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I blow out a shaky breath and push myself to move towards him because really, how can this possibly be any more humiliating than him finding me milk-soaked and shaking like a Shih Tzu in the middle of my kitchen.
“Sit.”
I do.
He crouches his massive body down in front of me, his gaze dropping to where I’ve tied my dressing gown closed, shifting back to my face. “Show me.”
I was wrong. It can definitely get more humiliating. If he feels the epic awkwardness of the situation, he doesn’t have a tell. Cool, calm, and impressively clinical he holds my stare like he’s done this a million times before—like he isn’t asking me to de-robe in front of him.
I swallow tightly, my hands resting on the knot of the sash around my waist. “You don’t have to…” I trail off and glance up at the ceiling to stave off the ridiculous urge to cry. I hate that I’m glad he’s here. “Shit.”
“Kenzi.”
I shake my head. Close my eyes. Press my embarrassingly trembling lips together.
“Look at me.”
Taking a deep breath, I lower my head.
His smile is small—sympathetic. “On my first tour in Afghanistan we had to camp out in the desert. We had this guide, an Afghan called Amooz. He made us these weird soups over the campfire. Spicy as hell but heaps better than any of the powdered shit in our rations.”
I blink stupidly, thrown by the randomness of his words. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him talk about himself.
His smile morphs into a smirk, the creases around his eyes deepening. “One night we were sitting around, waiting for sunup and when I looked down, there’s a massive—and I mean massive—snake slithering over my boot. I jumped a fucking mile in the air and spilled the soup all over my hand. Boiling soup.”
I snort, but loosen my grip on my belt, a reluctant smile pulling at my lips. Come to think of it, this is the first time he’severtalked about his time in the Marines. “You’re scared of snakes?”
“No.” He scratches his jaw, the scrape of his beard against his nails loud in the quiet night. “I’mpetrifiedof snakes. Anyway. It should have blistered. Itwouldhave blistered and made the rest of my time out there miserable if Amooz hadn’t pulled this out of his rucksack.” He holds the jar up. “Fuck knows what it’s got in it, but by the next day my hand was good as new.”
“Okay.” I nod and sit up straighter, wincing when the movement pulls at my skin. “I’ll try anything at this point.” I hold my hand out to take the jar from him.
He lifts it out of my reach, the grimace on his face enough to have me dropping my hand back into my lap.
“One problem. It stings when you apply it. Bad. You won’t be able to put it on yourself. I couldn’t.”
“Oh.” I blow air into my cheeks and shift further back onto the sofa. “Pass.”
“It’ll help.” He lowers his chin, still holding my stare. “Trust me.”
“I don’t trust you.” I shake my head vigorously, wrap my arms around myself, then yelp at the splice of pain down my front.
The crinkles around his eyes smooth. “Then trust logic. Five minutes of pain over days of it.”
I worry my lip. Fuck my life. “Fine. Do it.”
“Lie back.” His jaw tightens beneath his beard, and he drops his gaze to where my fingers have my belt in a death grip again.
Then, in a move that settles deep in the core of me for the sheer sexy of it, he nudges my knees apart, grabs my waist and yanks me down the sofa until my bum’s on the edge and he’s wedged between my thighs. His jaw clenches, nothing on his face that even hints that he’s affected by the position he’s got me in. “Hold onto the cushions.”
My eyes widen. “That bad?”
Forehead creased, he flicks me a look that fizzles the unexpected sexy.That bad.
I grip the edge of the sofa and stare at the ceiling. My cheeks flame as he deftly unties the knot of my belt and separates the two sides wide enough to see what he’s doing but, thankfully not wide enough to show nipple.
His hands move to my waist, and he tugs me down a little more—adjusting me like I weigh absolutely nothing until I’m pressed so tightly to his flat stomach, I have to clamp my lips together to stop my moan. I swear I’m just one more tug down the sofa from straddling his thick thighs.
His eyes meet mine and hold. “Ready.”
