Luka said, “Stupid bugger,” but the words were drowned out by the applause coming from the pedestrians and diners. Some phones held up, too, clicking away, because people would take a photo of anything, even a runaway dog. Meanwhile, Luka was missing a jandal, and bloody hell, but his neck hurt.
He could almost always ignore pain. He was having a hard time ignoring this. Who exacerbated their rugby injury tackling a dog? If he lost game time for this, he’d …
He’d be narked as hell, that was what. At least it could’ve been something heroic, like grabbing a runaway pram and saving a baby. Instead, he’d sacrificed a few layers of skin and probably a disc for a grinning, panting, shaggy black dog the size of a half-grown bear, who had now plopped himself down on his arse and was industriously scratching his neck with the self-satisfied air of an animal who’d just finished some refreshing morning exercise and was on his way to making new friends.
A woman was running up to them now, her breathing hard, her hair wild, her feet in socks and nothing else. She said, “Oh, thank God. Thank God,” and grabbed for the dog’s collar. And then just stood there like she had no idea what to do next.
Ah. An idiot.
She had a red lead in her hand, but she wasn’t doing anything with it. Luka waited a moment, but she just panted some more, exactly like the dog, so he took it from her and fastened it. “There,” he said, handing it back to her. “You got him? All right? You may want to take more care.”
“I …” she said. “Yes. I know. And yes, obviously I’ve got him, or you got him, but I … I’m not …” She seemed to take him in a little more, and Marko, too, and her face froze.
Brilliant. She knew who they were. It was going to be a celebrity moment.
He really did not need this today.
“You’re injured,” she said, her tone completely different. “Both of you. What’s hurting?”
Marko glanced at him, and Luka gave a shrug back. “Yeh, nah,” he said. “A scrape on the knee, that’s all.”
“Your face,” she said. “That’s a bruise on your forehead. A bad one. We should check you for concussion, because you’re holding your head crookedly.”
Luke could have told her that he’d already had an HIA for that—a head injury assessment—but he didn’t. “Yeh, nah,” he said. “No concussion. Hard head, and the head knock was from earlier. We’re good.”
“You’re scraped, though. And …” She hesitated, looking around. “I don’t think anybody else is injured, but I should go back up and check.”
“And do what about it, exactly?” Luka asked.
His coffee was going to be cold by now. A glance told him that his breakfast had arrived just in time to get cold, too. And still, he waited. Marko said nothing, just stood there looking big, dark, and amused.
Why? Luka knew why. Because the girl—woman—was still breathing hard, and she was wearing a tight T-shirt, not quite enough bra for somebody whose hair was damp, which meant that her shirt was damp, and shorts that showed off some very shapely legs.
She wasn’t thin. What she was—was tall. And built. Also, she had eyes as dark-bright as sapphires, pale skin, and dark hair that fell in messy waves to her shoulders. Her eyebrows slanted down, her cheekbones were sharply cut, her jawline was, too, her mouth was wide, and her nose was long, aquiline, and jutting right out there to see.
It was a face that would never compromise. She looked like an Icelandic warrior queen. He had no idea if such a thing existed. If it did, though, she was it.
She said, “Well, clearly, to treat them.”
“To treat them,” Luka repeated. What had they been talking about, again?
“And to give them my … my insurance information,” she said. “Or whatever you do when your dog causes an accident.”
“Ah,” he said. “American, eh. We don’t do that here. We just care for people when they’re injured. Seems easier.”
Her chin went up, and he got full-on warrior queen. “I’ll do that, then.”
“What, care for them?” His glance swept over her. “Doesn’t look like you brought your first-aid kit. Why did you take the dog off the lead?”
“I didn’t,” she said. “I opened the door, and he ran out.”
“Take care next time, I reckon,” he said. “If he’s going to run off like that.”
“Thank you.” The blue eyes were flashing now, and the chest was heaving some more. Which was all a very good look, as far as he was concerned. “I’d never have thought of that.” Yeh, that had been said too sweetly. She couldn’t keep it up, though, because next, she said, “I didn’t know he would run out! How could I have known?”
“Because he’s your dog? If you’re going to let him off his lead and he’s going to bolt like that, you’d better get into better nick so you can run faster.”
She gasped. On the one hand, gasping suited her. On the other hand, his neck hurt like not-playing-next-Saturday. She said, “Why? Because I’m so fat?”
“What? No. Why would I say that?”
Marko sighed in a put-upon way and said, “Mate …”
She turned on him. “What, you have an opinion too?” She threw out an arm. She had extremely erect posture. That was why he’d thought the warrior-queen thing, probably. She should definitely be wearing armor. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s have it. What else is wrong with me and my actions? I told you, I’m sorry. I’m extremely sorry.”
“Nah,” Marko said. “No worries. It happens.”
“I didn’t know the dog would run,” she said, “but he did run, so I know now. Thank you for catching him. I just got here—to New Zealand, I mean—and I wasn’t expecting the, ah, running. I’ve never had a dog before.” She took a breath, got a little taller, and said, her voice brisker, “Now, I’m going to walk back the way I came and check whether anybody is injured. If they are, I’ll assess accordingly, and if possible, I’ll treat them.”
She had some kind of accent, Luka realized, that was warring with the I’m-in-charge words. A soft drawl. Southern U.S., maybe? Sounded like something on TV. Sounded bloody sexy, in fact.
“Hang on,” he said. “Stay for a coffee, anyway. A bit of drama, that’s all. We’re all good.” Because, yeh, his neck hurt, but it wasn’t going to hurt any more from having coffee with a woman who could give as good as she got, even under duress.
And if she brought all that passion and take-charge attitude to bed with her? Along with that body? That’d be pretty interesting. There was nothing like a little competition to get the blood pumping, and he’d always enjoyed wrestling.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “I have to get back and train my new dog, because I’m clearly clueless. And get—what was it? In better nick, so I can run. Thanks for that. Exactly what I needed this morning. Just wonderful.”
6
Bacon and Surprises
Imagine that. She’d met a hot guy her first day in New Zealand. Two hot guys, in fact, although somehow, she’d mainly noticed one. Jordan would be so impressed. She should’ve taken a picture, because he’d never believe it. Of course, it would’ve been pretty hard to explain why she wanted it. “Just memorializing your hotness for my gay friend back home!”