Mac lay there for a second, trying to catch his breath and gather his wits. A young woman was lying next to him, her bike about to be run over by a pickup truck that would hit her next. Mac ignored the burning pain in his calf and leaped up to stop the truck inches from her. He wasn’t fast enough to keep the truck from mangling her bike, though.

Mac squatted down to help the woman. Since her top had ridden up in the fall, he noticed her extravagant curves and had to remind himself that she was hurt. She was struggling to breathe and must’ve had the wind knocked out of her by the fall. He quickly adjusted her shirt to cover full breasts.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Don’t struggle. That’ll only make it worse.”

Frantic caramel-colored eyes stared up at him

The impact of their eyes meeting hit him like a locomotive to the chest. What the heck was that? Long hair the same color as her eyes fanned out under her head, and blood poured from huge cuts on her knee, elbow and hand. Mac winced, wishing he’d been more careful.

Tears spilled from her eyes.

Mac reached out to brush them away, his fingers tingling as they skimmed over her soft skin.

Her eyes widened, and she seemed to stop breathing altogether.

“Breathe,” he said.

Anxious to get her away from the prying eyes of the crowd that had formed around them, Mac slid his arms under her and lifted her from the pavement.

She let out a startled gasp and then a moan as her injured leg bent around his arm. “W-what’re you doing?”

“My friend Libby runs the Beachcomber. She’s a volunteer paramedic on the Gansett Fire Department. Let’s go get you cleaned up. Did you hit your head?”

“No, just my arm and leg.” She turned her palm up. “And my hand.”

Mac’s stomach roiled at the sight of her pulpy hand. “God, I’m so sorry.” Still carrying her, he crossed the street to the hotel. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

She struggled against his firm hold. “I need to get to work, so if you could just put me down. Please. . .”

“You can’t go to work in this condition. You’re bleeding.”

“I have to go or I’ll get fired.”

Her twisting and squirming caused her round rear end to press against his belly, which sent a lurid message straight down to where he lived.

He groaned. “Do you mind holding still?”

“No one asked you to carry me,” she retorted, apparently misinterpreting his groan.

“Look, I can’t just put you down and send you on your way when you’re bleeding all over the place. Let’s get you patched up, and we’ll see what’s what.”

“I’ll get fired,” she whispered, her eyes flooding with new tears.