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He went ahead and ate without her, finished a couple bowls of soup and some crackers and cheese. Good, she must be enjoying the clean water, but she had to be starving. He would make sure she ate when she came out.
After fifteen minutes, she was still inside. He glanced at the bathroom, while the air conditioner kicked on, the cool air blowing across the back of his neck was already stirring the fine hairs there. Something wasn’t right and as the air conditioning unit turned off, he heard something that made his gut clench.
He headed to the bathroom and the closer he got, the worse he felt.
Fuck.
He should have been paying closer attention. She was behind that door crying. Sobbing her heart out, from the sounds of it, and dammit, he couldn’t just stand out here and hope for the best, that she’d pull herself together, wipe off her face, and come out to sit down and eat as if nothing had happened.
So much had happened.
He didn’t judge her tears. She was entitled to them. He took a deep breath, lifted his hand to knock, then swore under his breath.
His chest expanding, he knocked twice. This was way too close to emotional distress in a woman for comfort. It was the first step into Fuckville.
In response to the knock, there was a pause in the sobbing, and he used it.
“Astraea. Come out and get yourself something to eat. I’m sure you’ll feel better.” He had no idea if she would feel better but then he didn’t know a whole lot about her. “We can talk about it.”
He paused with his knuckles just a couple of inches from the door again, wondering where in the hell that had come from. He hadn’t meant to say that, at least leave it quite so open-ended.
“Astraea?” He reached for the knob and gave it a turn, and it opened. He didn’t see her at first, not until he peeked around the door. She was sitting at the bottom of the shower enclosure, leaning against the wall with her face in her hands as the water sluiced over her trembling body. She simply disarmed him and his tentative bullshit.
He went inside, her slender back was mottled with bruises, as were her arms and legs.Fucking animals, he thought with impotent anger.
Knowing he couldn’t leave her alone, he toed off his boots and socks, removed his T-shirt and camo pants. Keeping his boxer-briefs on for obvious reasons, he stepped into the shower enclosure, trying not to notice all of her clean, dewy skin. He bent down and slipped his hands under her arms and hauled her up. He meant to get her standing so he could maneuver them out of the shower stall, but she had other ideas.
She stepped into him, pressed her body against his as if seeking his warmth and strength. It was a sensual onslaught, and after the way she looked at him, and he’d reacted to her beforehand, he couldn’t help his purely male response. His dick swelled with a freaking mind of its own, even as his brain recognized the dire situation. Added to the sensual stimulus of her naked body, was her emotional meltdown, indicating her need for safety and comfort.After being at sea for months on end, then injured on their first op since their sea duty, he hadn’t been with a woman for a while. Part of his avoidance had to do with his flashbacks and mental healing, and partly to do with the disappointment after his short fling with what he considered the perfect woman went south.
Ignoring the tightening ache in his groin, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, planning to get her out at the first sign she was recovering. Water cascaded over her shoulders and between their bodies as he caressed his hands down her back, then up again in slow, soothing strokes. Before long, she released a soft, shuddering sigh and relaxed completely against him, with the kind of trust that awed him. They barely knew each other, but he had saved her life, and those strong feelings obviously helped to drop her guard.
But he failed to take into consideration the intimacy of the situation once the urgency of her crying jag was over.
She was plastered to him, her head on his shoulder and her lips mere inches away from his neck. Then there was the soft cushion of her breasts pressing against his bare chest, and the exquisite feel of her silky-smooth belly and supple thighs aligning so perfectly with his own.
Despite his best efforts to remain unaffected, arousal thrummed heavily through his veins. His cock pulsed with need, and he was grateful that he’d worn his boxer-briefs, which was the only thing keeping his raging hard-on in check.
Needing some kind of distraction, he swept his hands up the provocative curve of her spine and beneath the fall of her hair. The heavy strands were wet, the nape of her neck so goddamned soft. Tangling his fingers around her curls, he gently tipped her head back so that the spray soaked her hair and warmed her scalp. With a low, appreciative moan, she closed her eyes and lifted her chin even more, so that the water cascaded over her face, down her slender throat, and across her pert breasts.
She looked so amazing. His gaze took in her slightly parted lips, then slid down the arch of her throat—and came to the bruises on her neck. That fucking Ramos. Had he choked her? He couldn’t stem the surge of anger that gripped him all over again, his target Ramos.
Remembering his feverish run into the streets below El Helicoide, he nearly choked on a fresh wave of anguish and remorse. Without thinking, he lifted his hand and gently stroked his fingers along the dark marks on her neck. Her skin was so soft, so delicate and fragile, and he couldn’t help but want to hurt anyone who hurt her.
“I’m so sorry, Astra,” he rasped, his voice sounding like rough sandpaper. “So, so sorry.”
She brought her head back down, and her water-spiked lashes lifted, revealing beautiful eyes that were far more lucid than they’d been ten minutes ago. Her face was flushed with warmth, and she met his eyes with a straightforward, unabashed gaze.
“I’m okay, now,” she said.
As they stood beneath the pelting spray, a slow, seductive awareness gradually took hold. He could feel the change in Jack from her reaction to all the past events to a kind of desperate need. It was in the way her flattened palms slid around his waist and up the slope of his spine. He watched as she licked droplets of water from her bottom lip and felt himself respond to the need darkening her eyes. His cock throbbed and ached, the material of his boxer-briefs too tight and confining against his stiff dick.
“Easy…” she whispered, “what’s your first name?”
Her eyes roamed over his face as if mesmerizing his features, absorbing him into her.
“Matthew,” he rasped out.
“Matthew,” she breathed his name this time as if enjoying the sound of it. She said his name in a way that filled him with a wealth of emotion, which struck at a chord so deep within him.
