Page 16 of When Grumpy Met Sunshine
Just not from about eighty other things she’d somehow gotten herself into—such as that promise she’d made to fix his still pretty sore-looking eyes.Yeah, bravo on that one, her brain sneered. And she couldn’t even fault it for doing so, because now she was processing all the things that promise meant.
She was most likely going to have to touch him.
Kind of a lot, actually. And not even somewhere easy, like his elbow.
No, it was going to be on his face. His big, angry, hairy face, which he was currently using to glare at her over his mug of milk. Like he’d suddenly realized he was furious with her, for all the things that had actually turned out to be at least somewhat her fault. Or maybe for somehow forcing him to be inside somewhere so twee. Or possibly it was just her personality, driving him bananas.
Because she was definitely exhibiting a lot of her not-so-greatqualities. Like the fact that she was not a particularly graceful person. So of course when she went to get some water for his eyes, she turned on the tap too far and got it all over the front of her dress. Then, when she’d actually managed to get some of it into the bowl she was trying for, she moved too fast away from the sink. And water sloshed over the sides of it, onto the floor.
While he just watched her steadily.
The way a coach would, on seeing his new recruit fail to even so much as make contact with a football.This isn’t the fricking Premier League, she kind of wanted to yell at him, by the end of it. But boy was she glad she didn’t. Because about two seconds after the thought occurred, she stepped back into the puddle she’d made on the floor. Too hard, and too quick, and in cute little ballet slippers that had zero grip to them.
And her foot just slid right out from under her.
It shot forward, like it was making a bid for freedom.
And Alfie Harding only bloody caught her, before she could go down.
He fully fucking caught her in a way she couldn’t even fathom. His hand just shot out, so fast that for a second she thought he was trying to punch her. Then suddenly he had a fistful of her dress. He had a hold on it, tight, and once he did he simply hauled hard, until she was back on her feet. All in one motion, smooth as anything.
She didn’t even see him stand in the middle of it.
But he had. Because that was his chest her back was now against. And his hand wasn’t bunched in her dress anymore. It was on her waist.Aroundher waist, and kind of splayed over her stomach. All of which she rationally understood. She knew why he had done it. You couldn’t stop someone falling on their arse while sitting down. Or just by clutching their dress.
He’d obviously needed to do a few more maneuvers.
But god, other parts of her did not understand at all.
They just panicked. They felt like they were being touched, alot.
And in places she didn’t know how to cope with.He probably isn’t even aware a stomach can be anything other than flat, she found herself thinking frantically. Then even though she had long since learned to love her shape—despite her family’s best efforts at making her think there was something wrong with it—she kind of wanted to stop him. To grab his hand and shove it off her, before the uncomfortable feeling it was creating got any worse.
But it was fine, it was okay, it was good.
He apparently wanted off her just as badly.
Because after what felt like the most torturous twenty seconds of bodily contact that she’d ever had to endure, he suddenly broke. He ripped away from her, as fast as he had done all the grabbing and saving. And then he followed this, inexplicably, with one growled word.
“Sorry,” he said.
Even though he’d helped her. He’d stopped her falling.
There was nothing about this that needed an apology.
And yet he’d done it, so now she had to somehow make him see that it was ridiculous. Or at least drive home to him that she hadn’t hated it, no matter how much discomfort he might have sensed. “No. No. Thank you. Thank you for doing that,” she tried. But he wasn’t having any of it.
He shook his head, quite clearly furious.
“For doing what? Putting my big hairy hands all over you?” he gruffed out, and with so much conviction it stopped her short for a second. Like she couldn’t quite believe he’d said what she thought he had.
Then her brain kicked back into gear.
“But you didn’t put your big hairy hands all over me. And anyway, they’re not that hairy. In fact, they have what looks like a normal amount of knuckle fur.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you? Look at them. They belong to the Wolfman.”
He held them up for good measure. And yes, all right, they were a little wilder than the average back of a hand. However,they were nowhere near as bad as he was making out. In fact, the effect was actually quite nice. Quite good. Because his hands were big and the hair was very black and she could see it disappearing under his sleeves, all the way up his probably meaty forearms.
