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"Drink it," he said, answering her unspoken question. "I don't trust the water, and believe me, no germ could live long in that brew," he said of the wine.
She sipped, made a face that he laughed at, and sipped again. She managed only five swallows. "That's all I can take," she said, shuddering at the bitter aftertaste.
Cage placed th
e tray with their dirty dishes on the floor near the door. He listened there for a long moment, but he didn't think anyone was monitoring them. At least not just outside the door. But he knew that sentinels must have been posted near the elevator and stairs.
"Do you suppose the shower works?" Jenny asked, venturing into the bathroom.
"Try it out."
"Do you think I'll catch an infection?"
He laughed. "At this point, we'll have to chance it." He lifted his soiled shirt away from his chest. "I have no choice."
"I guess I don't either," she said, glancing at her reflection in the wavy mirror.
Closing the door between them, she peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower stall. Ordinarily she wouldn't have considered setting her bare foot in such a mildew-ridden cubicle, but as Cage had said, she didn't have much choice. It was either use the shower or live with herself grimy and dusty.
Surprisingly the water that rained down on her was hot, and the soap was a United States export. She even used it to wash her hair in lieu of shampoo.
After she had dried herself off, she was in a dilemma as to what to put on. She had to rinse out her underclothes and blouse or she wouldn't be able to force herself to put them on again in the morning. She settled on wearing her full slip to sleep in and put her suit jacket over it for modesty's sake. It was a ridiculous looking outfit, but it would have to do.
She hand-laundered her lingerie in the sink and hung the panties, stockings, brassiere and blouse on the only towel rack available. Switching off the light, she opened the door.
Her hesitant eyes met Cage's curious ones across the room. Self-consciously she fingered the buttons on her jacket as she kept it pulled over her breasts. Her bare toes bashfully curled downward. Had Cage ever seen her with wet hair? "I, uh … there was only one towel. I'm sorry."
"I'll air dry." He smiled and made his voice sound flippant and light, but his eyes were on the deep lace border of her slip just above her knees.
She moved toward the bed and he brushed past her on his way into the bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him, she remembered her intimate apparel hanging up to dry. Scalding color rushed to her cheeks. Which was foolish. They had lived in the same house. When he was home from college, their clothes had been washed together. One couldn't go into the laundry room without seeing a garment belonging to somebody else. Cage had seen her in nighties and robes and in various stages of dishabille on numerous occasions.
But this was different. There was no use pretending that it wasn't. And the thought of Cage's eyes on her underwear made her go hot all over.
By the time he came out of the bathroom, she had taken off her jacket and was lying beneath the top sheet.
He smelled of damp male flesh and soap. He had pulled on his trousers, but that was all. His feet were bare. The hair on his chest was curly and damp. He must have rubbed his head with the towel. The dark blond strands weren't dripping, but they were still wet and tousled.
He flipped out the light and crossed to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. "Comfy?"
"All things considered, yes."
He reached for one of the hands clutching the sheet to her chin and laced his fingers through hers. "You're something, Jenny Fletcher," he said softly. "Did you know that?"
"What do you mean?"
"You've been put through hell today, but you haven't murmured one word of complaint." With his free hand he wound a strand of her hair around his finger. "I think you're terrific."
"I think you are, too." There was a tremulous catch in her voice. "You cried for Hal."
"He was my brother. Despite our differences, I loved him."
"I keep thinking about—" She broke off and clamped her lower lip with her teeth when a tear slipped over the brim of her eyelid and rolled down her cheek.
"Don't think about it, Jenny." He smoothed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
"I've got to!"
"No, you don't. You'll go mad if you think about that."
