Page 37 of The Key Holder

“I was taking you to my bedroom.”

“Isn’t the first floor safer?”

“It’s just the driveway and the field on this side of the house. No trees to worry about. I just thought you’d be more comfortable in my room.”

“O-okay.”

In a matter of seconds, I was gently placed on his bed. The light he had been carrying was one of those flashlight-lantern combo thingies, and he set it up in lantern-mode on the nightstand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, then disappeared into his bathroom.

It hadn’t occurred to me until now, but I was completely naked.

And Ford had seen everything.

I should be panicking about that, but somehow I felt relaxed. I leaned back, letting my head nestle into the pillow underneath. I just had a tree fall on me, but apparently now was the perfect time to sleep.

There was no point in covering up now, so I just waited.

Ford returned, giving me my first solid look at what he was wearing – a pair of flimsy, cotton boxers that were soaking wet. It wasn’t hard to see what was underneath.

Damn, he was handsome even in an emergency.

“Water was still warm,” he said, holding a washcloth up before kneeling next to the bed. “I’d like to check you over for injuries. You said your arm hurt. Can you stand up?”

I obeyed without protest, throwing my legs off the side.

His survey of my body was methodical but soft. His touch was infused with concern. In any other scenario, I would’ve been aroused but this was different.

“Was it this arm?”

I nodded.

“Can you move it for me?”

I did as he said, then held still as his fingers slowly moved up it, squeezing gently every few inches. Eventually he found it.

“There,” I said. “That’s where it hurts.”

He focused his attention there for a while until he announced, “It’s not broken. Maybe bruised? It’s definitely good that you can move everything.”

I cleared my throat. “That’s good.”

“The good news is I think you’re okay.”

“And the bad news?” I asked, trembling at what he was about to say.

“There’s no bad news.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Unless you count having a tree fall on you in the middle of the night.”

I scoffed. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to wipe yourself down, or do you want me to do it?”

“I’m still a bit”—it was a struggle to find the right word—“scattered. Can you do it?”

“Of course. Come over here so we don’t brush all this stuff onto the bed.”

I followed his lead into the corner where, with the same tenderness as before, he wiped my entire body with the warm cloth. He paid special attention to my face and hair, removing all the sticks and whatever else as best he could. It was an out-of-body experience until he went…down there.