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“Not too hot. I can’t take it.”
I adjusted the faucet and got to my feet. “I’m going to go get the lavender stuff. Don’t get in that water until I come back.”
I hurried down the two flights of stairs to my bathroom, grabbed the bottle of bubble bath, and raced back up. I was out of breath when I got to Noah, which was good because he had taken off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and was standing at the sink, gargling mouthwash. My wheezing camouflaged the sharp gasp I made at the reflection of his chest in the mirror.
He was sculpted in lean muscle—arms, abs, pecs…a simply beautiful masculine body swathed in smooth skin. My heart did some inexplicable stutter, and my body felt warm all over. But I tore my gaze away quickly. Now was absolutely not the time or place to be ogling him like a piece of meat.
“I’m back,” I said, crossing to the huge soaker tub and pouring in a good dollop of lavender soap. Then I went to his side. “You ready?”
He nodded dully. “If you insist.”
“If you want to keep your, um…boxers on, or whatever, that’s fine. Okay?”
“Like it matters,” he muttered and stripped off his athletic pants to reveal boxer-briefs. “What am I going to do about it? You look or you don’t; it’s all the same to me.”
“I’m going to give you your privacy,” I declared. “I swear it.”
His features softened slightly, and with my help, he went to the bathtub, walking slowly like an old man. At the tub, I held onto him but kept my eyes averted.
“Go ahead.”
He said nothing but removed his underwear, and I kept my promise, keeping him in my sight only enough to ease him into the water where the bubbles covered him to his waist.
“How’s the water? Good?”
I could tell by the expression on his face it was just what he needed even before he spoke. “It’s perfect.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.
“And the lavender? Not too strong for your super-bionic sense of smell, right?”
“No.”
He wasn’t smiling—I had yet to see that happen—but he looked content and that was good enough for me. I sat down hard, the panic and fear of the migraine incident fading out of me too, leaving me drained.
“You can go now, Charlotte,” he said after a moment, his eyes still closed. “I can manage.”
I knelt beside him. “I’m sort of afraid you’re going to fall asleep in the tub. And besides, I think you’ve been left alone long enough.”
He turned toward me, his gaze landing at my chin. His beautiful eyes were wet and red-rimmed and trying so hard to find me. But he couldn’t. He closed them again and leaned back, his mouth drawn down.
I felt a tightening in my chest, my heart aching for him, wanting him to feel less undone than he did. I let him rest and soak, and after a bit, he took up a washcloth. He rubbed his face with it, then let his hands fall as he grew more exhausted by the minute. I cleared my throat.
“Can I help?”
“I had a thousand sponge baths in the hospital and rehab. I thought I was done.” He held out the washcloth to me. “What’s one more?”
I tried to ignore Noah’s nearness, or the fact that he was naked under the bubbles, but my hands were unsteady as I reached to touch his face. I cupped his chin and turned him in my direction, then gently ran the cloth along his brow, down over his cheeks; first one then the other. I had long since recovered from my two-staircase dash, but my heart was pounding anyway.
I finished his face and washed his neck, then trailed the cloth over the broad plains of his chest, down the ridged muscles of his abdomen and back up. My fingers felt each defined muscle and shivers danced up my arm, despite the heat of the bath. I was trying to treat this as part of my job, but my traitorous body couldn’t help responding to him.
Noah didn’t respond at all. I thought he might be apprehensive that some strange woman—a woman he could never see—was touching him like this. But he was bone tired, and I strove to hurry, to get him to bed where he could rest.
I washed both long arms, starting at the shoulder, then down. I held his hand in one of mine, washing his long fingers, neither of us saying anything until I was finished.
“I have to do your back,” I said.
“I have scars. They’re repulsive.”
“I don’t mind.”
