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He licked his lips and then stared at me. He opened his mouth to say something, but I quickly pressed my fingers to his lips.
“Don’t. I understand.”
His expression softened, and then he turned his head to kiss my palm. I grabbed the bar of soap and worked it into a foamy lather. I smoothed it over his skin, washing him, tending to him. I was surprised he let me.
While he was rinsing off, I hastily cleansed myself, and then set the soap aside.
“Let me wash your back,” he said, his voice husky.
I turned. His hands were gentle, as if all the violence he’d felt earlier had disappeared.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
“Why?” I asked. “I’ve needed you in the same way.”
“I’m not apologizing for that.” He paused. “I was inside you without protection.”
“So you were,” I murmured.
He stopped washing my back and then gripped my arms to turn me to face him. “You don’t strike me as the forgetful type.”
I took a deep breath but held his gaze. “I didn’t forget. I trust you, Boxer.”
His gaze narrowed as his thumbs rubbed circles on my arms as he continued to hold me. “What about pregnancy?”
“I’m on the shot.”
He gently pulled me to his chest and held me there, letting the water and words rain down on us.
We finally separated, and Boxer turned off the water. I grasped a clean towel and climbed out of the shower first. Boxer took the other one and rubbed his head, which made his hair stick up. He looked incredibly boyish, and it made me smile.
His cell phone trilled in the living room. “Shit,” he muttered. “I bet that’s South Paw.” He strode out of the bathroom, wrapping the towel around his waist as he went.
I heard him answer his phone. I went to the dresser and pulled out a pair of panties. I was sliding them on when Boxer came back into the bedroom.
“South Paw’s downstairs,” Boxer said, dropping the towel.
I wanted to pounce on him, but I forced myself to look away. “Okay.”
“What time do you have to be at the hospital?” he asked as I heard him begin to pull on his pants.
“I’m off,” I said, finally turning to look at him again.
He belted his jeans and then glanced at me. “You are?”
I nodded. “You could stay. If you want.”
He pulled his cell out of his pocket and hit a button. Boxer put the phone to his ear. “Change of plans. I’m spending the day at Linden’s. You can bounce but keep your phone on you. If I need you, I’ll call.”
Boxer hung up and tossed his cell on the bed.
“Does he just sit around waiting for you to tell him what to do?” I asked.
“Pretty much. He’s a prospect,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“So, he’s your bitch?”
He chuckled. “Something like that.”
