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“That could be. I can try to focus more and make myself rem—”
“No! Don’t you dare. Don’t do anything of the kind.” He sounds almost stern.
Ridiculously, it gives me a hot flash of desire. I flush and duck my head.
“The doctor said not to force it. You’ve been doing well. I’m not going to let you hurt yourself by forcing it before you’re ready.”
“Okay.” I gulp and tell myself that clawing off his suit and running my hands all over his body is a completely inappropriate response to this situation.
“I’m sorry,” he says in his normal, gentler voice. He brushes my hair back because I’m hiding behind it. “I didn’t intend to sound mean.”
“I know you weren’t being mean.”
“I worry you’ll push too hard and do more damage.” He tilts my head up, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “You’re doing so good, Scarlett. Try to be patient and let the rest come.”
My knees almost buckle. I’m washed with waves of hot desire, and I have no idea why or where they’ve come from. It’s far too embarrassing to let him see—why would I be turned on when he’s so sober and concerned about me?—so I close my eyes and breathe deeply.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down to span one side of my neck. “Try to relax. Good girl.”
God help me. That only made it worse.
“Are you okay?” he asks after a minute.
I’ve barely gotten myself under control now. I manage to open my eyes and give him a smile. “Yeah. It’s just hard being patient.”
“That I know.” He glances at his hand, gives a little jerk, and lets go of me like he’s been burned. The move evidently jars his back again. He winces.
“You’re backisbad!” The concern effectively distracts me from my arousal. “I knew it was hurting. Please say it isn’t from carrying me to bed the other night.”
“No. It wasn’t from that. It’s from sitting tensely in uncomfortable chairs all day. It’ll be fine.” He stretches his spine, making another face that proves his discomfort.
“What do you normally do when it gets bad?”
“Ignore it,” he admits.
“Arthur.”
“I usually take a hot shower. That sometimes helps.”
“Okay, good. Then that’s what you should do now.” I take his arm and make him walk with me down the hall and to the stairs. We head up slowly. He’s obviously in more pain than he wants me to see. When we get to his room, I push into the bathroom and turn on the shower, making sure the water is hot.
He stands in the doorway, watching me bemusedly.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. It’s hardly my job to do all this for him. “I was just making sure you’re actually going to take the shower.”
“I will.” He starts loosening his tie, then slides off his suit jacket.
I want to help him. I want to take off all his clothes. But that’s hardly appropriate. “Okay. I’ll let you get in. Take a long one and try to stretch out your back. I’ll come check on you after a while.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll be back to check on you.” I make my voice as firm as possible, and then I make myself leave the bathroom.
***
IGO TO MY ROOM AND, restless and flustered, end up taking a quick shower myself. I feel better when I get out, and I take more time picking out my clothes than normal as I re-dress.
I want to look pretty, but I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. So I pick out a pair of soft gray lounge pants and a loose rose-colored top that looks good with my skin and accentuates my curves.
