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Fifteen
If this day had a theme, bottomless humiliation would be it.
First, overturning a goddamn dune buggy. Then a trip to UCSF hospital in a screaming ambulance. And now a stroll through a marble-columned hotel lobby in the hospital gown and torn slacks he’d been sent home in. Sling and all.
The only blessing in this equation, small though it may be, came to him courtesy of one of the most unlikely sources: his father.
Entirely too important to stay in the pedestrian accommodations attached to a convention center, he’d had Charlotte book them all into the Fairmont. Which meant that at least his pilgrimage wouldn’t be witnessed by the herds of conference attendees congregated at every available nightly watering hole to get expense-account-wasted after the exhibit hall closed.
“So far, so good.” Arlie’s grip on the biceps of Samuel’s good arm tightened as she steered him past a group of men spilling out of the restaurant, forced laughter ringing through the cavernous space. She was surprisingly strong for her size, and had proved an exceptionally adept aid in getting him into and out of the limousine.
His watery memories of their ride back from the hospital being humiliation number 1,583. Now that the drugs were wearing off and his head clearing, he had the definite feeling his loose-lipped declarations would come back to bite him.
At last, they reached the elevator, where, at his direction, Arlie pressed the button for the twelfth floor. When they arrived, they made their way down the blissfully empty hall to his door. She dug the key card from his wallet and swiped it on the sensor pad.
The cool, quiet blast of air hit them as she flicked on the overhead lights, the lobby’s noise and din a thousand miles away.
“Let’s get you into bed.”
Samuel paused in the entryway, the thought of sliding his sandy and sweaty body into the clean sheets causing a beat of panic to sizzle through his system.
“I can’t,” he said. “Not until I shower.”
Arlie stood before him, her tight white tank top dust-streaked, her cheeks sun-kissed and dappled with freckles, her wind-whipped hair gathered into a hasty tangle at her nape. Concern darkened her wide blue eyes. “You’re not supposed to get your sling wet, remember?”
“If I don’t get the rest of me wet, there’s no way I’m getting in that bed.”
She blew a stray hair out of her eyes and scrubbed her hands together with all the determination of a battlefield nurse. “Let me check out our setup here,” she said, pushing open the bathroom door.
Our.
There was something comforting about the way she said this. Like they were a team.
“Thank God for separate shower/tub combos.” Stepping toward the glass-enclosed marble cube, she opened the door and lifted the detachable showerhead out of its holster. “This could work.”
“I’m sure I can manage,” Samuel said, moving toward the door. “Thank you for all your help today.”
She arched an eyebrow at him in a half-bemused, half-insulted smirk. “You’re not quite rid of me yet, Samuel Kane.”
Re-holstering the showerhead, she turned on the taps, holding a hand in the spray until she was satisfied with the temperature.
“All right, mister,” she said, turning to Samuel. “Strip.”
“You really don’t need to help me with this,” he insisted.
“You forget that I’ve seen you naked. Twice now. There’s absolutely no reason whatsoever to be bashful.”
Samuel quickly realized that her seeing him naked wasn’t the problem at all.
It was his memories of their being naked together. Already, his mind had begun an impromptu slideshow. Even through the haze of pain meds, he felt himself developing a problem.
“How about humiliation?” he asked. “Surely I’ve met my quota for the day.”
“This will go quicker if you cooperate.” Coming around behind him, she loosened the ties of his hospital gown, first at his neck, then between his shoulder blades. With a kind of expert tenderness, she helped him out of the flimsy garment, tossing it in the trash when she’d successfully liberated his sling-bound arm.
“Shoes,” she ordered.
Obediently, Samuel toed off his lace-up dress shoes, sand gritty between the souls of his feet and the cool marble floor. His socks had been lost somewhere in the shuffle.
“This, I can do one-handed,” he said, backing away when she reached for his belt.
“I’ll bet,” she quipped.
Unbelted and unzipped, his pants pooled on the floor at his ankles. All that remained were his boxer briefs, and these, he wasn’t sure he could successfully manage on his own without bending his torso.
“What comes up...” With a teasing grin, Arlie hooked her thumbs in the waistband and drew his boxer briefs down his legs.
Samuel wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so naked in all his life.
