“My bad,” she said in a singsong voice.

His beautiful brown eyes found hers, confusion evident in them.

“Moriarty from Sherlock,” she said. His expression didn’t light up with recognition. “The BBC version,” she added. Still nothing. “Dude, why have you not watched that?”

He groaned and closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the grass. Laughter bubbled up inside her even though her knees stung like the bejesus and her breasts throbbed. She should’ve put on the push-up bra with a bunch of padding, like her mom had suggested. That would’ve absorbed the impact a little better.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” His eyes snapped open again, hitting her with the full force of that entrancing gaze. Her stomach flipped over before dropping out, making her feel weightless. She didn’t like it.

Noah was not a man to be trusted. He had been practicing those types of looks, with that startlingly handsome face, since before he could drive. Everyone knew that.

Cynthia didn’t know what he thought he was doing—all the opening of doors, leaning in, and steady gazes—but she wasn’t just another fool to be suckered. No way. The last thing she would tolerate was Ellen saying I told you so. That would absolutely ruin her year, and with the year she was having, that was saying something.

She rolled over onto the strip of concrete. “Who puts concrete around grass where kids play? Whose great idea was that?” She adjusted and sat up, looking down at herself and surveying the damage.

Her skirt was scuffed, white in two places where she’d hit the hardest. Ruined, basically. Skin had peeled away from her knees, and a line of blood was running down her leg from one of the scrapes.

That hurt.

Green from the grass had stained the fabric over her breasts, ruining the shirt.

“Great idea, Mom, as always.” She sighed.

“Cynthia, are you okay?” Noah leaned over her knees, gently touching her shin with warm fingers. Goosebumps spread across her skin, betraying her reaction to him. So much for pretending he didn’t affect her. “That looks like it hurts.”

“It does, yes. Actually, it more stings than hurts.” Cynthia eyed the high heel that had fallen off during her graceful tumble. She figured she might as well just come clean so as to feel a little less stupid. “My mom was trying to dress me up and present me to you like a Thanksgiving turkey, or a bride in an arranged marriage or something. Which reminds me, what is your least favorite dessert?” She held up her hand to inspect it, and Noah sucked in another breath. Apparently, she’d collected another cut on her balletic way to the ground. “Don’t worry, that one doesn’t hurt as much.”

“We need to get you cleaned up,” he said. “My brother and sister-in-law are doctors, remember? Let’s go.”

“No, it’s fine. Honestly, they’re tiny cuts. I’ve had worse falls than this on a great many occasions.”

“This one was my fault. Let me make it right.” He stood, then bent to help her up.

“How was this your fault?” She avoided his hands, pointing instead at her shoe.

He retrieved it before sliding it onto her foot. “I interrupted your flow by holding the door open, then didn’t catch you.”

“Wow. You’re really grasping at straws.”

“I’m trying to be gallant, give me a break.” He flashed her a mouth-watering smile. Man, when the guy laid on the charm, he laid it on good and thick.

“Okay, it was your fault,” she said, relenting. “But apology not accepted. Look at what you’ve done! I’m a disgrace. Actually, I take that back.” She made a so-so gesture with her hand. “This means my nosy family won’t want to buy me any short skirts. So yeah, thanks for shoving me to the ground, man. Good looking out.”

“I don’t know about taking credit for shoving you…”

“Shoving me, then body-slamming me, yeah. Good call. I’ll tell everyone how my knight in shining armor saved me. They’ll all understand. Sometimes abuse is the only way to get things done, am I right?”

“No… I’m…”

“I’m right. Okay. I think I’ll just head back inside now. It was fun, really.” She twisted to the left and braced her good hand on the strip of cement. She struggled to push herself up, sucking in her breath when her scraped knee came in contact with a blade of grass. “Getting up is always the worst part.”

“Here.”

Before she knew what he was doing, he had his hands hooked under her armpits.

“No, no—” She gritted her teeth, because her pits were where she sweated the most. “Well, when you’re right, you’re right. We should make this situation even more embarrassing.”

He laughed as he deadlifted her to her feet, not seeming to strain in the least, then stood much too close as she regained her balance. An electric buzz from his proximity hummed along her skin and infiltrated her blood, settling deep into her core.

The man was too alluring for his own good. It wasn’t fair on the poor lady-folk who were forced to be in his presence.

“Cool, thanks,” she said, exhaling.

“Saying ‘cool’ isn’t cool.”

“Right.” Her knees throbbed and her hand stung. Worse, she knew she’d have to clean the wounds. Cleaning wounds was the worst part of being naturally klutzy. Well, aside from the embarrassment.

“C’mon, let’s get you to my parents’ house.”

“No, thanks.” She patted his beefy shoulder without thinking, making her flinch from the pain of her cut. A dot of red now marred his crisp white shirt. “That’s one reason I don’t wear white. And why people shouldn’t wear white in my presence.”

“You are…something else.”

“That’s a very nice way of putting it. See ya— Eiiiiiiii!”

She’d never squealed like that before, but maybe that was because she’d never been effortlessly swept up into a man’s arms before. Her ribs pushed against Noah’s hard chest, bumpy with muscles. Her palm left another dot of blood on his shirt as she clutched his wide shoulder.

