Did Loch realize how much a hotel room like this cost? And they were probably charging him extra to have her here. Crap. She needed to talk to him.
She limped out of the doors and stared in awe at her surroundings. If she thought the bedroom was insane, it was nothing compared to the rest of the hotel suite. Three large sofas sat together near a table with fresh flowers in a crystal vase. If she looked to the left, there was a piano, a desk complete with computer, a minibar off to one side, and the TV on the nearby wall was larger than it had any right to be. On the opposite wall, there was a balcony and window after window that showed a gorgeous view of New York City.
Her apartment was nothing like this, and she felt acutely out of place. “Hello? Loch?”
Something on one of the couches moved, and Loch sat up, his magnificent hair shaggy and out of place as he rubbed sleepy eyes. “Hey, Taylor. How are you feeling?”
“Like a rancor crapped me out.”
“Like what?”
She waved a hand, hobbling over to him. “Never mind, I—”
He leapt to his feet in a surprisingly fluid motion and moved toward her. “You shouldn’t be up and walking on that ankle. Let me carry you.”
“I— No, I’m fine, I just—” Her protests died as he lifted her in his arms as easily as if she were a child, and carried her across the room. Okay, wow. So she hadn’t been dreaming when she’d had vague recollections of being hoisted about like a damsel in distress. She should have hated that, she really should have.
Instead, it was kinda . . . sexy.
Distracted, Taylor was silent as Loch carried her to one of the plush sofas and set her down gently. She remained quiet as he lifted her leg onto one of the padded ottomans and carefully put a pillow under her foot.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Great. Just great. Um.” She smoothed her hair nervously. “You slept out here?” There was a nest of blankets and pillows on one of the sofas that filled her with guilt.
“I did. Didn’t want to accidentally bang up any of your banged-up parts.”
“Probably shouldn’t say the word ‘bang’ so often,” Taylor murmured. It made her think of, well, dirty sorts of banging.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Um, thanks for bringing me here. I swear I’m fine, though.”
“You’re not fine. The doctor said someone should watch you for the next few days, just in case the head wound was more severe than originally thought.” He sat down on the ottoman and pulled her foot into his lap. “Shall we have a look at this?”
“You really don’t have to,” she began, but the words died when he unzipped the plastic boot and began to unwrap her foot. He was very careful with touching her, she noticed, and his fingers grazed over her skin with the utmost concern. “This hurt?”
“Not really, no. A little bruised but overall it’s not too bad if I don’t walk on it.” She was more fixated on those big fingers caressing her swollen ankle than the actual ankle itself. She couldn’t help it; every time he moved, or touched her, or heck, even smiled, she thought about that one-night stand.
Man, she was a dirty bird. Here he was trying to take care of her and all she was thinking about were his fingers in all her sensitive spots.
“Can you rotate for me?”
Taylor immediately flushed. “What?” Her voice was a shocked squeak as she stared at him.
“Your ankle?”
Oh. Of course. She gave it a little flex and then gently rolled it a bit. “Hurts, but it’s not so awful I can’t stand it. I can go home—”
“No, you’re staying with me for the rest of this week.” He zipped the boot again and set her foot back down on the ottoman. “Let me see your stitches.”
“I looked at them in the bathroom. They’re fine,” she said quickly. “There’s no need.”
“I still want to look at them.” Loch sat down next to her on the couch, so close that his knee brushed up against her thigh. Oh dang, now she was thinking about sexy knees. Why was she being such a horndog after she’d been injured?
Because it was Loch, of course, and Loch was the sexiest thing alive. And she’d tapped that and she knew just how good sex with him was, so of course she was obsessing. It was only natural, or so she told herself. Any woman in her right mind would be thinking about flinging off her plastic boot and riding him like a pony right about now.
She held her breath as he moved closer and his big, gorgeous torso leaned in toward hers. His hands went to the bandage on her brow and his face was stunningly close to her own. She gazed up at him, blinking rapidly. He had beard stubble on that strong chin of his, and instead of looking scruffy or unkempt, he looked roguish and even more sexy. Heaven help her, she was creeping on a guy who was trying to play nursemaid. He probably wasn’t turned on at all.
“Looks hideous,” he announced in a cheerful voice. “You’ll probably have a scar.”
“You shouldn’t sound so happy when you tell a girl that.”
“Scars are just a side-effect of any game.” He replaced the bandage.
“Yeah, but my game involves sitting in a computer chair. Takes a special kind of skill to hurt yourself doing that.”
“To be fair, you never even made it to your chair.” He grinned down at her.
Gosh, he was entirely too close for her to be unaffected. She dragged her gaze away from him and touched the bandage a little harder than she should have, just to ground herself firmly in reality. “Thank god for hats.”