and now I had a little breath in my lungs, I might be able to speak. I shoved myself up on my elbows, and sucked in some air. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
His eyebrows disappeared into the tumble of hair, and he scrubbed his face with both hands. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look very well. Let me help you somewhere warm and dry.”
As if to underline his words, the wind tossed a swirl of sand and spray at us. I’d managed to ignore the rain so far, but lying here meant I cooled down rapidly, and now I was feeling the chill.
“I don’t want to be any trouble.” I had to force the words out. “I’m fine. Really.” To prove my point, I scrambled to my feet and stood there, shivering. Jesus. Of all the people to see me in my moment of humiliation, it had to be this Adonis.
Maybe I could slink back to my rented cottage and try to pretend this encounter didn’t happen. With luck, I’d never have to face him again. I’d keep a look out for him and make sure our paths didn’t cross again.
I gazed at him, taking in the waterproof jacket, the sturdy boots, and the walking stick—a medical-issue one by the look of it. I looked longingly up the beach, at the short distance to my cottage. Could I just walk away?
He glanced away, and then back at me. “I... um... need some help to get up.” He held out a hand to me, his lips pressed in a tight line.
Oh. I couldn’t leave him here, no matter how much I wanted to disappear. I grabbed hold of him and hauled, and he came upright with a groan.
Cursing under his breath, he dropped my hand like a hot potato and leaned heavily on the stick. “Thanks.” He bit out the word and wouldn’t meet my gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I said. The cold had set in, and my teeth chattered when I spoke.
“Do you have far to go?” he asked.
I shook my head in reply. “The little cottage.” I gestured with my thumb. He clutched the stick so hard his knuckles showed white, and I felt a wash of guilt. He’d hurt himself trying to help me. “Would you like to come back and warm up?” What? My temporary insanity had clearly taken control of my tongue. He’d refuse.
“Just for a few minutes.”
We walked up the beach to the softer, powdery sand near the top. He was slow on his feet, but I was grateful for the pace, my breathing improving with every step. I’d make some herbal tea and send him on his way. There was no need for conversation or explanations.
When we reached the wooden steps, he hauled himself up using the handrail, and then dropped into the first chair he reached, a low groan escaping his lips.
Good manners ingrained from childhood nudged at me. “I can make you some herbal tea if you’d like.”
“Any coffee?”
God. I’d love a coffee right now. A double-shot latte with a spoonful of raw sugar. “No.”
“Regular tea?”
“No. Herbal is all I’ve got.” Because it had precisely zero calories, and this particular one was supposed to speed up weight loss.
He narrowed his eyes, as though looking at me properly, and I sucked in my stomach. It was an automatic reaction, and nothing to do with how gorgeous he was.
“You’re frozen,” he said. “Go inside. I just need a minute, and then I’ll go.”
For fuck’s sake. “Come in, please, and have some tea. I feel so bad about this.”
His lips twisted, and he ducked his head. “I thought you were dead. Drowned, or something.”
Ashamed didn’t begin to cover how I felt, but I couldn’t leave him there. “If you won’t come in, I’ll bring it out to you. The tea.” Before he could reply, I slid the door open and escaped into the kitchen.
The kettle was still hot, and while I waited for water to boil, I plucked two mugs from the cupboard and dropped a Lemon Zinger teabag into each. It’d taste much better with a generous spoonful of honey, but that wasn’t on my diet list. Herbal tea was an acquired taste, I was told. Maybe one day I’d acquire it.
I poured the hot water, squished the bags with a teaspoon, and then discarded them. I’d already learned that leaving them longer did nothing to improve the taste. If I was very lucky, Mister Gorgeous would have gone by now.
Yeah, right. He sat where I left him, walking stick leaning against his chair, and his gaze fixed on the horizon.
I’d have to be polite a little longer.
“Here you are.” I aimed for a cheerful voice, as I plonked the cups on the table. The I’m-okay-and-you-can-leave-now tone. “Cheers.”
His back was to the light, and I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, even when he stared at me.
“Will you tell me why you were lying on the sand like...?”
Hello, humiliation. I thought you’d left. I gazed at the wooden deck. “Like a beached whale?”
“What? No.”
“I was trying to exercise. Get fit.” Lose some weight. “I guess I overdid it, my first run.” I tugged at my oversized T-shirt, but it refused to cover my thighs. Note to self—wear something that comes down to my knees next time.
“Maybe I can help you,” he said. “I’m a personal trainer. You want to get fit, I’m your guy.”
A personal trainer? My reaction was a fervent, Hell no. He gazed at me, calm and unemotional, and I sought my tongue. “Ah, no. Thank you, but no.”
My friends had personal trainers at their expensive gyms, but they were all slim and gorgeous already. The prospect of having anybody, let alone this guy, weighing and measuring me, was enough to make me want to run for the hills. When I could run. Right now, it would be a slow stagger.
“I am qualified,” he said. “I’m co-owner of the gym on the main street.” He gestured toward the stick at his side. “I wasn’t always a gimp.” His gaze bored into me, as though daring me to challenge his words.
“It’s not that.” I rubbed my sweaty forehead that was speckled with sand. I wanted to hide in the shower and forget this encounter happened.
“You said it was your first run. You have to start slowly for a decent exercise regime, not only to avoid injury, but also to make it last. Hundreds of people go to the gym religiously for the first week, and then never go back.”
Yup. I’d done that. More than once. It was time to bring this conversation to a close. “I’ll think about it.” I took a gulp of the Lemon Zinger. Would it taste better with a slug of vodka?
He showed no signs of moving. His drink lay untouched, and a ripple of panic bubbled in my chest. How much longer was he going to stay?
“Look, I need to shower. And I’ve things to do. Are you okay to get home?”
He furrowed his brows into a V. On some men it would look ugly, but it didn’t reduce his attractiveness in the slightest. He was quite possibly the most handsome man I’d met.
Hotter than Bruce?
Yep.
And hot guys didn’t normally see me, let alone make unprompted conversation.
“How long are you staying?” He huffed a soft laugh. “And that makes me sound like a creepy stalker, which I’m not. I know this is a holiday rental. I live just up the road.”
Now that we were out of the howling wind, and I could hear his voice properly, it was as delicious as the rest of him. Mellow and a little husky, he’d make a killing as a late-night host on a radio talk show. Perhaps this really was heaven?
A trilling cellphone behind me gave the perfect excuse to end this conversation. “I have to take that. It was—uh—nice to meet you.”