His deep voice rumbled out of his chest. “C’mon. I owe you an awkward conversation with a parent figure.”

“This is kidnapping,” she said, out of breath. “A man carrying a woman away is probably the oldest form of kidnapping. It dates back to the caveman days, actually.”

“I’m old school, what can I say?” He started across the grass.

The street was mostly bare, thankfully, when they made it to the sidewalk. Without breaking stride or a sweat, Noah carried her off toward his car.

“The ice cream is probably going to be melted,” he said softly.

She frowned, because yes, it probably would be. “Sorry. That’s my fault.”

“Yes, it is. If you hadn’t herded me via pinching into the presence of your uncle, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Wow. Whatever happened to the knight in shining armor?”

“The memory of the last joke your uncle told me made me temporarily forget my role.”

She blew out a breath, trying to contain a smile. She really should feel the slightest bit guilty, but she was too jubilant for that. He was so much fun, and he managed to take her in stride. At least, more so than anyone else she’d ever met. That was saying something.

“I’ll have to go to the store tomorrow anyway, so I can pick up some more for you,” she said.

“Will you be getting diapers?”

“I will definitely be getting diapers. Ellen was not amused by the roadkill pack.”

He laughed as he stopped by his car and gently set her down. That beautiful gaze connected with hers again. His lean was slight, and yet she felt the heat of it. The electricity between their bodies singed her skin.

“Do I have something in my teeth?” she asked, careful to keep an even voice. It was a struggle.

His lashes fluttered, as if he was coming out of a daydream. A small crease wormed between his brows. He shook his head, the movement barely perceptible…and straightened up again.

A sigh of relief escaped her. She needed to get away from him. And probably apologize to Ellen for having taunted her about Noah in the past. Of course Ellen had fallen under his thrall—how could any woman help it?

“No. But your hair looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in about a year.” A grin worked at his shapely lips. He opened his trunk and took out two bags.

“Two days, actually. It’s just so…” She fingered one of her boring brown locks, falling in a messy wave to her middle. “Thick. It takes forever to brush. Or style. Or…really do anything with it. My sisters are constantly telling me to get a more stylish haircut. And if nothing else, dye it. Mousy brown isn’t in, apparently. So they say, anyway.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d want to deal with the upkeep.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?” she asked in an old-timey accent, fluttering her eyelashes.

He shrugged. “If you don’t bother to brush it, I can’t imagine you’d bother to get your roots colored every six weeks.” He glanced down at her knees. A pained expression crossed his visage.

She followed his gaze, seeing lines of blood oozing down her leg. “You’re squeamish with wounds?”

“Not usually. It looks like it hurts, is all. I’d rather you not be in pain. Can you walk?”

She ignored the butterflies that had swarmed her stomach. “I’m fine, believe me. Can I help you carry something?”

“Don’t be silly.” He started forward slowly, waiting until she got the hint and matched his pace. “None of your exes insisted that ladies should go first?” he asked as they walked.

“I mean…sometimes, sure. But no one I’ve dated has ever made a big deal about it. If they were closer to the door or whatever, sure, but if I got there first and held it open for them, then they’d go.”

“Do you date cavemen?”

She laughed. “I think they just knew me well enough to get out of the way.”

“What do you mean?”

She stopped at his front door, not about to open it and lead the way. She hadn’t seen his parents up close for years. They wouldn’t recognize her, so they’d probably assume she was a stranger, possibly an intruder. Barging into a rich person’s house was a good way to get oneself shot.

“I mean,” she said, “that they realized I have the ability to trip and skin my knees in a yard I’ve known all my life. They were probably concerned I’d take them down with me if they veered too close. How many grown women do you know who still skin their knees?”

“Depends on where she falls to them…” His voice took on a deep, syrupy quality that rolled over her in a delicious way. She knew he was talking about sex, blow jobs, figures writhing in each other’s arms—

“Open the door,” she said, desperate to cut that line of thought short. Her body was wound painfully tight again.

He did as she asked, then repeated that weird body jerk.

She laughed and led him through the door before quickly peeling off to the side. “It’s a lot of work, being this hardcore of a gentleman, isn’t it?” she joked, keeping her voice to a hush and glancing around for a deranged rich-guy gunman. It was far-fetched, she knew, but her luck was as bad as her clumsiness. It was best not to tempt fate.

“I’d ask why you’re so jumpy, but I’ve spoken to your uncle.” Noah pushed the door with his foot to close it. “Do you not like it when a man puts you first?”

She opened her mouth for a witty reply…then hesitated. It was a lot of work, what he did. Since she’d reconnected with him, he’d helped pick up her spilled items, patiently waited for her, carried her groceries, carried her—he’d gone out of his way to look after her. She got the impression he wasn’t worried if this behavior was expected of him—he expected it of himself.

Warmth filled her middle. To his honest question, she gave an honest response. “It’s nice. I do like it.”

“See? If you show respect, you’ll get respect. Sometimes in the form of blood and grass stains on your favorite shirt. How lucky am I?” He gave her that winning smile before starting forward, sparing a glance for her knees. “Come on. I’ll drop these in the kitchen and find Greg.”