“Are you here for a haircut?” she asked a little woozily and a whole lot confused.

“No, I live in your building,” he said. “Are you all right?”

The truth was, she had no idea. Her pride was cracked in half, and possibly her ass as well. She tried to sit up but he stopped her. “Wait,” he said. “Give yourself a minute. That was a bad wipeout.”

She groaned. Great.

“Anything feel broken?” he asked.

“No.” She didn’t care if that was a lie, she wanted to get up on her feet, preferably with no witnesses. Pushing Lenny’s hands away, she sat up and looked down at herself.

Dirty but surprisingly very little blood. With various aches and pains already starting to make themselves known, she staggered to her feet.

“Hey, wait,” Lenny said. “You’re not supposed to move. If you broke your neck, your head could fall off.”

She gave him a long look.

“I saw it on CSI once,” he said.

“I didn’t break my neck.”

“Just let me call for help.”

“Honestly, it’s not necessary. I’m perfectly fine.” If not completely mortified. She waved at him and then with him watching her, she forced herself not to limp back up the stairs and into her place.

In the privacy of her own apartment, she immediately sagged and whimpered as she slowly limped to her bed.

Her knees and palms were torn up, and she suspected her hind end had suffered a similar fate, but she wasn’t ready to look. Nope. She was going back to bed and staying there until the day went away. And maybe tomorrow too. She stripped out of her dress and pulled a big T-shirt over her head.

She’d just crawled beneath the sheets when she heard her front door open. Normally she’d jump up, grab a baseball bat from beneath her bed, and kung-fu her way into the living room to kick some ass.

But she was too sore.

So instead of playing Superwoman, she tried to become invisible and pulled the covers over her head. She was still huddled there hoping she wasn’t about to star in her very own horror flick when the covers were yanked down.

She squeaked and opened one eye.

Not Freddy Krueger.

It was Aidan, face impassive, gaze sharp as he ran it down her body.

And damn if her nipples didn’t pretend to be cold.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, pushing herself up with a wrist, which sent an immediate bolt of fire up her arm. She gasped and fell back.

Aidan bent over the bed, a hand planted on either side of her body, effectively holding her down.

“Hey,” she said indignantly, ignoring the tears burning her eyes.

So did he, which was a relief.

“Lenny called,” he said. “Told me you need …”