The Privileged and the Damned. Kimberly Lang

looked down and saw blood seeping through the fabric over her shin. Suddenly the throbbing pain intensified. “I can handle it.”

      “Then I’ll help with your boots.” Before she even processed what he was doing, or could form a protest, her cropped boots were off and Ethan was almost out the door. “I’ll be back in a second.”

      She was still reeling in various stages and kinds of shock, but she had no doubt he’d be back in no time. Ethan seemed to want to play knight in shining armor at the moment. And, while she wasn’t exactly the average damsel in distress, she had to admit it was kind of nice to be fussed over a little.

      Especially by Ethan.

      That didn’t mean she wanted Ethan’s help removing her clothes, though, and she shimmied out of her jeans as quickly as she could, wincing as the denim peeled away from a raw-looking scrape that nearly covered her entire shin. This was the last straw: even if she had to give up eating, she was buying new boots with her next paycheck. Tall ones. She was tired of wet feet and banged shins …

      The sound of feet on the stairs brought her back from her mental grumble, making her realize that she was nearly naked to the waist and that her T-shirt barely reached the tops of her thighs. She reached under the pillow for her pajamas and slid the short bottoms on just as Ethan opened the door.

      He carried cold packs from the freezer, and the stable’s bright red first aid kit. Her heartbeat kicked back up again. Maybe she had hit her head harder than she thought …

      He dropped the red bag on the bed next to her. “Towels?”

      She pointed to the closet.

      He was efficient and oddly professional as he wrapped a cold pack in a small towel and indicated she should use it on her head. Another towel went beneath her leg before he produced a bottle of saline from the first aid kit. “This might sting a little,” he warned.

      “You don’t have to—ouch!”

      “Wimp,” he teased, and grinned at the dirty look she shot him. “How’s the head? Any blurriness or double vision?”

      “Nope.” She pulled the towel away from her forehead and noticed the blood on it. “Boy, I’m really a mess. I don’t need stitches, do I?”

      “It’s just a nasty scrape. Keep the ice on it. Anything else hurt?” Ethan dabbed at her shin with gauze.

      “That does,” she gritted out. “Look, I’m okay—really. I appreciate the help, but I can take care of it.”

      He waggled his eyebrows. “And give up the chance to fondle your leg? No way.”

      It was such an odd, out-of-place comment that the absurdity of it made her laugh out loud. Ethan grinned. She sat back against the pillows and put the ice pack on her forehead. She wasn’t concussed, and she wasn’t imagining things. Ethan was actually flirting with her. In the privacy of her apartment. While she wasn’t really wearing all that much …

      Maybe he was just the kind of guy who flirted with every woman who crossed his path. Maybe it was just part of that whole “being friendly” thing. She really shouldn’t read anything into it—after all, hadn’t she already made that mistake once today already? It was still fun, though—except for the blood and pain part.