She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact with the cold pavement—
But she never hit it.
A strong arm circled her waist, halting her fall with effortless stability. Lily's breath caught in her throat.
The scent hit her first.
His cologne. Mixed with crisp night air and something dark, masculine, and unmistakably Jacob.
"Take it slow," he said, voice low and hoarse above her.
Her eyes snapped open.
She was in his arms.
Chest to chest.
Face inches from his heartbeat.
Her mind emptied like a wiped slate.
"…My ankle," she whispered, embarrassed. "It hurts too much to walk."
Her voice came out soft, slightly breathless—the natural, instinctive coquettish tone she used without thinking whenever she hurt something.
Jacob exhaled—just a faint, tired sigh.
He bent, slid an arm behind her knees, and lifted her clean off the ground.
A full princess carry.
Lily nearly died on the spot.
"I'm finished," she thought wildly. "He's definitely insane. Why is he doing all this?"
