It’d be a lot safer that he drop her off at one, get her in the door, and walk away rather than having to carry her up those stairs to her bedroom. Maybe tomorrow, once she had a clearer head, she could manage making it up these stairs without hurting herself.

“No, I’ll be fine,” she said, already trying to stand on her own.

Goddamn obstinate woman.

“Hold on,” he said as he placed the crutches inside the condo. He hurried to help her up, and within moments, she was in his arms again as he cradled her. “Are you sure?” he asked again. “I can get you up there tonight,” he said, glancing up the staircase. “But what about tomorrow? What if you’re stuck up there?”

“I won’t be stuck,” she said, motioning with her head toward the small table with four chairs around it in the kitchen nook. “And you’re not carrying me up.”

“Why not?” he asked, losing his patience as he set her down on the chair. “You can’t—”

“Because Sergeant—” She caught herself and lifted that stubborn but very sweet chin. “Because, Brandon, I’m starving. I’m gonna make myself something to eat before heading up, and if you plan on carrying me up, that would mean you’d have to wait. I’ve taken up enough of your time already. I won’t take anymore. I appreciate all your help and your offer to do more, but I’ll get up there on my own. It might take me a while, but I can do it. You really should get home. I’ve kept you up so late already.”

Feeling defeated, Brandon leaned against the wall. “What if I go get you something to eat and bring it back? I’ll carry you up, and you can eat it up there.”

He just needed this night to be over already—needed to stop looking into those stunning eyes before she asked him anything personal again. The longer he was around her, the more his interest in getting to know her grew. He knew that the longer he stayed here the harder it would be to get her off his mind. Even before she’d fallen tonight, she’d annoyingly seeped into his thoughts too much already. The memory of having her body pressed against his, the scent of her hair, and those lips so close he could almost taste them would be impossible to forget now. But it felt equally impossible to walk away—leave her here to brave those stairs on her own. He was already too committed, and he was slowly losing the battle to fight this.

“I have leftover pizza in the fridge. It’d be faster if you could help me warm it.” Her eyes opened wide suddenly, and she touched his arm. “Oh my God, you haven’t eaten either. You must be just as starved as I am. You’re welcome to have some of the pizza. There’s plenty.”

She started to stand, but he held her down. “I’ll get the pizza. You stay there.”

He walked into her small kitchen. Somehow he thought a fancy oceanfront place like this would be bigger, but aside from whatever was upstairs, the bottom of her condo wasn’t much bigger than his apartment, and the kitchen was just as tiny as his. He opened the fridge and pulled out the large pizza box. “You ordered this big thing for yourself?”

“I always order a large,” she said. “I like eating it for breakfast and lunch for the next few days.”

Placing the box on the counter, he opened it and stared at the odd-looking toppings. She’d been right about one thing. He was starving, and he was hoping for meat—lots of it. Instead they’d be feasting on a pizza with broccoli, bell peppers, and red onions. At least he saw what looked like chunks of chicken. It reminded him of her pickiness at the airport with her salad.

After a few minutes of searching in her cabinets with Ms. Brady verbally walking him through where everything was and how her microwave worked, he was back in the small nook area with a tray of pizza, napkins, and two mini bottles of Coke Zero.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had pizza with broccoli,” he said as he took the seat across from her.

“No?” she asked, taking a slice and putting it on her napkin. “It’s really good. Well, this place I order from is really good. All their pizzas are amazing. They have this spinach/shrimp one with goat cheese that’s to die for. But I’m afraid my sister’s made me a bit of a pizza snob. I don’t order from anywhere else now.”

Brandon stared at her as he chewed, trying not to be too obvious about watching her lick those plump lips. The pizza wasn’t half bad. Maybe it was just that he’d been starving, but the more he chewed it, the more he realized that it was actually pretty damn good. He debated on whether or not to ask what he wanted to ask because it was bordering on personal, but he figured what the hell. They were just talking food. “You said you just moved here. How do you know so much about this place’s pizza? You’ve been eating pizza this whole time?”

She smiled, holding the napkin to her mouth and shook her head. “No, this is actually the first time I’ve ordered from there since I got here. But I’m originally from Southern California, so I discovered this place, or rather my sister turned me on to it, years ago.”

Nodding, Brandon wondered just what the doctor had shot her up with. She might’ve been a little wobbly on her way in, but she seemed awfully clear-headed now—nothing like how she’d been in earlier in the hospital. Except for her annoyingly friendly behavior with Lansing, asking him if he were married, the near whining she’d done just as they got in her car, and the outright questioning of why he didn’t like her, she now seemed back to acting like her normal self.