The Billionaire's Daddy Test. Charlene Sands
any rugs lying about.”
“Oh, uh. Fine then.”
He moved through the front doors easily and entered a massive foyer, where inlaid marble and intricate stone patterns led to a winding staircase. She gulped at the tasteful opulence. She clamped her mouth shut and held back a sigh from her lips. Was it the unexpected nuances she found in his stunning home, or was it the man himself who caused such a flurry in the pit of her stomach? His size commanded attention, the breadth of his shoulders, the bronze tone of his skin and, yes, the fact that he was shirtless and wet, his moisture clinging to her own clothes, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs.
A thrill ran through her, overriding her embarrassment.
He began to climb the stairs.
“Where are we going?” Up to his lair?
“The first aid supplies are in my bathroom. Mary is out shopping, or I’d have her go get them for us.”
“Mary? Your girlfriend?”
His gaze slipped over to her. “My housekeeper.”
“Oh.” Of course.
“Have you lived here long?” She needed lessons in small talk.
“Long enough.”
“The house is beautiful. Did you decorate it yourself?”
“I had some help.”
Evasive but not rude. “I’m sorry about this. You probably have better things to do than play nursemaid to me.”
“Like I said, I have mad lifeguarding skills.”
Yes. Yes, he did.
* * *
Adam set the woman down on the bathroom counter. Long black lashes lifted and almond-shaped eyes, green as a spring meadow, followed his every movement. From what he could tell, she didn’t have an ounce of makeup on her face. She didn’t need it. Her beauty seemed natural, her face delicately sculpted, glowing in warm tones. Her mouth was shaped like a heart in the most subtle way, and her skin was soft as butter. His palms still tingled from holding the underside of her thighs as he’d lifted her off the hot sand. “Here we go. Just let me get a shirt and my glasses.”
He grabbed the first shirt he found in his bedroom drawer and then came up with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Next he selected the medical supplies he’d need out of a closet in his bathroom. He found what he needed easily: gauze, peroxide, antibacterial cream. When it came to keeping things organized, he was meticulous. It was the way he rolled, and he’d taken more than a fair share of heat about it from everyone who knew him. That aside, he’d bet he’d shock his college pals if they saw the worn, tattered and faded to ghost-blue UCLA Bruin T-shirt he’d just thrown on. Adam almost cracked a smile. It was so unlike him; yet once a Bruin, always a Bruin. He wouldn’t part with his shirt. He set his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Here goes. Ready?”
She nodded. “Go ahead.”
Gently, he unwound the towel from her foot. “I want to take a better look at that gash.”
“You’re really nice for doing this,” she said softly.
“Hmm.”
“What kind of work do you do?” she asked.
He didn’t take his eyes off her foot. It was small and delicate, and he was careful with her, surveying the damage and elevating the heel. “Uh, I’m self-employed.”
“It’s just that, well, this house is magnificent.”
“Thank you.”
“Is it just you and Mary living here?”
“Sometimes. Mia, do you think you could swivel the rest of your body up on the counter, near the sink, so I can see the foot a little better?”
“I think so.” Holding the heel of her foot, he helped guide her legs onto the counter. She had to scoot back and pivot a bit until she filled half the length of the long cocoa marble commode. She couldn’t be more than five foot five. Her foot hovered over the sink.
A tank top and white shorts showed off her sun-kissed body. Her legs were long and lean like a dancer’s. Seeing her sprawled out before him, the entire Mia package was first-class gorgeous. He caught himself staring at her reflection. Focus, Adam. Be a Good Samaritan.
“So you went to UCLA?” she asked.
“Yeah. Undergrad.” He stroked his chin and hesitated, staring at her foot. It had been years since his lifeguarding days. He’d never had qualms about giving first aid before. He’d done it a hundred times, including giving CPR to a man in his sixties. That hadn’t been fun, but the man had survived and, years later, gratefully commissioned Adam to design a resort home on the French Riviera. It had been one of his first big architectural projects. But this was different somehow, with Mia, the beauty who had landed at his feet on the beach.
“Adam?”
He looked at her. A fleeting thought entered his head. For a woman in distress, she sure asked a lot of questions. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried an unorthodox way to interview him. But surely not Mia. Her foot was slashed pretty badly. Some women liked to talk when they were nervous. Did he make her nervous?
“Is it okay if I wash your foot?”
Her lovely olive complexion colored, and a flash of hesitation entered her eyes. “Do you have a foot fetish or anything?”
He grinned. Maybe he did make her nervous. “Nope. No fetishes at all.”
She made a little noise when she inhaled. “Good to know. Okay.”
He filled the sink with warm water. “Let me know if it hurts.”
She nodded, squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her legs.
“Try to relax, Mia.”
Her expression softened, and she opened her eyes. He rotated her slim ankle over the sink with one hand and splashed warm water onto her foot. Using a dollop of antibacterial liquid soap, he cleansed the area thoroughly with a soft washcloth. Heat rose up his neck. It was about as intimate as he’d been with a woman in months, and Mia, with her cotton-candy-pink toenails, endless legs and beautiful face was 100 percent woman. “The good news is, the bleeding has stopped.”
“Wonderful. Now I can stop worrying about destroying your furniture.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” He furrowed his brow.
“After the foot fetish thing, yes.”
He shook his head and fought the smile trying to break his concentration. Not too many people made him smile, and Mia had already done that several times. “You can stop worrying. I don’t think you’ll need stitches either. Luckily, the gash isn’t as deep as it looked. It’s long, though, and it might be painful for you to walk on for a day or two. You can have a doctor take a look, just to make sure.”
She said nothing.
He dabbed the cut with peroxide, and bubbles clustered up. Next he lathered her wound with antibiotic cream.
“How’re you doing?” He lifted his head, and her face was there, so close, obviously watching his ministrations. Their eyes met, and he swallowed hard. He could swim a mile in her pretty green eyes.
She took a second to answer. “I’m, uh, doing well.”
It was quiet in the house, just the two of them, Adam’s hand clamping her ankle gently. “That’s...good. I’ll be done in a second.” He cleared his throat and picked up the bandages. “I’m going to wrap this kind of tight.”
He caught Mia glancing at his left hand, focusing on his ring finger, as in no white tan lines, and then her lips curled up. “I’m ready.”
Suddenly, he’d