Page 28 of How To Tempt The Off-Limits Billionaire

Ro ignored his comment and dropped to her haunches in front of him, looking at the cut on his leg. “This needs stitches.”

He figured.

She peered into his eyes, looking far too serious. “Did you hit your head, are you concussed?”

Muzi rocked his hand from side to side. “Maybe.”

“Probably,” Ro stated, standing up and holding out her hands. “Let’s get you up and get you to a doctor.”

Muzi looked at her hands and shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”

Ro narrowed her eyes at him. “Look, Superman, you need, at the very least, an EMT. That cut needs stitches and while I have been known to apply a butterfly clip or two, this is beyond my area of expertise. I also want to make sure you don’t have a concussion, so get up off your ass.”

“Can’t...” Muzi said, focusing on her pretty blue eyes. “My shoulder is dislocated.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock as her eyes fixed on his right shoulder. He’d seen a dislocated shoulder before, knew it looked weird. Because he’d been running shirtless, she’d be able to see the strange bump and sloped shoulder.

Ro pursed her lips and slapped her hands on her hips. “Right,” she said, not giving him time to respond. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

Muzi gripped her wrist in his good hand. “I just need you to drive me to Sam.”

Ro bent down to thread both her arms through his good arm. “Use your legs to push up and who is Sam?”

Muzi swallowed a yelp of pain as he rose and scrunched his eyes together, sucking in some deep breaths. Ro kept her hands wrapped around his bicep and led him into the house. “Do not brush your leg against any furniture.”

He glared at her; he was hurt, not idiotic. He managed to avoid the furniture, kept his bloody shoes off the carpets and walked through the door leading from the kitchen to the garage where he’d parked his Lamborghini before starting on his run. “Are you comfortable driving a stick shift, Ro?”

She pulled a face. “It won’t be pretty, but I’ll manage.” She opened the passenger door for him. “You didn’t answer my question, who is Sam?”

“One of my favorite women, ever,” Muzi replied as he pulled himself up into the car’s high seat using his good hand. Ro stood on the running board and pulled the seat belt down and across his chest. Her breast pushed into his chest, her hair tickled his chin and neck, and her bare hip connected with his thigh.

And, because his junk had a mind of its own, and didn’t care that his shoulder was a lava bed of pain, he felt himself swelling, growing. Any minute now and she would realize it too.

Ro clicked in his seat belt, tensed and turned her head to look at him. One arched eyebrow raised. “Really? Now?”

He lifted his uninjured shoulder in a brief shrug. “You’re wearing next to nothing and all I can see is a lot of smooth, feminine flesh. Your scent, a combination of sunblock and perfume is intoxicating and your mouth, and nipples, are in easy reach of my mouth. What do you expect me to do?”

“Act like an adult and not a randy boy,” Ro snapped back.

Easier said than done, Muzi decided. He looked down at his arm and saw his cell phone pouch. The edges of the pouch were digging into his skin and he asked Ro to take it off. She pulled apart the Velcro and, when it was off, looked down at the cracked screen. “Well done, Triple M, you’ve just managed to destroy the very latest, most expensive smartphone on the market.”

On the list of his regrets, it was near the bottom. Ro tossed his phone onto the back seat and hopped down from the running board. “Let’s get going,” she suggested, standing back to close his door.

“Wait!” Muzi stated, holding up his good hand.

Ro pushed back her hair, irritated. “What now?”

“As much as I love what you are wearing, maybe it would be better for you not to ride into town dressed in a skimpy bikini.” Despite his pain, he had to grin at her shocked face. “We don’t want to attract any more attention than necessary.”

He laughed as she cursed and flounced back into the house.

She made it into Franschhoek with a lot of grinding of gears and Muzi’s muttering about his poor gearbox and lamenting her treatment of his SUV. Ro, trying to keep the powerful, super expensive and luxurious car on the road, ignored his running commentary and, finally, what seemed like hours later, pulled up outside a home on the leafy outskirts of the town. The house was painted a mellow cream and was set in a lush, extensive garden with what seemed to be acres planted with roses.

Ro, in shorts and a white, flowing top, cut the engine to the car and darted a look at Muzi’s gray face. The man was in a lot more discomfort than she’d realized, and her heart pounded in her chest. She didn’t like seeing anyone in pain, but seeing this powerful, warrior-like man gripping the seat and biting his lip made her eyes sting. She needed to get him help. And fast.

But she had no idea why they were at a private house and not at a doctor’s surgery or a hospital. “Why are we here?” Ro asked as a pack of hounds, of every color and breed, galloped toward the car, barking madly.

“Don’t worry about the dogs, they’re harmless,” Muzi said, his voice thready. “Hit the hooter, Ro.”

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