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“Hey, I’ll be right back,” he said roughly.
She opened her eyes and damn but those tears lingering in the corners got to him. He wiped one away and dropped a kiss on her head before turning on the shower and heading into his room for a moment.
He grabbed his cell out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Sabrina so that she wouldn’t worry and then he called the police, leaving a message with the desk sergeant that Donovan was home and that she was safe.
He started to tug his shirt over his head and paused—shit—Maverick would have his ass if he didn’t give him an update. He’d called him earlier, thinking that maybe Donovan had been in contact, but his cousin hadn’t heard shit from her and had proceeded to give Jack an earful.
Most of it deserved, which was the only reason Jack hadn’t given it right back to him.
Jack sent Rick a text and headed back to the bathroom, stripping off the rest of his wet clothes before reaching for her.
Donovan’s eyes looked huge, and they never left his as he carefully peeled away the towel and her wet clothes. Her arms were scratched up, and she had more than her fair share of bug bites, but he wasn’t overly concerned until he got a peek at her ankle. It was starting to purple and he was pretty sure it was sprained.
Carefully he lifted her and stepped into the hot shower. Jack held her for several long minutes, letting the hot spray wash over both of them. Eventually her body relaxed and the shivering stopped.
“Babe, I’m going to have you stand, but you need to watch your foot, okay?”
She nodded, but remained silent. Donovan wasn’t the silent type. She was the kind of woman who yelled and cursed when things got rough. This silent shit scared the crap out of him.
Those huge eyes looked up at him as Jack set her down and reached for the soap. Once his hands were lathered up he slid them over her shoulders and began to wash her. Slowly, carefully, he kneaded tight muscles, and massaged sore limbs. He touched every inch of her. Her breasts. Her stomach and hips. Her thighs and calves. He cleaned the bottom of her feet and gingerly washed her injured ankle. He got between her toes, the underside of her arch.
Every single inch.
After that, he coaxed her into his arms so that she was resting on him and he carefully washed her hair. By the time he was done, her eyes were open and they regarded him in silence.
He hated the silence. This wasn’t Donovan.
They stood under the hot shower for a long time, it seemed, and then she made a sound, like a sigh, and traced a path down his chest with her fingers. His body, already hyperaware of the woman in his arms, reacted immediately. His cock hardened and when her fingers flew like butterflies over his abdomen he clenched his jaw so tight that it hurt.
Now was not the time to go there. Sex wasn’t what this was about. He wanted to comfort her and let her know that even though their situation was royally fucked up, things would be okay. They had to be okay.
Donovan paused, her touch light on his hip, there where he’d once had a tattoo. Her tattoo.
She stared down at it, her fingers still caressing him and, Jesus, he wasn’t strong enough. His dick was so hard and heavy, and when she moved against him he hissed, whether from pain or pleasure he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was both.
“Donnie,” he said carefully. Things were unsettled between them, and they’d both had an emotional day. He should step back. Gain that perspective that he needed so badly. A stronger man would.
But then she’d always been his kryptonite, hadn’t she? The one weakness he couldn’t get over.
“I almost had mine removed,” she said softly.
When he didn’t respond she looked up at him. “My tattoo. Maverick took me. I’d been crying on his shoulder for weeks, and I was a mess. I guess he got sick of it, because he dragged me to his local tattoo guy. Told me that the only way to get over you was to get rid of everything that reminded me of you.”
She exhaled, her eyes back on the empty patch of skin. “But I couldn’t do it. I sat in that chair, drank a fifth of whisky and waited for the pain to go away. When the guy was about to start the laser treatment, I bolted. I just…ran. This tattoo is a testament to what we had and what I lost.”
She sniffled and his heart turned over at the sadness in her eyes. He felt like an absolute shit, but he had to at least try and make her understand. For him, it was different. He wasn’t strong
enough to carry that kind of burden around. He needed a clear line—a finish line—and he’d taken it.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I had to.”
She lowered her lashes, wet from the water, and blew across his flesh. “I know. I screwed up so badly, Jack. So badly.”
“Hey,” he said, running his hands through her hair. “We don’t have to do this. Not now. It’s been one hell of a day.”
Donovan’s hands moved up to his chest, and she slid her mouth across one of his nipples. It wasn’t fair. The reaction she got out of him with a touch as simple as that.
His fingers were still in her hair and maybe it was the tilt of her chin, or the way she looked so vulnerable that had him tied up in knots. Maybe it was the feel of her in his arms or the sight of his mark on her body. His tattoo. The one she’d kept. Whatever it was, when she made that sound, that little whimper of surrender he was done for.
