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“Yes,” I sobbed. “Everything hurts, and all I want is to wash my hair.” I could barely get the words out, my usual composure crumbling, washing down the drain along with my tears.
“Okay.”
When he didn’t continue, I picked my head up off my knees. Remy was taking off his T-shirt, then he unbuttoned his jeans. Through the steamy glass, I could make out the contours of his tan, muscular chest.
The door opened, and he stepped inside, thankfully still wearing a pair of black boxer briefs. “Let me help you,” he said softly, carefully gripping me under my arms and pulling me to my feet.
I was too weak, too embarrassed to resist.
He swiped my shampoo from the ledge. “Tilt your head back,” he said, pulling me gently away from the showerhead. “And tell me if I hurt you.”
Gently, he massaged my scalp. I put one hand out to steady myself against the tile wall as the scent wafted around us and his hands moved down the crown of my head.
“What is this scent?” he asked, working those strong fingertips around the base of my skull.
“Rosemary.” I murmured, closing my eyes as the suds slipped down my neck and shoulders.
“I like it. It’s not girlie, but it’s very you.”
“My grandmother grew rosemary in a little pot on the kitchen windowsill of our trailer when I was a kid. I’ve always loved the way it smells. Earthy and sharp and like home.”
He guided me under the spray, massaging the suds out as the water ran clean. I kept my eyes closed as he applied conditioner to the ends of my hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers. I couldn’t look. The sight of water droplets dripping down Remy’s muscled chest would probably cause me to lose consciousness. And the last thing I needed was a concussion.
He rinsed the conditioner from my hair, then reached around me to turn the water off. And that’s when I felt it.
Solid steel brushing against my ass.
“Sorry,” he choked out.
I covered my face with my hands. Was he hard? Because of me?
Thank God he’d kept his boxers on, or I definitely would have fainted. I studied the ornate pattern of the tile to avoid turning around and getting a look at the goods. This was not how I had imagined getting acquainted with Remy’s penis. But now that it was out there, I could barely contain my curiosity.
By the time he led me out of the shower and wrapped me in a fuzzy robe, my nausea had dissipated. Such was the power of Remy’s cock.
“Give me one minute,” he said, settling me on the lid of the toilet in my robe.
He stepped out of the room, and when he came back a few minutes later, he was wearing gym shorts and holding another towel. Between the thick robe and all the steam, I was beginning to overheat, and my heart was racing. Okay, maybe it was my doting husband shirtless. That could have been a contributing factor.
I needed to get out of this bathroom and away from his hotness before I said or did something I would regret. But I stood too quickly and my knees buckled beneath me. Before I could fall, two strong arms caught me and held me up.
“Careful,” he said, cradling me against his chest.
He carried me out of the steamy bathroom and set me on the couch before leaving the room quickly. When he returned, he had a glass of water, a sleeve of soda crackers, and a comb.
“Drink some water and eat something.”
I took a sip of water and followed his movements as he rounded the couch. He was only out of sight for a moment before he ran my comb through my hair carefully. Section by section, he worked it through my long strands. Aside from my infrequent hair appointments over the last several years, I couldn’t remember anyone ever combing my hair. Even as a kid, I did it myself.
“You can depend on me,” he said softly, like he was reading my mind. He tugged gently on a tangle. “I’m not afraid of the scary stuff. I’ll never hurt you, and I’ll always be here when you need me. We’ve been friends since we were kids, and that will never change.”
A tear rolled slowly down my cheek. He had no idea how much his words meant to me. I wasn’t in any position to tell him, especially because my feelings were so jumbled right now, but I tilted my head back and gave him a teary smile as he continued to work.
I straightened again and closed my eyes, relishing the feeling of being pampered.
My entire life, I had felt so alone. Dylan, of course, had always gone above and beyond to protect and support me. But since leaving Lovewell at eighteen, I had been on my own. It was a point of pride, really. But at this moment, I liked being taken care of.
Remy had climbed into the shower and helped me. He could have rushed through the process and tucked me back into bed quickly, but he’d been patient, taking his time with me. Not only had he married me so I could be healthy, but he took his duty as caretaker far more seriously than anyone I knew.
