Page 20 of Jameson’s Salvation

“Okay.”

“Go put your gun away.”

Was he nervous I had a gun?

“I know how to shoot. I’m not gonna accidentally shoot a hole in my ceiling.”

“No doubt. But Weston’s on his way over and I want to—”

“Weston?”

“Yeah, remember, he works with me.”

“I remember who he is, but he’s comin’ here?”

“That a problem?”

I glanced down at myself and seeing as I was in filthy clothes and looked like a sweat-drenched pig, it was a big problem.

“I’m not fit for company.” I shoved the shotgun at Jameson. “Here. The safe’s still open. Will you put that away and lock it up for me?”

He took the gun from me and shook his head. “What does that mean? Not fit for company.”

“Look at me. I’m a wreck. I need to go rinse off.”

“Um.” Jameson chuckled. “I’m standing here. Do I not count as company?”

“No. Friends don’t count. I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t wait to see if Jameson was locking up my shotgun—I was sure he knew his way around guns and would understand how to lock my safe.

I jogged up the stairs and rushed to undress, tossing my dirty clothes on my bedroom floor, and made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the taps and my mind was going a mile a minute while I waited for the water to warm up.

I was halfway through my very fast shower, rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, when the water went ice cold. I screeched at the shock and jumped out of the spray.

“Goddammit!”

Suds still covered my body and soapy water was sluicing down my face. I blindly felt for the taps to turn off the now unbearable cold water, then opened the shower curtain to reach for a towel to wipe my face.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” I angrily muttered.

“You okay?” Jameson asked. His voice was close and I was naked with the curtain open.

With my eyes still closed, I scrambled to yank the towel off the bar and in my haste, I pulled too hard. I heard metal clank on the tile floor and started to stumble back.

Why had I insisted on tiling the shower floor? Why hadn’t I gone with a plastic insert? The shower bottom was slippery as hell, especially when it was covered in shampoo. I was going to fall and break my neck in my own shower. Jameson would find my naked dead body and Reggie would surely scoop up my property.

“Son of a bitch,” Jameson bit out.

Two strong arms grabbed my biceps and I was hauled forward, slamming into a hard wall of muscle. My hands and the towel were trapped between us, and if my eyes weren’t already screwed shut to prevent soap from blinding me, I would’ve closed them in humiliation.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

“Sure,” I mumbled.

“Don’t move.”

He stepped away and I heard the vanity cabinet open and close and the faucet turn on then off. I adjusted the towel and prayed it was covering my lady parts. I tried to remember when the last time I shaved and trimmed was. If my parts were on display, a big hairy bush would only add to my mortification.