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Her shoes disappeared, and then he was looming over her, easing the sling from her arm.
Blinking, her hand curved around the back of his neck.
“No, baby,” he said, on what might have been a dark snicker.
Her zipper was down, her dress off, he was stripping her. That was okay. It felt good to be in the cocoon of his bed, firm, warm, soaked in his scent.
“Conn…”
“No,” he said again, drawing her panties down her legs. “We’re gonna take a shower. Stay there.”
Where would she go?
Black sheets, pillowcases, comforter. Red McDade stag head embroidered in the corners. Not so different to his bed at Stag. Pushing her feet into the bed, she boosted herself up toward the pillows.
“No,” his command stalled her.
Disoriented, a light came on to the far right and there he was in a doorway, naked in silhouette. She’d prefer to see more of him. She hadn’t thought about sex or how she’d react to being seduced. Maybe because Connel hadn’t been in her life since the thing. It had been too soon after him to think about anyone else. Then again, as he said, she’d only been in the hospital. When would she have had the chance?
“Get up.” Another command. “Come on, on your feet. Front and center.”
She didn’t want to… Rolling over, she caught her weight on her chest, trapping her injured arm. Pain. She was so sick of being in pain.
He came stalking over, bag and tape in hand. “You can’t even stand up on your own and you’re thinking about sex.”
Stuffing her arm in a clear plastic bag, he tore a length of duct tape from the roll with his teeth and secured the opening against her skin.
“I don’t need to stand up to have sex,” she said as he scooped her up to carry her into the intrusive light. “And I wasn’t thinking about sex.”
“I know your voice, Macushla,” he said, sliding open the glass shower door to take her inside.
The water was already on. Warm. Steam opened her pores. He sat her on a built-in tile seat in the corner.
If she was more awake, she might take advantage of her position, or think of a good comeback to his certainty.
Something cold hit her head and then his hands were in her hair. “I haven’t had sex since…”
“You’re running on adrenaline,” he said, massaging her scalp. “You can’t jump back into life like nothing happened. Your body needs time to heal.”
“I don’t have time to heal,” she said, closing her eyes when soapy liquid slid down her face. She inhaled the water and reached out, her hand landing on his hip as she coughed. “Conn?”
“Tip your chin up,” he said, but his hand was already under there doing it for her, then he was massaging her scalp again.
Water, soap, massage… He was shampooing her hair. Blinking her eyes open, her webbed lashes didn’t hinder her view of him there over her, gathering her locks onto her head. The stern scowl darkening his brow contradicted the gentle care of his hands.
“Are you mad at me?”
His eyes jumped to hers. “No.”
“You’re frowning.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About?” As his scowl became a glare, he rinsed her hair. “This is all fucked up. It’s so completely wrong.” When the water cleared, he was crouching in front of her, razor in hand. “Oh, God, no, don’t do that.”
His grip on her ankle tightened. “My rules.”
What was she going to do? Fight him off? In his bed, she’d prefer to be smooth. When her wits returned, she’d be embarrassed to be stubbly in his sheets… Though him taking care of her needs may be more embarrassing.
