“It’s all right, Mr. Masters. I have it. Won’t take but a second, right, Willow?” Mr. Buchanan asks, bending to assist me from the floor. Where I still haven’t moved.
“That might be, Rand, but it looks like you're needed elsewhere,” the man, Mr. Masters, continues. He raises one hand from the side of his body and points over toward where the receptionist is still trying to get my attorney’s attention and then bends at the waist to offer me his hand.
I get my first glimpse of the man behind that voice.
The foreign feeling of pure lust coils so tightly that it steals the breath straight from my lungs.
My cheeks flame once again as goosebumps fire across my skin when I realize just who has been witness to my living nightmare. Oh. My. God. Mr. Masters?! The one and only, Mr. Kane Masters. Sexiest Man Alive, most wanted actor around, the object of lust for maybe every woman in the whole entire WORLD! Good God! It can’t be. There’s no way that … no … oh, crap. I was wrong; this day could and did get worse.
“I … please … I’m so sorry,” I whisper meekly. Please, God, open the ground up and swallow me whole. Just end it now. “Please, don’t worry about me … oh, God.”
“Willow, was it?” he asks, reaching out and pulling me off the floor with his hands hooked under my armpits. Am I sweating there too? I feel like I am. Holy crap, is he touching my pit sweat? “Are you okay?” he questions, continuing to assess me. Did I nod? I might have … or maybe I’m just gaping at him like the freaking idiot I am. “Do you need medical assistance?” he continues when I don’t say a word.
“I—I’m—crap, I’m okay. Only what was left of my pride was damaged.” I don’t say anything else, but duck my head to avoid his penetrating gaze and kneel on the floor to start grabbing whatever I can within reach, stuffing everything hastily back into my purse.
“Kane, if you would follow me, I can take you back to Steven’s office while he’s busy,” I hear the receptionist say, closer this time. I’m sure if I were to look, she would be right next to us.
I don’t look, but I can tell he doesn’t move. His presence isn’t something I can ignore, and it just makes me gather my things a little quicker. What is wrong with me? Or a better question is what is he doing to my body? Every inch of my skin feels his presence like a physical touch. Please, just leave. Don’t stay. God, please don’t stay.
“Are you okay, Willow?” The concern is evident in his tone, and it’s the only reason I pause long enough to look up and meet his eyes. That and the way my name sounds so sinful and erotic from his lips. His blue eyes, the color of the Caribbean Sea, don’t hold an ounce of sympathy. They’re imploring me with unasked questions, but the concern written all over his face is exposed. For me. That look, something I haven’t seen in a long time from anyone other than my two best friends, stops me still.
“I’m … I’ll—thank you for asking, but I’ll be fine.” I have no clue how I managed to get that out, but if I was hoping it would appease him, I was wrong.
“Right. I’ve no doubt about that, Willow. But it would ease my mind if you would at least allow me to offer some assistance.”
Oh, God. I need to get away. I don’t know how to even begin processing the way he’s making me feel. My feelings surmount the embarrassment I have over this situation. “That’s okay, Mr. Masters. I’m sure you have more important things to do. Thank you, though.” Right. That wasn’t too hard. At least, I made complete sentences this time. Well done, Willow.
“Nothing that can’t wait for me to help a beautiful woman out,” he says, and I snap my head back, knocking it against the wooden table behind where I’m crouched on the floor. “Shit,” he gruffs. Then, as if it couldn’t get worse, he crouches down and his long, thick fingers dive into my hair and rub against the spot I just banged. The second he touches my scalp, a fire shoots from the pads of his fingers and pings around my body like lava.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Please …” I plead and look up through the foggy haze created by my unshed tears.
I watch his eyes fire, something working quickly over his expression before he wipes it clean. Before I can give it much thought, relief washes over me. Whatever he sees in the gaze he’s holding prisoner must be enough. A deep breath of air rushes from his full lips and warms my already burning face before he nods once and moves away from me. He doesn’t speak again; instead, he gathers the rest of my personal belongings and places them back in my broken purse. I pull myself from the floor carefully to avoid looking like the weakling that I am, and when Kane stands, I take my broken bag from his fingers. He doesn’t speak, just nods when I clutch it to my chest as if it was a shield.
“Thank you,” I murmur, not looking up from his chest.
“It was nothing.” He sighs softly.
“Well, thank you nonetheless. I’m sorry for interrupting your morning.”