Page 33 of Enemies in Paradise

“You’ve already done enough.” He yanks the broom closer, but I hold tight, which puts me and my hands inches from his chest.

“So let me fix it.” My eyes lock on his. I try to yank the broom back, but he holds it tight. “You’re … not okay.”

“I’m fine,” he growls, emphasizing each hard syllable.

Our chests rise and fall together.

“You don’t lookfine.”

His face is bright red. Possibly because he’s so mad, but that’s definitely not why his eyes are watering. Or why he’s wheezing.

I try to pull the broom away from him again. His grip tightens, and he yanks the broom, and—by default—me closer.The fingers I’ve curled around the handle press into his chest. Even though there’s a layer of flannel and another of puffer vest separating me from actual skin-to-skin contact with that wall of stacked muscle, a tingle of excitement rushes through me.

Bear isn’t the only one breathless now.

I let go of the broom with a gentle push that is as effective as a fly trying to go through a closed window. Only one object moves, and it’s not Bear.

He smirks, then walks past me to the car. I follow behind, partly because I know I’m responsible for this mess, but also because I’m hoping he’ll have to beg for my help so that we can get back to equal ground.

A few seconds later, I’m the one smirking when he’s stopped in his advance by half a dozen sneezes. The sneezes keep him from using the broom, but they do the trick of scaring three cats out from under the car. The two inside, though, aren’t going anywhere. One stays tucked between the front windshield and the dashboard, and the other is curled in the back seat, gnawing on a mouse.

I let out a nervous laugh. I’ve completely lost control of the situation. The cats are winning. None of it is funny, but it’s also notnotfunny.

But then Bear has to bend over to catch his breath, and I’m not laughing anymore.

I grab his arm and put my other hand on his back to steady him. “Are you okay?”

It’s a stupid question. Obviously he’s not okay. I’ve had enough emergency training to know he’s having an asthma attack. His breathing is labored and raspy, and his face isn’t red anymore. It’s pale and sweaty.

And it’s my fault.

“Bear, you need to get out of here.” I turn him toward the back door.

He’s coughing too hard to resist me as I guide him outside. His wheezing doesn’t slow until we’re twenty feet from the shop. Even then, I don’t let go.

“Better?” I ask as his breathing improves, although it still sounds terrible.

He stays folded forward and nods his head. “I think so… maybe.”

Georgia’s told me Bear is shy and a little awkward, and I guess that’s one way to label the rudeness I’ve seen in him. But what I’m seeing right now is vulnerability. He is a big man. Strong physically and—I suspect—mentally. (Quiet guys usually are.) He could take out an entire offensive line.

And a herd of cats has doubled him over.

He coughs again, and my fingers curl around his upper arm. I slide my hand from his back around his waist to steady him, but holding him close, it’s hard not to notice his muscles flex every time he coughs.

Not a thing I should focus on in an emergency, but I have long fingers and they aren’t close to fitting around Bear’s biceps.

The air snaps with cold and little flurries of dancing flakes, as though Mother Nature wants to make snow but is too tired. All I’m wearing is a sweater and jeans. I should be freezing, but the heat radiating from Bear’s body warms my own.

“Do you have an inhaler somewhere?” I ask between his labored breaths.

He shakes his head, and slowly his breath returns to normal. With another deep breath, he tries to stand straight and shake off my grasp, but ends up hunched over again.

“I don’t need an inhaler. I need those cats out of my shop. That’s all,” he rasps, narrowing his eyes into tiny, angry slits.

I bite back the apology on the tip of my tongue as I remember how we got here in the first place: Bear and his mice. I forget mysorryand put more distance between us.

“They wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t played Cinderella and invited all your mouse friends over.” I smooth my hands over my ponytail and pull my shoulders back, which in his doubled-over state makes me taller than him for the first time.

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