CHAPTER 3
Amanda
He’s a fucking god.
From the moment he parted the dusty haze and strode toward me in that cabin, I was breathless. He had dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. His chiseled muscles were coated in sweat from doing fuck-knows-what before I fell through the damn stairs. He lifted me from that pile of rubble like it was nothing before he carried me to my grandmother’s couch, and his touch had been gentle as he rolled up the leg of my pants.
That hadn’t been expected, considering the calluses of his hands rubbing against my skin.
I couldn’t stop staring at him. The way his rippling chest flowed into chiseled abs. The way the veins in his arms throbbed with every movement he took. His skin was tanned, kissed by the sun itself and shining even with the dust clinging to his body.
I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t help it.
The way he carried me to his house effortlessly was riveting. He picked me up as if I weighed nothing and held me as if I was a delicate porcelain doll. I felt his exposed muscles twitching underneath my skin as he kept me close to his body, forcing a warmth to rise in my gut. It had been years since I’d been this captivated by a man, and never in my life had I felt so vulnerable and so safe at the same time.
But when he sat me on the kitchen counter and locked his eyes with mine, I was spellbound.
Instead of putting a shirt on like he really needed to, he looked around for a first aid kit. An older woman stood in the corner with a little girl who looked about two or three. She had dark brown hair the same color as—
I didn’t know his name.
“I’m Amanda,” I said. “Amanda Scott.”
But the tall man with the throbbing muscles and the tanned skin didn’t do anything but take my leg in his hands.
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“Are you going to share it with me?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. I’ll call you Dan.”
His eyes flickered up toward me, but he made no move to tell me anything about himself.
“Thank you for saving me, Dan. It was very kind of you.”
I watched as he slipped the shoe off my foot before he rolled my sock down.
“What are you doing?”
I tried to take my leg away from him, but instead of getting very far I only winced at the pain that shot up my leg.
“You done?” he asked.
“You going to tell me your name?”
“Will it get you to stay still so I can patch you up properly?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Brian.”
“Do you have a last name?”
“No,” he said.