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“I would never hurt you on purpose, Mira.”
“No, I know you wouldn’t. I was being stupid. I shouldn’t have tried it by myself.”
No, but she feels the need to do everything alone.
“I’m going to walk toward the tub now.” I approach the tub with the towel held out in front of me like a shield, but I already saw her. I’m already thinking about the way her body looked under that water—the generous swell of her hips, her breasts with their rosy nipples, and the apex of her legs, opened to my gaze because her cast was propped over the side of the tub.
“Are you ready?” I ask thickly.
“Give it to me,” she says, and God help me, I’d like to give her something else. How am I supposed to live with this woman without going insane?
I settle the towel over her and look down to see her peering up to me. I can’t read the look on her face. Maybe I’m lucky I can’t. “I’m going to pick you up now,” I say through a dry throat, because there’s no towel over her ass, and I’m going to have my hands on it, or close enough.
“Okay,” she says thickly, her eyes on mine.
“Tell me if it hurts.”
I crouch down and slide an arm behind her shoulders, another beneath her knees, then lift. Her skin is wet and soft and slippery. “Hang on to me.”
She wordlessly wraps her arms around my neck, her grip strong and solid, and the trust in that gesture—and in her request for help—floors me.
“Are you okay?” I ask. Her cast hasn’t gotten knocked against anything, so I hope the answer is yes, but I need to hear her say it.
“I’m okay,” she confirms.
I carry her to her room like that, her arms linked around my neck while mine are wrapped around her mostly bare body.
Don’t think about her ass. Don’t think about her ass.
Butof courseI’m thinking about her ass. It would take a stronger man than me not to think about it when it’s a few inches away from my hand, pressing against my shirt, which is wet from her skin. I shift my hold on her, lifting her higher, because I don’t want her to know I’m the kind of pervert who’s turned on by helping an injured woman.
I am that kind of pervert, apparently, because I want to carry her intomyroom.
I don’t, though. Let it never be said I’m a man who can’t listen. I stride over to her room and kick the door open. After I do, I feel her hands flex around my neck.
“Sorry,” I mutter, although I’m not sure what for. Maybe the hard-on she hopefully can’t feel.
“Don’t you be sorry,” she says. “I’msorry. I’m useless. I can’t even take a fucking bath by myself.”
The frustration in her voice is one I’ve felt myself. I’ve walked away from a grocery store before because it was too crowded—from a bar because the music made me feel like it was digging into my skull with a blunt spoon. Those are things people are supposed to be able to do, and sometimes I can’t do them.
“You’re not useless,” I tell her. “If you weren’t around, who’d make me alcoholic drinks before noon?” I lower her onto the bed, decorated with pink embroidery that makes me smile. Even in sleep, she wants everything to be a production. The towel is covering her mostly, but she’s stretched out naked on her bed, her hair a tangled mess, her gaze on me.
Fuck. She’s going to notice.
I try to sidestep behind a pile of boxes and trip over something on the floor. Seconds later, I’m on my ass, sitting next to the curling iron that tried to take me out.
“Are you okay?” Mira asks as she leans forward to see. Her breasts are pushing at the towel, and I have to rip my gaze away.
“Yes,” I say, getting to my feet. “Only my dignity is injured. If I’d ended up hurting myself worse, I would have had to tell the emergency room staff that a curling iron did it.”
It strikes me that she’s probably cold beneath that towel. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone now.”
“I like talking to you,” she says, sitting up in bed and holding the towel to her chest. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination. I can see the swell of her breasts and flashes of the skin the towel isn’t covering on her legs. Her hips. I’d like to wrap my hands around them. I’d like to spread her legs open and taste her again.
I turn away and head back through the door before turning around, the door mostly closed behind me so it can hide the bulge in my pants.
“Would you like something to eat?” I ask, pained.
