She was jogging down the front steps when Quinn pulled up in front of the house. His motorcycle was a shiny, slick piece of work, all black paint and silver chrome.

Geez, he was the living embodiment of a girl’s bad boy fantasy—worn jeans that clung to long, lean legs, his wheat blond hair just a little too long, a heavy growth of stubble darkening his face. Straddling that bike, he made a picture that was almost too perfect to be real.

Oh. Oh, man, girl, you gotta be careful here . . .

Her heart skipped a beat as she eyed him on the bike, then it jumped into her throat as he turned his head and met her gaze.

A slow smile curled his lips, but that wasn’t what had her heart lodged just above her trachea.

It was the very vivid, very ugly black eye.

Screw being careful. She strode over to him and caught his face in her hands, turning it to the side to better study the bruise. It spread out over his cheek and there was swelling as well as discoloration.

“What happened?” she asked, unaware that her voice had gone flat; unaware that she was gingerly probing the bone just under his eye with gentle fingers.

The only thought in her mind was that somebody had hurt him.

“Got hit,” Quinn said easily. He’d been checked over for injuries often enough to recognize when it was being done by a professional. The calm, practical tone of her voice, the steady and skilled way she examined his bruise, they both said, loud and clear, that she had training, although he wasn’t exactly sure what kind. Something medical.

He could have told her that he’d already been subjected to a quick examination by a paramedic earlier, but that might make her stop touching him. So he sat there and enjoyed the feel of her fingers, cool and competent, on his face.

“Yes, Quinn. I can see that you got hit,” she said, tongue in cheek. “What I’m wondering is why . . . ?”

“Got in somebody’s way and the guy wasn’t too happy about it.”

The guy had been built like a fucking Mac truck, too. Quinn’s face hurt like a son of a bitch. Up until he’d seen Sara heading out, the only thought in his mind had been taking some Motrin, putting a bag of ice on his face, and collapsing into bed.

It was amazing what just the sight of her did to him. How in the hell could a woman manage to both soothe and excite at the same time? Sara managed it, though. His blood heated and his heartbeat sped up and at the same time, the ache in his head started to recede. By the time Sara finished looking him over, he was no longer in the mood to fall into bed, unless she took the fall with him.

“You done playing doctor?”

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