Page 3 of Arran's Obsession

Dazed and in shock, I sat up, one hand to my thigh which had caught the road. It came away sticky with my blood.

A car door opened. “Fucking hell,” a low voice bit out.

I raised my gaze to the driver climbing from his huge black vehicle, one hand to his upper arm, and his dark-blond hair falling in his eyes.

Steam rose from the grille.

Oh God. I’d walked straight out in front of a car. An expensive one. Perhaps even injured the driver from the way he held himself. I had to find my feet and fucking run.

But the moment I was lifting, he was on me in long strides, and I was going nowhere.

Chapter 2

Genevieve

“Did you hit your head?” the stranger asked.

“N-no.”

“Get up.” He offered a hand, taking my elbow when I ignored it. With minimal effort, he righted me, a deal taller than me and much broader, biceps stretching his black t-shirt.

“What the hell happened?”

I opened and closed my mouth, no answer forming.

The man exhaled annoyance. “That scratch on your leg needs looking at. Come with me.”

“It’s fine.” I should apologise but I just couldn’t.

He didn’t listen either, propelling me along with a grip around my arm so I had no choice but to go with him. He’dstopped his huge black car on the side of the road, parking it outside a pawnshop so the traffic could pass.

Sliding open the back door, he made as if to put me inside.

“I won’t get in your car,” I managed.

“I’m just going to sit you on the back seat so I can clean up that injury.”

I snorted, still reeling from the shock. “And get kidnapped? No, thanks.”

The man’s features twisted into incredulity. He was pretty. Grey or green eyes under the shop’s neon sign and that blond hair darker at the roots. At a guess, I’d put him at mid to late twenties, so a few years older than me, but pretty people had even less reason to be trusted than anyone else.

He planted his hand on his hips, then he reached to extract his wallet from his back pocket. He handed it over. “Hold on to that, if you need reassurance. I’m not in the habit of abducting women who throw themselves under my wheels. Now sit on the fucking seat while I find my first-aid kit.”

Stunned, I turned the wallet over in my hands. Brown leather. Cards or something inside by the ridges. Mr First Aid and Fancy Car pointed at the seat. Like an idiot, I perched on it, and he circled to the boot.

My thigh pulsed with a deep ache, bright-red scratches across my pale skin and road dirt studding it in dark patches under the streetlamp. I winced, suddenly feeling the hit of the accident. My arm hurt, too, my awareness of my body returning.

I’d never once in my life done anything that foolish before. Let my distraction lead me to walking straight into the path of a car. I puzzled at my actions.

The driver returned with a small, green, zipped bag with a white cross on it, plus a bottle of water.

“Hold on to those, too.” He handed over my headphones.

I hadn’t even noticed him pick them up.

In efficient moves, he took a packet from the kit and opened the bottle, tipping the powder inside and shaking it to mix it.

“This is to cleanse that wound and get the grit out. After, I’ll spray antiseptic over it and tape on a bandage.”

---