‘Then what’s with all the huffing and puffing?’
‘I wasn’t aware I was huffing and puffing,’ he lied. ‘It’s just transitioning back to working behind a desk...it’s hard after so many weeks out on the ice.’
His jaw tightened. She was looking at him as if she thought that level of sensitivity was beyond him. But he could be sensitive when required. In fact, he could be anything she wanted—
His body tensed as he remembered her breathless little gasp when he’d pulled her hips against his body.
‘I haven’t changed my mind. You’re doing a good job.’ Clearing his throat, he gestured towards the shelves behind her desk. ‘Actually, I need to check something in one of those files. The blue one,’ he said, pointing at one at random.
She got to her feet, her eyes travelling over the haphazardly stacked shelves. ‘You have really great organisational skills.’
He tapped his head. ‘It’s all up here. I know where everything is. No, I can get it myself. No, let me—’
Reaching up, he made a grab for the file, but she was already tugging at it.
‘Ouch!’
Books and files were tumbling from the shelf, and he swore as one hit him squarely on the bridge of his nose.
‘Why don’t you ever do what you’re told?’ The pain was making his eyes water. ‘I said I’d get it.’
Frankie glared up at him. ‘You know, I’m getting really tired of how everything is always my fault with you,’ she snapped.
‘Not as tired as I am of nothing ever being your fault,’ he snapped back.
‘I didn’t say that...’ Pressing her hand against her head, she winced.
‘Are you hurt?’
She shook her head, but as she lifted her hand, he felt his pulse jump into his throat.
‘You’re bleeding—’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘It’s not nothing.’ He led her to the sofa. ‘Sit.’
She pushed against his hand. ‘I’m not a dog.’
Damn, she was stubborn. She was also bleeding. He took a breath. ‘Please could you sit down?’
With relief, he watched her drop down onto the cushions. Angling the lamp to see better, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
‘Look up. Please,’ he added as she stiffened against his hand.
He parted her hair. ‘Okay, it’s a small cut. It’s not bleeding much, but you’ll probably have a bit of a bump.’
She sighed. ‘I don’t need a nurse.’
‘Lucky I’m a doctor, then,’ he said.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Of rocks. And ice. Not people. Now, if you’ve finished?’
‘I haven’t.’ He fished out a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Press this here. I’m just going to get the first aid box. And don’t even think about moving.’
* * *
Leaning back against the sofa cushions, Frankie closed her eyes and breathed out shakily. It was Arlo’s fault, she thought angrily. If he had organised his shelves like any normal person this wouldn’t have happened.