Page 17 of Love JD

That was supremely unhelpful. I already knew that much. “Is he Batman or something?”

“Rich guy, wears a mask, and takes down bad guys vigilante-style?” Zev asked.

“Yeah.”

“Nope,” he smirked. He helped me back into the living room, moving slowly so I didn’t have to put any weight on my ankle.

“I hate secrets,” I grumbled.

“Oh, you mean like hiding the fact that you’re all alone in an apartment with a busted ankle and fainting goat syndrome?” Zev challenged.

“It’s dysautonomia.”

“Don’t deflect the point.” Zev guided me to the couch where he helped me sit.

I gave him a side-eye and snatched the flannel nightgown from his hands. I was going to sweat to death in this damn thing, but I wasn’t going to complain when he’d been kind enough to find me something to wear.

Zev looked down at his shirt, which had smears of drying blood on it from my back. “Do you have a washer?”

I shook my head apologetically. “I’m sorry about your shirt. I use a laundromat… but I can buy you a new shirt.”

Zev shrugged, and without hesitation, he reached up behind him and pulled the shirt over his head. His well-defined, sharp-cut muscles rippled as he pulled the shirt off his arms and turned without preamble toward my kitchen sink. Even his back looked mouth-watering, with a deep valley down his spine and flexing muscles around his shoulder blades as he ambled over to the faucet.

I’d never seen a man like him in my life. Not in person, anyway. I changed my mind about Zev. He wasn’t a yeti—he was a Viking. A strong, tall, dangerous Viking with blue eyes and a soft beard I desperately wanted to scrub my hands over. I imagined tickling my fingernails through his beard as he pulled me near and angled his head down to mine. What would it feel like to kiss someone with a beard like that?

I blinked, sitting up straighter on the couch. What was I doing? If I went down that road too far… but, no. Actually, I felt fine. I didn’t feel like I wanted to barf, and my blood pressure hadn’t fallen because I’d made myself nervous. In fact, the only thing I really felt was an aching between my legs. Baffling, but maybe not unwelcome, all things considered.

While his back was turned, I slipped the nightgown over my head and threaded my arms through the sleeves. My boobs strained against the flannel material, and I realized that the “freshman fifteen” had probably turned into the “junior jiggle,” and I’d added a little extra swoop to my curves lately. I’d have to find a baggy T-shirt and sweats after Zev left.

Which was… when?

I watched him wash his shirt in the sink with dish soap while I unwrapped my cold, wet towel off my body and shimmied the nightgown over my hips. I wanted to ask when he was going to leave but being that direct wasn’t really my style.

Zev wrung out his shirt, hung it over the cheap metal chair at our kitchen table, and sauntered back over with an ice pack in his large hands. He pulled up short when he saw me, and a slow smile crept up his face like he’d discovered his dog cuddling with the cat. “Oh, man.”

I looked down at myself. “What?”

He chuckled as he brought me the ice pack. “You just look very… cozy.”

A flash of temper snapped away from me like a solar flare. “Excuse me, but I didn’t pick it out.”

“Lie back, Isla,” he smiled, ignoring my hackles.

I darted a hesitant look his way for a second, and then realizing he probably had the right idea, I shifted so I lay against the fluffy white throw pillow propped up on the armrest of the couch. He stacked two other pillows on the sofa cushion before gently placing my foot on them and topping it with the ice pack wrapped in paper towels. “Thanks,” I ceded. I let my gaze travel over his rigid shoulders and the way his biceps rose and fell down to his strong forearms.

He leaned his forearm on his bent knee and gave me a look like he knew I’d been ogling. “I ordered pasta for dinner. I hope that works for you.”

“It’s fine. You didn’t have to do that.” I picked at some pilled fabric on the Christmas elf nightgown. “I guess I owe you now,” I admitted, leaning my head against the couch and willing my cheeks to stop giving away my embarrassment.

Zev’s brows tilted up, faintly amused and, dare I assume it, empathetic. He started to respond, but a knock sounded on the door. He cleared his throat, standing. “That’s probably the nurse Tristan hired.”

“Nurse?” I asked indignantly, sitting up again.

Heedless of his bare chest, Zev answered the door, pulling it awkwardly on its broken hinges. “Is this the residence of Isla Valehart?” a woman asked.

“Yes,” Zev said, opening the door wider. “Thanks for co—”

“And you’re Zev Brady?” she inquired. Zev and I exchanged a quick, confused look before she barged on. “Mr. Brady, how long have you and Ms. Valehart been dating? Does this have anything to do with the Valehart inherita—”

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