“Great, more Tudor attitude. Just what I need!” Shit, did I say that out loud?

There was a sharp intake of breath above me, and then muffled giggling sounds coming from the left.

When I looked up, I saw Tudor scowling at someone, or several people, I couldn’t be sure.

Had I pulled in an audience? I couldn’t move my head to see. Tudor held it in a vice-like grip whilst straddling me, pinning down my body.

Yep folks, I often repeat that visual in my head too, you know, on cold and lonely nights.

He looked back into my eyes. His were sparkling, alight with humour. “Well it seems you’re feeling a little better.” Not a question, a statement.

“Yeah I think a little. Please can you help me up?”

He seemed worried; he had a line between his eyebrows that showed his concern.

Bloody hell, why was that sexy too?

“Hold on to me and I’ll sit you up. Slowly, eh?” he instructed.

I nodded lightly, grabbed his massive upper arms, and held on tight to the ripped pythons as he pulled me into a sitting position.

Ugh, nausea.

“You feel sick?” he grunted.

“Just a smidgen,” I whispered, trying to keep composure and not vomit all over him, whilst cringing about the fact that I must resemble the putrid green Wicked Witch of the West.

“I’ll sit behind you to prop you up until we can move you without you feeling queasy,” he announced, signalling to Tink and… yep, I thought so, Tate to keep me upright whilst he straightened only to lower himself behind me. At least the four of us were the only witnesses to this debacle.

He shuffled close to my back and put his legs on either side. He took my shoulders and gently brought me back flush to his chest. It was all warm and cosy, and it was taking all my effort not to cop a quick squeeze of the amazingly thick thighs keeping me wedged in position.

I wonder if they are tattooed too?

Tink was looking at me with concern, and I could see him glare at Tudor from time-to-time. What is he thinking? He looked suspicious for a moment until he caught my gaze watching his and quickly changed his demeanour.

“You feeling better, my battered sausage?” Tink asked, cupping my cheek and returning to his chirpy, happy-go-lucky self.

I smiled and confirmed a yes with my eyes.

“Tash? You need to get this bump on your head checked out,” stated Tudor, running his hands one by one over the top of my head. It felt heavenly.

I could feel his voice vibrating through me. Being so closely pushed together also enlightened me to the fact that Mr. North was huge… everywhere (wink wink!). That thought was definitely distracting me from the pain.

Tink looked over my head, I presumed at Tudor, and said, “I’ll be back soon, pork chops, okay?” and turned to Tate, smiling. “Tate, you want to come with?”

Tate looked thrilled, and they took off. It was silent for a while, and I relaxed further into the best bed ever: Tudor’s chest.

“You’re an interesting character aren’t you, Ms. Munro? In the space of twenty-four hours I have seen you – what did you call it? – oh yeah, ‘slut drop’, wipe me and my assistant out while trying to perfect another stellar dance routine, and suffer what is probably a concussion through the most idiotic pastime I’ve ever come across.”

I could feel a single move of his chest, a small laugh.

“Yeah well, imagine if you were around me twenty-four-seven, I’d be non-stop entertainment for you,” I said, it coming out a bit more snarky than I had intended it to.

Why did I always feel like a first-class f**k-up around this guy? Mmm, probably because you are, Tash!

“Yeah, imagine that…” he sighed, and gripped me tighter and shifted closer.

I was watching the river flow gently south when he interrupted my thoughts, his mouth at my ear. “We are going to have to get you to the hospital, Tash. Head injuries are no joke. Tink has gone to get the car.”

“Mmm, okay. Are you coming too?” I blurted out sleepily before I even realised what I had said.

Oh my God, Tash, eager much? You don’t even like him! Well not a huge amount, not really...

His body stiffened around me.

No, not more rejection. I seem to repel men these days.

I tried to think of something to say. I had made him uncomfortable, and his response had made me so.

As if, Tash! What were you thinking? This is Tudor North: living sex god. He is just being kind right now. He doesn’t fancy you, he doesn’t even know you. Why the hell would he take his kid sister’s clown of a teacher to hospital? You just keep dropping into his probably perfect life like a freakin' tornado! Fix it. Now!

“I-I mean, of course you’re not. Sorry, I just blurted that out, you know, head injury making me crazy and all. I'll go home and just pray that you forget the twin disaster of last night and this morning." I excused, trying to sound breezy.

“I'd never forget about you, Tash. You make a lasting impression.” His arms crossed over mine, securing me tightly, his hands grazing over my clenched fists as though he was debating whether to hold them.

“I… I want to take you but, it’s, it’s probably just better if Tink and Tate go. Unless? No, we would have to go in a side entrance and I…"

I held up my hand to stop him and his stammering little chat with himself. My self-esteem was tumbling and I couldn’t be humiliated anymore.

“Tudor, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said anything. Tink and I will be fine, we always are. I’m sorry for ruining your jog and no doubt one of your limited days off,” I said sincerely.