But what really had her frozen to the spot was the fact that Nash had taken off his camel-colored topcoat and was sitting there in a cream sweater with its sleeves pulled up to almost his elbows and a pair of navy trousers, the inseam of which were doing the Lord’s work to keep it together around his solid-oak thighs. Blond hair, with dimples that never quite went away even when he wasn’t smiling, and a square jaw, Nash Beckett was very much not her type. There wasn’t a tattoo, a piercing, or even a smidge of the kind of trouble that acted like honey for nearly any woman who’d broken free from a claustrophobically set-in-the-fifties patriarchal family.

And yet…

Damn, she really needed to re-download the dating apps she had deleted for the fiftieth time. Her fingers and her vibrator were good, but sometimes the only thing that took the edge off was the D.

And did her gaze drop down to his lap?

Yes, it did.

Fuck. She really needed to pull it together.

“You know,” Nash said, ruining the delightfully dirty direction of her thoughts by opening his mouth and letting rip with the one-way conversation starter preferred by mansplainers everywhere, “if that sword fell from the wall, it could damage the wood floor or even hurt your pets.”

God, why did hot men have to ruin everything by talking? “Good thing I have it well secured, then.”

“Are you sure?” He started to get up, annoying the cat, who jumped off his lap and stalked off. “I can double check it.”

“They’re fine,” she said as she crossed over to where he was before he could put any weight on his sore ankle. “Now sit back down.”

He looked like he was going to argue for a second but to her relief settled back down into the chair and put his foot on the ottoman again. After making sure the plastic baggie was closed all the way, she pushed the leg of his pants up, rolled down his tan-and-brown argyle sock, and checked his ankle. She wasn’t a doctor, but she’d played in enough field hockey games growing up to know what to do with a banged-up ankle. Nash’s was swollen but not ballooning up. That was a good sign.

“Are your toes tingling or numb?” she asked.

He shook his head as he wiggled his toes and then rolled his ankle, only grimacing a little.