Page 43 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“Come in,” she said, hating that she couldn’t even get out of bed.

Ugh. Doctor’s orders.

“Good morning,” he said, busting out that dimple, causing her cheeks to get hot.

“I have to pee,” she said frantically.

His brows shot up his forehead, and he swooped into the room and scooped her up.

He smelled incredible as she looped her arms around his neck and he carried her across the hall to the bathroom. “I hate that I can’t walk,” she said with a deep exhale through her nose.

“It’s not for forever. I do wonder if it might be easier if you slept in my room.”

She nearly gave herself whiplash and knocked his chin with her forehead as she glanced up at him so fast.

“I mean, I’ll sleep in the guest room,” he blurted. “At least you’ll be in one place and not have to open the door and crawl across the hallway.”

The idea of sleeping in Clint’s bed sent a thrill chasing through her, but she quelled it with a pressed smile. “I think I’ll be okay. Hopefully, it’s just for one more night.”

“Well, the offer is there.” He glanced at the tub. “You going to be okay?”

Her brows squished together and she blinked a bunch of times as she thought about the difficulty of getting across the bathroom from the toilet to the shower, and how she would stand in the shower.

“Just use my soaker tub again,” he said, leaving the bathroom and marching across the hall to his bedroom and into his lavish en suite. He plunked her on the toilet, which had the lid down. “Or my big stand-up shower. It has a bench. I’ll stay upstairs. You can call me when you’re ready.”

He turned to go, but an involuntary whimper burbled in her throat before she could stop it and he spun back around. “What’s wrong?”

Shit.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

He gave her a curious look, but then turned to go and closed the door behind him.

She used the toilet, having been near bursting by the time he set her down, and sighed as she hopped like an idiot to the sink to wash her hands.

“Everything okay in there?” he called through the door.

“Just peachy,” she said. “Funky Peachy Summer Sour ale, in fact.”

His chuckle caused her nipples to pebble beneath Clint’s tank top.

She cringed at the fact that she’d been wearing the same clothes since yesterday.

And it’d be another day until the stuff she ordered arrived, so she would probably have to make do with more of his clothes.

“Need help getting to the tub or shower?” he asked through the door.

No.

But also, yes.

She hated being so helpless. But she really liked it when Clint picked her up and carried her around. She told the independent side of her to be quiet and let the damsel in distress that panted like a pathetic puppy in the corner, finally have her moment. “Yes, please,” she whispered.

Besides, Clint seemed to be getting something out of being the hero. They were both benefiting here. If she thought for a moment that he considered her an inconvenience or a burden, she’d make sure she did everything on her own. But something told her he got something out of this, too.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh-huh.”

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