by Zoe Chant
He was – there were no other words for it – smoking hot.
And here Holly was, sitting on her ass in the middle of the woods, her hair sweaty and unkempt, unflattering hiking shorts rucked up over her thighs, needing rescuing from a bear.
Of course, she thought, feeling her face burning with embarrassment. Of course I couldn’t appear to the most handsome man I’ve ever seen all made up in an evening gown, drifting down a set of stairs like a siren of the silver screen. That would actually be impressive.
“I’m okay,” she said again, trying to salvage what dignity was left to her. She went to stand up – only to feel pain shoot up her leg from her ankle. “Ouch,” she gasped, stumbling, all thoughts of dignity temporarily evaporating.
The arm that suddenly wound around her shoulders prevented her from ending up straight back on her ass in the bracken. Warm and strong, it kept her in place without any apparent effort at all.
Sucking in a sudden breath, Holly blinked, eyes going wide as she stared up into the man’s eyes. Her skin tingled where it touched his, little sparks of electricity racing over her body.
Oh. My. God.
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