The Vintage Cinema Club

‘Damn.’ Her fingers were dark as she pulled them away from her foot.

He leaned in for a better look. ‘Is that blood?’

Ignoring both him, and the scarlet smears all over the lemon leather, she rammed her shoes on, got up, and began to hobble past him.

‘Wait.’ Somehow he’d already stepped into her path, and was barring her way. ‘Let me take a look?’

As she screwed up her face and hesitated for a minute he suspected she was about to argue. Then she thought better of it, and stuck out her foot.

He’d take that as an okay then. Crouching, he grasped her ankle, and her weight wavered against his arm. ‘You might want to grab my shoulder if you don’t want to fall over.’ Given her scowl, he’d let her decide for herself.

‘Right. Now bend your knee so I can see the bottom of your foot.’ Brushing away the blood with his thumb, he closed his eyes to the view straight up her skirt and focused on the wound. ‘It looks quite deep.’

‘I’m fine, it’s nothing.’ She was rifling through her skirt pocket now, sending a shower of sweet wrappers past his cheek. ‘You don’t have a hanky do you?’

‘Sorry.’ He gave a helpless shrug.

‘I thought men in suits always carried them.’ She let out a snort of disgust, and yanked her ankle away. ‘In that case I’ll go.’

He was on his knees, her dress so far in his face he was breathing in the scent of fabric conditioner, and more. No matter how much he wanted her gone, no matter how fast his heart was pumping, he couldn’t let her go when she was hurt.

‘No.’ He was already on his feet. ‘There’s a first aid kit in the car, I’ll get you a plaster.’

She hesitated, then began to shake her head.

‘How about I’m not taking no for an answer.’ Part of his brain was telling him he should never have touched her, and another part was telling him he had to touch. ‘I’ll carry you so you don’t get more dirt in the wound.’

‘I don’t think…’

There were times when you had to overrule an argument, even if it made you look like a caveman. He sprang forward, and this time he grasped her under her arms and knees.

‘Hold on tight.’ A curiously strong, sweet scent drifted up from her hair. No way was he going to enjoy the feel of her body, hot and heavy, bumping against him with each stride. Judging by her squirms and squawks of protest, she’d decided the same.

He supported her easily with one arm, as he undid the tailgate, and slid her onto the carpeted floor of the Range Rover. ‘Can I smell bubble gum?’

‘Oh, it’s probably my tutti-frutti kiddy de-tangler, I use it when I’ve got paint in my hair, and I don’t have time to wash it.’

‘Right.’ That information dump left him none the wiser. ‘Lean up against the back seat if you like, pretend you’re in Holby City…’

He grabbed the green plastic first aid box and flipped it open. He rested her dusty calf on his hand and set about examining the base of her foot before tearing open an antiseptic wipe.

‘Sorry, this may sting.’ He felt her flinch with the first touch, then he began to clean away the blood, determined not to look above her ankle.

‘You don’t have to do this.’

Xander carried on wiping. ‘I’m responsible. You trod on my broken glass after all.’

‘But you’re a Range Rover driver, and by definition, Range Rover drivers don’t know the meaning of responsibility.’

He gave her ankle a tug. ‘And you’re more stupid than I thought, making comments like that when I’ve got your foot in my hand.’

She gave a snort and sank back down.

‘I don’t think you need A & E. There was a lot of blood, but I think an Elastoplast will do the job. Maybe a dinosaur plaster to go with the tutti-frutti?’ If he talked seamlessly there would be no space for her belligerent comments.

When she didn’t reply, he dared to look directly at her, taking in the flecks of freckles across her nose. Her cheeks were paler than he’d remembered, she almost looked…

Shit. He slapped the Band-Aid into place. ‘Are you feeling okay? If you’re going to pass out you need to lie flat.’ From back here she almost looked green. ‘Lie down, breathe deeply, you’ll be fine again in a minute.’

Her face was an unearthly white now. He needed to sound reassuring not exasperated, because exasperation would only prolong things.

He gently pushed her back flat, and began to fan her with a map he’d grabbed from the back seat, trying to ignore how small and helpless she looked. He winced as he caught sight of a slice of a bright pink bra between buttons, and rammed his spare hand firmly in his pocket. He flapped the map harder.

‘Don’t worry, just lie still, and you’ll be fine again soon. There’s some water here for you to sip when you feel better.’

Jeez, he spent his life avoiding women who were vertical, the last thing he needed was a horizontal one, in the back of his car. She gave a low groan. With any luck, she’d be insulting him again at any moment. He waited, and the silence stretched to what felt like forever. Perhaps conversation would drag her back to consciousness.

‘So did you bring anything out of the skip in the end then?’

‘I left it…’

A mumble, but at least she was conversing. That was a good sign.

‘You’re telling me you didn’t get whatever you went in for?’ He shook his head. All this for nothing. How stupid was that? ‘What was it?’ He leant in towards her to see if she was moving. The scent of tutti-frutti engulfed him again, but there was another, indefinable, delicious overtone, that set his heart on edge. Warm woman. How long was it since he’d smelled that?

‘I was rescuing a cherub.’ She was almost coherent again.

‘Save a whale, adopt a tiger, rescue a cherub…Would you like some water?’

Xander held his breath as she lifted her head, pushed back her hair, and stuck out a hand to grasp the bottle he was holding towards her.

‘Please…’

She lifted the bottle to her lips, and the way the column of her neck moved as she swallowed sent his stomach into spasm. As he waited, he counted broken window panes in the garage, and shut out the knots in his gut. She was sitting up now.

‘Stay there.’ He wasn’t sure that she had any choice about that. ‘I won’t be long.’

One impulsive thought, and he was heading off towards the skip. At least it was an excuse to put distance between himself and the girl, and good thinking on that. What he didn’t understand was the sense that on some deep and hidden level he wanted to please her.

He vaulted over the skip side, found the elusive cherub in the dirt, and twenty seconds later he was putting it into her hand.

‘Thanks for that.’ She examined the cherub, rubbing the dust off it. ‘But why throw it away in the first place?’ One coherent reply he could have done without, and, grateful might have worked better than an insolent pout.

‘I only hope you think it’s worth a cut foot.’ He wasn’t up for a wastefulness lecture.

She shrugged, and her mouth curved into an involuntary smile as she turned the cherub over in her hand. ‘He’s beautiful. I love cherubs. Are you sure you don’t want him?’

As her face lit up, Xander’s pulse raced, and he gave himself a hard mental kick for that. ‘No, rubbish really isn’t my thing. How come cherubs are always male?’