Page 29 of How To Tempt The Off-Limits Billionaire

The hooter? What? “Huh?” Ro asked him, not understanding his request.

Muzi shook his head, turned his torso, and used his left hand to hit the horn of the car. Right, in South Africa, a horn was a hooter, a napkin was a serviette and, strangest of all, a traffic light was called a robot. Weird.

The dogs barked again, danced around the car and within a few minutes, a well-dressed couple appeared around the corner of the house, arm in arm. They waved when they saw Muzi’s car and the older man released a sharp whistle that quieted the dogs and made them sit.

Damn, she wished she could do that with her kindergarten kids.

Thinking that she was safe from the dogs, Ro exited the car and, giving the hounds a wide berth, approached the couple. “Hi. Muzi insisted I bring him here. He’s hurt.”

The woman’s expression immediately sharpened, and she pulled her hand out of her husband’s, her casual stroll increasing to a fast walk. “What happened?”

“He took a fall running,” Ro told her. “He’s got a bad cut on his shin, a cut on his head, I think he may be concussed. And he’s dislocated his shoulder.”

“Right.” The woman yanked open the passenger door and glared up at Muzi. “Really, Triple M? This is not the way I wanted to spend my Sunday!”

Over her shoulder, Ro saw his tight smile and the fondness in his eyes for this petite but forthright woman. “Sorry, Doc.”

Ro released a long, relieved sigh. Thank God, she was a doctor and Muzi would finally get some help. Ro leaned her shoulder against the back passenger door and stared down at the bright emerald grass beneath her feet. She felt like she could, finally, pull some air into her lungs.

Ro held her hand out and saw that her fingers were trembling. She’d pushed back her fear but now that there were others to help him, she felt a little dizzy. His injury could’ve been a lot worse. He could still be lying on that mountain, his neck broken, his head bleeding.

God...

She couldn’t bear the thought. Ro wrapped her arms around her middle, forced to admit that she’d be gutted if something happened to Muzi, that he’d come to mean a lot to her in too short a time.

She’d known him for less than three weeks. How could she be feeling such a connection after so little time? It wasn’t normal, not for her, anyway. She took her time with people, sussed them out and looked before she leaped.

With Muzi, she’d just dived on in...

“Cut on head and leg, a dislocated shoulder? Anything else I should know about?” the doctor briskly asked him, her sharp eyes bouncing between Ro and Muzi’s injuries.

“I think that’s it,” Ro replied when Muzi didn’t. “I think I mentioned a concussion?”

“Not concussed,” Muzi stated, lifting his good hand. “Sam and John, meet Roisin O’Keefe, also known as Ro. Ro, these good people are your favorite chef’s parents, John and Dr. Sam Kildare.”

John Kildare, Pasco’s dad, sent her a warm smile. His wife’s smile was there, but cooler. “You had dinner with Muzi at Pasco’s recently.”

Wow, news seemed to travel at light speed in Franschhoek.

“Pasco told us, and said that he enjoyed meeting you,” John explained. He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder and peered over her head to look at Muzi. “How are you doing, Triple M?”

“Hurting like a mother,” Muzi admitted. “Is Pas around? I could do with his help getting out of this car.”

John jerked his head and Ro turned to see Pasco, wearing a battered pair of shorts, an old T-shirt and rain boots, walking toward them, casually eating a piece of toast.

“What’s the idiot done now?” he asked, not sounding remotely concerned.

Ro bristled at his casual tone. The least the man could do was show a little concern or sympathy. She moved so that she could put her hand on Muzi’s thigh, giving it a sympathetic pat. He sent her a weary grin. “Much as I like your hand on my thigh, Ro, you need to get out of the way so that the moron can help me down and into the house.”

Moron, idiot...okay, so this was how the old friends talked to each other. Noted.

Pasco shoved his last piece of toast into his mouth and gently nudged his mom away from the car. “I’ve got this, Doc,” he told her. Pasco leaned across Muzi to unclip his seat belt and whistled as he caught sight of the jagged wound on Muzi’s leg. “Jesus, Triple M. What the hell did you do?”

Muzi swung his legs toward the open door, his lips thin with pain. “I was on a trail run behind the house and I got a text message.” His eyes connected with Ro and she knew exactly what the text message was about and she blushed. “I was trying to wrap my head around the text as I flew down the path, but I was distracted and tripped over a root, smacked my shoulder into a rock and hit my head.” He glanced down at his leg. “I have no idea how I gashed my leg open.”

Pasco linked his arm in Muzi’s and shared his strength with him as Muzi slid out of the car. He swayed but Pasco’s grip on him kept him upright. “I’ll help you inside and then the doc can work her magic on you.”

“And not for the first time,” Sam muttered as they slowly walked to the house. “Since you are now adults, I thought I was over patching you boys up. Just goes to show that I can be, occasionally, wrong.”

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