Page 39 of Last First Kiss
“You’re telling me that your brother did this to you?”
“He didn’t do this to me. I did this by slacking on my tactical skills.”
“That’s bullshit.”
She shrugged and reached for the soap and the sponge. “And he saw the photos. Did you? There are photos of us kissing. He wasn’t happy. I’m surprised he didn’t make more of a big deal about it. I told him it was part of the pretend girlfriend thing.”
“Then he made you go through a course that got you hurt. He didn’t make it more of a big deal? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. Don’t care.” When he heard her whimper as she tried to lather herself, he took the soap from her hand. “Been meaning to tell you, I don’t like bars of soap. I mean, who uses a bar of soap anymore? You need body wash.” She was speaking softer now and rambling, as if the exhaustion was setting in.
“Men do.”
“I’m sure they use liquid body wash too.”
“I’m sure they do, but not this man right here.” He liked that she smelled like him. How caveman was that? The first time he’d noticed was the second day she’d been there and he walked past her in the kitchen. It was such an odd and startling reaction.
He started lathering her arm and worked down to the tips of her fingers. Then the other one. “Move up a little, Tiger. Need to get your back.”
Lazily, she did what he asked. “This isn’t professional of me,” she argued halfheartedly.
“Stop thinking.”
He reached behind her and cleaned her back and shoulders, paying special attention to the small shallow gash where the rubber bullet had grazed her. She hissed when he touched it, but didn’t push away. “Okay, lay back down the way you were.”
She moved back, her eyes closed, as he worked the sponge down her neck and then under the water between her breasts and then lower to her abdomen and belly. She didn’t move much while he washed her. Careful not to make it too uncomfortable for her, because she was after all hurt and naked, he moved down to her feet. Her cute nails were painted a pale pink. For some reason, he expected her to have bloodred nail polish or none at all. Pale pink was completely unexpected. He lathered more soap into the sponge and rubbed her feet, eliciting a moan from her.
Her eyes were closed and her head back against the tub, her lips parted, just like in the photo from last night. What the fuck was wrong with him? What was he doing?
When he got to the apex of her thighs he stopped. The bubbles were beginning to dissipate and he didn’t want to take advantage. “You better?” His voice came out hoarse and his cock was straining against his jeans.
“Not at all,” she lulled. “I hurt and I’m tired.”
“Let’s get you to bed. Maybe with a little rest you can still make it to the gala tonight.”
“You didn’t finish,” she said, parting her legs slightly. Very slightly but enough for him to see the very light splay of blonde hair and definitely the hint of what she wanted—needed—coming across loud and clear.
His cock almost exploded.
“Either the pain is making you delirious or you’re so tired you’re not lucid.” He reached for the glass of water and the pain pill.
“Drugs.” She shook her head.
“I had knee surgery last year and never took the Percocet, just take one.”
“This is ridiculous. I don’t need you to worry—”
“Goddamn it, Annabelle. Shut your fucking mouth, take the pain meds, and relax.”
Grumbling, she took the pill, popped it in her mouth, and gulped the water. “There. Happy?” She shoved the glass back at him.
“No, actually. Not even a little.” He stood up.
With the cutest pout she said, “You don’t want to touch me?”
He groaned. “I do. God, do I ever. But you’re hurt and about to pass out. Another time.” He grabbed a towel. Then he bent down and carried her out of the tub, soaking his own clothes in the process. He tried not to look. God did he try. But she was there, completely naked. Smelling of him. And completely open and sweet.
“I want you too,” she admitted. “I was going to tell you this morning but then I had to go.” Her voice was a slow drawl.
