The Lion's Den(96)

But I couldn’t be looking at his body. I had to get him into the bath. Naked. Right. I’d glossed over that part of the operation when I’d come up with it. He must’ve had the same thought, because he gave me a half smile. “I always wondered what it would be like for you to undress me.”

How he had it in him to flirt right now, I had no idea. But I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and turned away to check the water temperature. “It’s cool,” I said without turning around, “but not cold, so it shouldn’t be too much of a shock.”

I’d just put him in the bath in his underwear; that would solve the problem. Without meeting his eyes, I reached for the bandage on his arm, and he instinctively jerked away. “Sorry. That one’s the worst. Maybe we should leave it.”

“We need to clean it and rebandage it.”

“Separately,” he insisted.

I acquiesced as he used the sink to push up to standing and undid the button to his jeans. Should I leave? I didn’t want him to fall asleep and drown. I could wait in the kitchen, where I could see him through the open door but still give him space.

“Do you need help?” I asked, turning to face him.

He unzipped his pants and let them fall without a hint of self-consciousness. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. So much for modesty. I kept my gaze lifted as he stepped into the bath and slowly sank into the water.

“Okay, I’m gonna go make some tea in the kitchen. I’ll be right there if you need me,” I said, indicating the kitchen.

“Stay.” He laid his head back and closed his eyes.

I perched on the toilet lid. The faucet dripped. Neither of us spoke for a long time. Outside, two birds chirped back and forth.

“Maybe it’s a love song.” He referenced the birds without opening his eyes.

“Maybe.”

“Do you have any coffee?”

“Yeah. But you gotta drink it iced.”

I kept an eye on him through the open door while I made his coffee, and brought him a banana as well. He didn’t want the banana, but I made him eat it.

I prepped a fresh washcloth with warm water and soap as he sipped the coffee. “Do you mind?” I asked. He shook his head. “Lean forward a bit.”

I lightly washed the wounds on his back, then his arms, all the while studiously avoiding looking at any other part of his body. He opened his eyes as I moved to gently wash his chest, and I looked down to notice my boobs were right at eye level, straining against my thin spaghetti-strap nightshirt. I straightened up and handed him the washcloth. “You can finish the rest of your body,” I said, turning away.

“Belle.” I felt his eyes on me and met his gaze. “Thank you.”

I nodded. “You still owe me an explanation.”

“I know.”

After thirty minutes, he was looking a little better. I helped him out of the bath and wrapped him in a towel, once again averting my eyes from his naked body. The clothes he’d been wearing were filthy, pieces of mud crusted around the bottom of his jeans.

“My friend keeps some things here,” I said. “You guys are about the same size. Let me see what I can find.”

“Boyfriend?” he asked too quickly.

I laughed. “No.”

He followed me to the bedroom and watched while I rummaged through Hunter’s drawer, coming up with a pair of gray sweatpants and a dark-green T-shirt. “They’re not black,” I said, “but they’re comfortable.”

He took the clothes, and I turned back to the drawers to rummage around for nothing while he pulled on the pants. He started to put on the T-shirt, but I stopped him. “Wait. We need to deal with your wounds.”

I sat him on the bed facing the windows and opened the curtains so that the morning sun streamed in. He squinted into the light. “Is that the Hollywood sign?”

“Yeah. The—wood, anyway.”

I placed the thermometer in his mouth while I gathered the bandages and first-aid ointment. The thermometer beeped and flashed red: 102.2. I showed him. “You’re still hot, but you’re moving in the right direction.”

“You think I’m hot?” he joked.

“I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to joke, but we do need to get you to a doctor.” I rubbed ointment into the wounds on his chest and inspected the laceration on his forearm. “This is deep.” I filled the wound with antibacterial ointment and closed it with three butterfly bandages. “And your cheek, the bones…”

“We need to go to Mexico,” he said.

“You’re in no shape to be traveling.”

“I want you to take me,” he entreated. “Please. I’ll see a doctor there.”

“Eric, I…I can’t just go to Mexico. I have responsibilities. I have to be at work in three hours. I have…”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’m asking a lot without telling you anything. What do you want to know?”

He winced as I peeled the bloodied bandage from his biceps, uncovering a deep gash. I inhaled sharply. I had no idea how to clean a wound so serious, but I knew it needed to be tended to immediately.

“I told you it was bad,” he said.

“What happened to you?”

“Summer pushed me off a cliff.”