Down and Dirty by Christine Bell

glad you caught me and saved my teeth. That could’ve been really ugly.”
    He held her arm, leading her the rest of the way up. “Do you have any rock salt to melt the ice? Wouldn’t want you falling down the steps again in the morning.”
    “I don’t think so.” She held out her hands and frowned at her torn gloves. “Guess it’s a good thing I had these on, too.”
    “Yeah, it’s your lucky day, and it’s about to get even better. I’m coming inside, and you’re getting at least half-naked so I can see that knee.”
    She paused, hand on the doorknob, to glare at him. “Why do you need to see it? I’m a grown woman and more than capable of taking care of it myself.”
    “You’re going to let me look at that knee, or I’m going to bend you over mine.”
    The thought came with a mental snapshot that momentarily derailed his altruism, but he managed to tamp it down fast. She still stared up at him suspiciously.
    “Cat, you’re being ridiculous. I’m pretty sure I can handle the sight of you in your underwear without losing my shit.”
    Lie . He wasn’t sure of that at all, but he needed to see that she took care of that cut, and he wasn’t about to let her stop him. “I want to clean it so I can get a good look. See if you need stitches. Your brother would deck me if I left you like this and you got lockjaw or something. Although you unable to jabber might not be so terrible,” he added just loud enough for her to hear.
    She scowled at him but opened the door. “Fine. But I’m telling you right now, I’m not going to the ER for a tetanus shot no matter what. I hate them. They hurt for like a month,” she said with a sniff and stepped into the foyer.
    He sincerely hoped she didn’t need one, since throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her to the ER could seriously hurt his chances of seeing her naked anytime soon. He said a silent prayer to the wound gods and followed her inside.

Chapter Five
    Well, this is a grim way to end the evening, Cat thought bitterly. The scrape on her leg was stinging like the blazes, but her injured pride stung worse. Two times in one night, she’d managed to both humiliate herself and require rescuing. She may have mentally relegated him to the friend zone, but the rest of her hadn’t gotten the memo, and she was fairly mortified at having horked up nut-chunks and taken a dive down the stairs in front of him. That her favorite jeans had succumbed during battle only made it worse.
    Now, she sat on her toilet seat in bedtime boxers and a sweatshirt while Shane squatted in front of her, rubbing what felt like acid-treated shards of glass into her wound. “Shit, ouch!” She tried to pull away, but he had a firm grasp on her calf, pinning her in place.
    “Stop moving.” His tone was clipped and commanding. She wondered if that worked on the people he usually rescued because it wasn’t doing shit for her.
    “Stop torturing me, and I’ll stop moving,” she said through clenched teeth, gripping the sides of the bowl tighter when he only increased his efforts. “Seriously, is this fucking necessary? My butcher has gentler hands.”
    “Your butcher handles dead meat, so he can afford to be gentle. I’m trying to get the grime out of this scrape so it doesn’t get infected. Now will you shut up for a second and let me concentrate?”
    She bit her lip and turned her head when hot tears sprang to her eyes. What was she crying about? She’d had stitches a half dozen times in her life, not to mention the two broken bones she’d earned on the roller derby track a few years back. This injury was nothing in the scheme of things. But for some reason—maybe lack of sleep, maybe excess of Shane, maybe both—her emotions were bubbling up like cheese under a broiler.
    “Almost done.” He swiped some clear goop on it and sat back on his heels. “Looks like a pretty deep cut in the center there, but with the scrape surrounding it, stitches would be really