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I couldn’t help myself. “What are you doing?”
He turned, cocking his head. “Washing my hands?”
The overhead bulb was softer than the light outside and made his face kinder.
“I know. But you’re scrubbing every finger. So thorough.”
“Come on.” He waved a soapy hand.
I hesitantly moved closer.
“Give me your hands.” He reached out with his own.
I eyed them, then placed mine in his.
One side of his mouth ticked up. Using my hands, he drew me close.
“Hands under the faucet.”
I swallowed and did as he asked. He moved from my side for a second. The very next, his body was covering mine from behind.
I sucked in a breath, feeling everything. His chest against my back, his palms covering the backs of my hands, his breath on my neck.
“Let’s wash, shall we?”
Did he just nudge my nape with his nose?
Before I could make sense of that, a sweet feeling traveled from my fingers up my arms. Liam was washing my hands.
No, washing wasn’t quite right.
He took each finger, caressing it softly, massaging the soap into it. His thumbs rubbed my palms gently, up to my wrists, then back down.
My breath stuck in my lungs. My heartbeat slowed.
I couldn’t do anything. Just feel.
My eyes fell shut and I savored his closeness.
“How does this feel?” he whispered against my neck.
“Um.” I licked my lips. “Good.”
“Thoroughly cleaned hands are good,” he said, a hint of humor in his tone.
I blinked open to see him looking at my face over my shoulder. Not just at me.
His eyes took in all my features. From the freckles across my nose to my eyelashes. They came to rest on my lips.
I felt them part.
The rush of cold water snapped me out of my trance. I focused on my hands as Liam rinsed them off.
“There you go.” His voice still had its hypnotic quality. “All clean.”
I pulled my hands back and skirted away from him, finally managing to pull a deep breath. “Yep, feels good.”
He chuckled, snatched a towel, and tossed it at me.
