The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

Of course it was.

How did you get my number? she texted back.

I have my ways. Seriously, princess, I need your help.

Lia bit her lip uncertainly as she stared at the screen. She was a sucker, and it seemed that even Brand knew that. She was picturing him sprawled at the bottom of the staircase, hurt even worse than before.

What’s wrong? Are you hurt?

Kind of.

Now what on earth was that supposed to mean? Either he was hurt or not—there was no kind of.

You going to help me or not?

Wow. Bossy. Part of her wanted to switch off her phone and ignore his cryptic messages. But her conscience screamed at her not to leave the poor man to fend for himself. He was injured, and helping him was the right thing to do. Especially since it seemed like Daff wasn’t going to.

What do you need? she found herself reluctantly asking. The reply came seconds later.

Can you come over?

It’s really late.

It’s 20:30

She very nearly responded that eight thirty was late for her but managed to stop the pathetic response just in time. She sighed. She didn’t owe him anything, but she’d feel terrible if he was really in pain or in need and she just ignored his cry for help.

I’ll be there in 10 minutes.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lia contemplated the mostly dark cabin for a long time before she finally stepped out of her car. She self-consciously patted her hair and smoothed down her skirt before throwing back her shoulders and walking up the path to the front door.

She knocked and waited a moment, but there was no response. Another knock yielded the same result. Concerned that he was hurt and incapable of answering, she tried the handle and was surprised when the door swung soundlessly inward. The only source of light was coming from the loft, and Lia tilted her head and stared at it for a moment, wondering if she should venture up there.

“Mis—Brand?” she called softly. Nothing. She raised her voice. “Brand?”

“Up here.” She breathed a sigh of relief when his voice drifted down to her.

“I’m coming up,” she warned, and she heard him swear in response to her words.

“I hope so, otherwise there’d be no fucking point in having you here, would there?”

So rude.

She made her way upstairs, not sure what to expect. When she got to the loft, all she found was an unmade bed with clothing scattered all over the floor. Jeez, what a slob. She curbed the uncharitable thought, reminding herself that he was injured and this was probably not a true reflection of what his living space usually looked like.

“Brand?”

“Here.”

Crumbs! His voice was coming from the bathroom. Not good.

“Uh. What do you need?” she asked, and he swore again.

“You. Give me a hand, will you?” She heard water sloshing and grimaced.

“I don’t think I should.”

“Dahlia, for fuck’s sake, this is embarrassing enough as it is. Don’t make it worse.”

Bracing herself for the worst, she pushed the slightly ajar door open and found Sam Brand sitting in the huge soaker tub with an extremely chagrined look on his face. He had his plastered arm draped over the side, and from her vantage point at the door all she could see was his head and chest.

“I seem to be having some difficulty getting out of this damned tub,” he gritted out from between tightly clenched teeth. His red face rivaled hers.

“I should call Spencer.”

“Fuck that! I don’t need anyone else to know about this.”

“You’re injured, there’s really nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You can help me; you’ve already seen me naked . . .”

“I haven’t,” she protested.

“Semantics. Just help me out of here, will you? My weak leg keeps slipping out from under me, the wound in my back hurts like hell, and I’ve already hit my arm on the rim about a dozen times.” She winced in sympathy. He looked furious and disgruntled, but beneath it all she could see the humiliation and pain in his eyes. The vulnerability struck a tender chord and made her want to ease his discomfort and take care of him.

“Why didn’t you shower?”

“Because I thought bathing would be easier with the cast. I didn’t anticipate the difficulties of getting out of this deep fucking tub.”

“I really think Spencer—”

“Lia!” It was the first time he’d ever called her that, and the surprise at hearing her name on his lips shut her up. She liked the sound of it in his deep, gravelly voice, and it sent a shocking frisson of awareness and heat sizzling down her spine. Well, that was completely inappropriate, given the situation. “The water is cold, princess. It took me a while to admit defeat.”

“It’s lucky you had your phone close by,” she said, her eyes drifting to the phone, which he’d placed on the laundry basket beside the bath.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, well, then. I think it would be easier if we drained the bath.”