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I glance over at Clark, whose eyes are as wide as saucers right now.
"Absolutely not,” Mitch says, turning his back to me and turning the stove off.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Delaney.”
“Mitch, seriously, grow up,” I say.
Meanwhile, Clark hasn’t said a fucking word since I walked in here. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, though.
“You’re leaving anyway, just let Clark help me.” I sigh.
My brother’s face is bright red. He’s so fucking pissed.
“Whatever you do when I’m not here is your business. Leave me the fuck out of it,” he says, pointing the spatula in my direction.
“Can you pick up my pain meds when you’re out? I’m hurting today,” I ask.
“That I can do,” he says, and I can tell he’s thankful for the change of subject.
I glance over at Clark, and he’s glaring at me, but when I smirk, he smiles back.
“If you think of anything else you need, call me. Will you be okay for a few hours, or do you want me to bring your pain pills back right away?” Mitch asks, grabbing his keys from the table by the door.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”
“Delaney mentioned she would probably be coming to stay this evening,” he says, walking over to the door.
“Why did Delaney mention that to you?” I ask, scrunching my nose up.
“It’s my house. She wanted to make sure it was okay,” he says, but I’m not buying it.
“Gotcha.” I wave at him as he walks out the door.
“You need help in the fucking shower, Marley? Really?” Clark says, walking over to me, sliding his arms around my waist.
“It’s actually the truth,” I say, turning around slowly, so I can wrap my arms around him, too.
“You’re trying to get me murdered,” he grumbles into my neck.
“I’m sorry, but my brother isn’t helping me take a shower,” I say, pulling away, hobbling towards my bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Clark calls out.
“To take my clothes off so you can help me take this shower,” I say.
“Dammit, woman,” he mumbles behind me, but I know he’s following me.
When I get to my room, I peel my shirt off and sit on the edge of the bed. Clark walks in, and his eyes are immediately on me, burning with desire.
I’ve been blessed with Clark James looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and I’d rather die than have anyone else lay eyes on me again.
“I need your help with my shorts,” I tell him.
He walks over, more like stalks, knowing damn well I don’t need help with my shorts. I just want him to touch me.
His hands grip the sides of the material, slowly pulling them down, while his knuckles brush against my skin.
