After handing her the discarded shoe, he gripped Evie’s hand in his. Slowly, he brought her to her feet, and she favored her uninjured foot. She made the mistake of shifting her weight to the injured one out of habit and gasped, falling forward into his chest. Gripping his shoulders in both hands.
“Sorry,” she squeaked.
He cleared his throat once, twice—oh dear—three times before putting a steady hand to one side of her hip. “That’s…all right.”
Looking at the destruction around them, Evie shuddered in horror.
The smoke and dust had cleared, giving them a perfect view of the ruined tower. The top was simply gone, large pieces surrounding them while others certainly had fallen all the way down into the courtyard. Beyond the tower, a large portion of the west side of the manor’s wall was completely collapsed. From this distance, Evie could see the remains of what looked like a study or perhaps a small library.
Not the books. Anything but the books.
The end of the parapet was gone. They were both about two steps from falling right over the edge. Debris covered the ends of her hair and probably the top of it, too, and when she looked over at her boss, his hair appeared nearly white from the ash.
Hot tears burned behind her eyes, and Evie felt the horror of the last few moments seep in through every pore. “Oh no, the manor.”
She hated crying, especially in front of other people. Especially in front of her boss.
But it was too late; tears were already running hot down her face. “I can’t believe this happened. Why would anyone— I wish it wouldn’t— I can’t believe— I’m so sorry.” Evie’s hands were still on his shoulders, so he must have felt them shaking, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
The blast had been contained. The ruins surrounding them were disheartening, but the manor still stood. It could’ve been so much worse. But still, part of it was gone, and it was his home, and she had been so afraid.
A sob ripped through her, and she braced a hand against her stomach to try and push it back in, but that seemed to do the opposite. Another one poured out of her. The Villain placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back enough to examine her face. Evie didn’t have it in her to fight him.
“Are you…crying?” He was horrified, it was so plain in his voice, and she wanted so badly to shrink away from him, but of course her injured ankle kept her locked in place.
“No. I have a condition where my tear ducts produce an excess of warm, salty water when I’m tired or in distress.”
But the comment went unnoticed as he calmly reached in his pocket for a handkerchief. To Evie’s surprise, it wasn’t black like the rest of his attire but instead a vibrant light blue. “Here.” Placing it lightly in her hand, he waved an arm at the remains of the tower. “Nothing in there was worth anything, not as— It wasn’t important.”
There was something he wasn’t saying; that was clear. But Evie was too relieved that he’d chosen to ignore her outburst of emotion to question him further on it. She sniffled, smiling slightly at him through her tears, and she thought, just for a moment, she caught a look of ruin in his eyes.
Whatever was in that tower must have meant a great deal.
Clearing his throat again, he bent an arm under Evie’s legs and the other behind her back. “Hold on,” was her only warning before she was lifted into the air against his chest.
“Whoa!” she gasped, gripping her arms around his neck. Which, of course, was thick and corded with muscle, and because her face was only inches away, she could see his pulse beating steadily there.
Shaking her head, she clasped her hands behind his neck, trying to take this situation as casually as she could. “No wonder you have such a superiority complex. I would, too, if I could see the world from this vantage point!”
Rolling his dark eyes, he began to walk them back toward the open doors. A crowd of onlookers had formed, and Evie saw The Villain’s eyes sharpen before several gasps were heard and they scattered back inside.
“I’m hardly taller than the average man,” he said flatly.
“I feel like I’m being carried by a tree.” A considerably warm tree whose arms touching her legs and back made her brain turn to mush.
He adjusted her higher. So much so that her lips accidentally brushed his shoulder, and the shock of it must have repulsed him, because he stumbled so hard, he nearly dropped her.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, face burning.
“Stop apologizing,” he gritted out. It was clear he was angry; the situation must be intolerable for him. “You say that too often. It’s irritating.”