Page 73 of Third Strike Smitten

“I mean,” Isla continues, her voice slightly muffled by her hands, “I’m standing in your shower in my underwear while you wash my body. That’s either really weird or really… intimate.”

I rinse the soap from her calves, trying to ignore the way my heart is hammering against my ribs. “I think two things can be true.”

Her breathing hitches slightly, and I take notice of the way her body responds to my touch. The warm water making everything feel heightened and more intense.

“Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Her voice is soft, vulnerable in a way that has my insides twisting. “For taking care of me like this.”

I finish washing her legs, standing up carefully to avoid bumping into her. My cock is painfully hard now, straining against my boxer briefs, and I’m grateful for the steam that hopefully obscures her view if she peeks.

Now that her face isn’t in danger from the water stream, I gently pull her hands away.

“You don’t have to thank me, Isla. I’m the one who put you in this position.”

“Literally,” she says with a small laugh, and I can’t help but smile at her ability to find humor even now.

“Literally,” I agree, reaching past her to turn off the water. The sudden silence feels deafening, broken only by the sound of water droplets hitting the tile floor and our breathing.

“Okay, all done. Let’s get you dried off.”

I grab a towel and wrap it around her shoulders, my fingers brushing against her skin. The steam swirls between us, creating an intimacy that has my pulse racing. Isla looks up at me, her green eyes wide and vulnerable, her face swollen but still so beautiful.

“Killian,” she pleads.

I should step back. I should give her space. But I can’t seem to make my body obey. Instead, I find myself leaning closer, drawn to her like gravity.

She gasps softly as my face hovers inches from hers. I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin, see the droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes. My gaze drops to her lips, slightly parted, and every instinct in my body screams at me to close the distance between us.

I want to kiss her so badly it physically hurts.

But then I notice the slight wince when she shifts her weight to her uninjured leg.

Fuck.

I can’t do this.

Not like this.

She’s hurt, exposed, and completely at my mercy. The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water and I pull back abruptly, turning away to grab another towel from the rack. My cock is still painfully hard, and I adjust myself as discreetly as possible, hoping she doesn’t notice.

“I’ll get you some clean clothes,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended. “Just give me a minute.”

I practically flee the bathroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, my heart beating against my ribs. The cool air of my bedroom hits my overheated skin, but it does nothing to calm the fire raging through my veins. I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to erase the image of Isla standing there in her wet underwear, looking at me like I’m the only person in the world who matters.

“Fuck.”

I grab a clean T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs from my dresser, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the ache in my groin. My hands shake slightly as I hold the clothes, and I take a deep breath, trying to center myself before going back in.

When I knock and enter, Isla has wrapped the towel around herself, her hair hanging in damp waves around her shoulders. The swelling on her cheek looks worse under the bright bathroom lights, and guilt crashes over me once again.

“Here,” I say, handing her the clothes. “They’ll be big, but they’ll do for one night so I can wash your other clothes.”

She takes the clothes from me, our fingers brushing briefly, and I feel that same electric jolt I’ve been trying to ignore all night.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice soft. “I’ll just...change in here?”