I froze.
Instead of smirking at the fact I’d been caught staring, he grimaced and glanced away. The pain he endured shone on his face while his breathing laboured.
From the safety of the water, I knew what would happen. I also knew I wouldn’t refuse even though it would cost me more than I had.
He couldn’t get his jeans farther down his legs without help.
I shivered. Don’t ask me. Don’t ask me to help.
“Estelle?” His jaw clenched with frustration. He couldn’t make eye contact, far too proud to admit he couldn’t do it himself.
The alpha vulnerability tore apart my heart.
Dammit.
Balling my hands, I waded out of the water and stood dripping wet before him. “Should I pull or do you want to lean on me while you do it?”
His face contorted with rage. “I don’t want your help at all.”
Anger filled my blood. “Then why—”
“Because I’m a fucking invalid who can’t do anything on his own.” Breathing hard, he glanced at the horizon, waves, beach—anywhere but at me. “Just yank them down, all right? Don’t make me bloody beg.”
I battled with the desire to slap his attitude away and hug him for being in such a demoralizing position. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” My voice was soft as I dropped to my knees in front of him.
I looked up.
Crap, I shouldn’t have done that.
From this position, I had the perfect view of tight boxer-briefs, perfect bulge, sleek chest, and furious man towering over me.
We both turned rigid.
Instincts beyond my control took over. The urge to soothe him, kiss him, yank down, not just his jeans but his boxer-briefs too, hijacked my nervous system.
Oh, God.
Clearing his throat, Galloway tore his eyes from mine. His fists clenched by his sides.
With slightly shaking hands, I reached for his hips and slid my fingers into the belt loops. Slowly tugging the dense material down his thighs (doing my best to avoid his bleeding wound), Galloway sucked in a harsh breath.
Conner and Pippa splashed behind us but all I could focus on was Galloway and how close I was to a very intimate part of him.
He swallowed a growl as I slid the denim over his knees.
I paused. “You’re going to have to bend your leg for me to slip your foot free.”
His blue eyes bore holes into mine. “Fine.” Holding his breath, he did his best to balance on his good leg. However, he stumbled and his hand landed on the only place he could reach.
My head.
The instant his large fingers clutched my skull, tugging on hair and reminding me what normally happened when a woman was on her knees before a man, my core clenched.
Breathe.
Don’t pay attention.
The sexual flush irritated and scared me; I jerked his jeans harder than intended.
“Christ!” He stumbled again, his fingers digging harder into my head as I freed one leg.
We both paused. There was no way he could put weight on his broken ankle.
He came to the same conclusion. “I should’ve sat down for this.”
I laughed, cursing my winged heart. “Well, you can’t wear these for the foreseeable future anyway. Just go in the water with them. I’ll tug them off once the sea takes your weight.”
He scowled. “Why can’t I wear them?”
“Because once you’re clean, I’m going to make you a splint and jeans won’t fit over it.”
“Fine.” Hugging his crutch like a lifeline, he hopped toward the tide, not asking for my help.
I let him go.
I pretended it was for his benefit, so he could he take back some of his independence even as his jeans trailed after him.
But I really did it for me.
I did it for my heart.
I did it for my sanity.
Chapter Sixteen
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G A L L O W A Y
......
SCREW THIS DAMN island.
Everything so far had been awful.
Not her, though.
No, not her.
She was the only thing making it bearable.
I wallowed in warm water, wishing I could look away but couldn’t.
Estelle had her back to me as she tended to Pippa’s cut. Considering I knew nothing about her, I’d already learned so much. I’d learned she didn’t have much experience dealing with children. She treated them like adults, talking soothingly but smartly, not dumbing anything down or lying when Conner asked her a brutal question about where we would sleep tonight.
For the record, the stars would be our roof. That should’ve been my job. I was a builder, for christ’s sake. But how could I create shelter when I could barely stay conscious while standing?
I hated my weakness. But I had no intention of staying that way. Tomorrow, I would be better, and I would build us a damn fort, even if my ankle continued to be a prick.
I was done being the cripple.
On top of building a fort, I’d construct a raft. I’d somehow figure out a way to build a boat to get us off this godforsaken place.