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‘Give me your hand.’ She’d soaped hers, and she took his hand, massaging it gently. His palm, in between each finger. Then the other, slowly and carefully. It seemed as if he’d needed care for a very long time.
Then his arms. Sam was doing a reasonable job of not thinking too hard about his skin, golden from the sun and slightly cool to the touch, but she couldn’t help noticing. Feeling the way that the tight muscles across his shoulders relaxed under her fingers. She worked calmly and methodically, across his back and chest with a flannel, the warm silence curling around them both protective and healing.
‘How’s that?’ She handed him the towel and he dried his face.
‘Better.’ He reached for her, pulling her between his outstretched legs, wrapping his arms around her waist, and she cradled his head against her chest. Just for comfort. If she kept telling herself that, she might begin to believe it.
‘All done.’ She gently disentangled herself from him and led him through to the bedroom.
‘You should go and take a shower.’ He sat on the bed, watching her, as she pulled the curtains and searched in the dresser for some clean clothes, his gaze edged with hunger. This was an undisguised invitation to go before things got out of hand.
‘Yes, I could do with one. You’ll be all right for a few minutes?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ His eyes were telling her to stay, but he waved her away. ‘Go and get cleaned up. I can manage to dress on my own.’
* * *
She was a long time in the bathroom, and Euan began to wonder vaguely if Sam had fallen asleep in there. He’d stretched as far as he dared, testing his body’s remaining strength and flexibility, and then changed into the sweatpants and T-shirt she’d left for him, before lying down against the pillows that she’d piled up at the head of the bed.
He could still feel her fingers on his skin. The brush of her hair as she’d leaned over to towel his back dry. It had been a sensation that he hadn’t been able to define. It had warmed him after the chill of cold steel against his ribs. Steadied him against the sudden realisation that he wasn’t invulnerable.
Who was he trying to kid? It had been like sex. The kind of sex where you gave up something of yourself and received more than you’d ever bargained for in return. The kind that he’d managed to avoid since Marie had left.
Hold it! Right there. Sam wasn’t like the women who had drifted in and out of his life over the years, leaving nothing behind other than the vague feeling that something inside him was irretrievably broken. She was vulnerable, scarred and yet strong in ways that took Euan’s breath away. He’d made his decision, and he needed to stick to it. It was friendship or nothing.
A movement, right on the periphery of his vision, caught his attention. She was standing...no, hovering...in the doorway, the borrowed sweatshirt and pants rolled up at the ankles and wrists but still swamping her frame. Her cheeks were pink from the shower and somehow she managed to look like a barefoot angel.
‘I’m going to get a warm drink. What would you like?’
A rather awkward, undeniably gorgeous, barefoot angel. The least he could do was make her feel at ease, without crossing the firm lines he’d just drawn regarding his own behaviour. ‘Tea would be nice.’
She shook her head. ‘No, you should have something more substantial. I was thinking soup or hot milk. Do you have any hot chocolate?’
Euan grinned at her. An assertive barefoot angel, then. ‘I think so. Anything you want.’
‘Right.’ She gave him a nod and disappeared.
* * *
Sam did her best to breeze back into the room as if it was a matter of no importance that this was his bedroom, and they were alone. She put the two mugs of hot chocolate on the nightstand, and he pulled himself upright on the pillows.
‘Are you going to sit down?’
There was no chair, so Sam sat on the edge of the bed, one foot firmly planted on the floor.
‘I like what you’ve done in here.’
Stupid. She sounded like someone who’d dropped in for a spot of afternoon tea. The room was nice, though. A warm oak floor, pale walls and crisp, cream-coloured sheets. A bright throw folded at the end of the bed and striped in many shades of blue gave a dash of the seaside, along with an old ship’s timepiece on the wall.
‘Thanks.’ He was looking at her as if she posed an unanswerable problem. ‘Are we being filmed?’
‘What?’ Sam glanced over instinctively towards the window, looking for a chink in the curtains, and then realised he was joking. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, this is what they used to do in all the old films, isn’t it? When the censors allowed two people in a bedroom, as long as one had a foot on the floor at all times. Any time you want to get a bit more comfortable, I can always take over for a while.’
The ice cracked and then shattered in the face of his humour. ‘I think it’s probably all right. We could pretend that I’m a doctor.’
‘I am a doctor. Doesn’t that work for you?’
