‘Hell.’

‘Hey! It’s me who’s supposed to swear. Why don’t you just go away so that I can?’

‘Don’t let me stop you.’

‘A lady doesn’t swear in front of a gentleman,’ she told him, lifting her ankle so she could see it. Mistake. She winced and let it drop. Cautiously. But still the determination was there to move on. Ignoring pain. ‘While I might not be a lady, by the look of the suit you’re wearing, you must be a gentleman,’ she managed. ‘That’s about the most gentlemanly suit I’ve ever seen.’

Here they were again. Talking about him. He found himself glancing down at his Armani suit and thinking, Yeah, that’s all it took. Wear a suit that cost a few thou’ and bang, you’re a gentleman.

Even if he did toss kids downstairs.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he told her, and she nodded as if she’d been waiting for it.

‘I wondered when we’d get around to that.’

She took him aback. It wasn’t just her accent that was unusual, he decided. It was everything about her. She was hurting-hurting badly. He could see it behind her eyes. But she wasn’t letting on. She was sassy and smart, and she wanted him to disappear so she could swear in private. Or do whatever she had to do in private.

‘Is it only your ankle that’s hurting?’ he asked.

‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘I guess it is.’ He touched her foot, lightly probing, and saw that it hurt. A lot. ‘That was quite a fall.’

‘You thumped out of there hard.’

‘I guess I did.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, and he knew that, though she was trying to keep things light, there was a load of bitterness behind the words. ‘Leave me be.’

‘That ankle might be broken.’

‘Yeah, with my luck…’ She broke off and seemed to try to haul herself together. She even managed to produce that smile again. Almost. ‘No. Don’t worry. It’d be hurting more if it was broken.’

‘Can I help you inside?’ He motioned to the door he’d just come from.