Raising Kane (Rough Riders #9)(12)

No wonder she started out the day cranky.


Since personal grooming had fallen by the wayside for the last two days, cleaning herself up was her first priority. She desperately needed a change of clothes. A change of scenery. Ginger felt like a prisoner in her own body, in her own room, in her own home.


Enough feeling sorry for yourself. Your father deals with this every damn day.


After three false starts, Ginger draped fresh clothes around her neck and hobbled to her master bathroom before Kane bulled his way in and took over. Much as his take-charge nature appealed to her, the last thing she needed was her good-smelling sexy helper to get a whiff of her very rank self.


Carefully unhooking the sling, she kept her right arm immobile as she slowly removed her clothes. It was mortifying to be coated in sweat by the time she’d stripped to just her skin. When she got a glimpse in the mirror of the injuries to her body, she literally gasped.


She looked hideous. Bruises dotted her ribcage. A few were scattered across her upper thigh. An ugly welt protruded on her left shin below the deep gash. Luckily, her coat had protected her arms from cement burns, although her left palm had borne the brunt of her graceless skid across the frozen pavement.


The snappish voice— stop sniveling, it could’ve been worse— dried the moisture forming in her eyes.


A shower wasn’t a possibility due to her cast, but she had to wash her hair. Had to. Thankfully she’d invested in a removable handheld showerhead and she wouldn’t have to wedge her aching body between the toilet and the tub to reach the main spigot.


She filled the sink with hot water and loaded her washcloth with suds from her favorite Sky Blue soap—a creamy mix of sweet lavender and mint. It was harder than she’d anticipated, scrubbing herself with her left hand. By the time she finished, she felt a million times better, but she was exhausted from the effort. And she still had to wash her hair.


Ask for help.


No. She’d done fine on her own, maybe slower than she preferred, but she could do this.


Ginger set extra towels on the floor to cushion the cast and her shin. She cranked on the water, placing the shampoo bottle within reach before bending over the edge of the tub. Her fingers circled the hose for the sprayer and she jerked it close.


Ready. Set. Clean.


Getting her head wet? Easy. Washing her scalp and her long hair one-handed? That sucked. Bad.


Trying to rinse out the shampoo, when she couldn’t feel with her other hand if suds still matted her hair?


Beyond frustrating.


In attempting to rinse her nape, water poured into her ears. She hated that echoey, squishing sound in her head. As she adjusted the angle of the spray nozzle, soapy water trickled down her spine, following the crack of her ass to flow between her thighs. When she repositioned the rotating showerhead again, this time to rinse the front of her hairline, she nailed herself right square in the face with the water. For some reason, she screamed, flinging the sprayer aside like it’d been shooting acid rain at her.


Stupid, stupid, Ginger. What is wrong with you? It’s just water.


Gritting her teeth, she opened her eyes to see where she’d tossed the sprayer. Thick rivulets of soap slithered down her forehead and puddled in the corners of her eyes.


She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear, she couldn’t move. The soap started to burn. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”


The door banged open. “Ginger? Jesus, what are you—”


Was that Kane? She shrieked, “Get out! Get out of here right now!” Her eyeballs stung. Her naked body burned with utter humiliation. God. Of all the positions to be stuck in, on her knees, her fat white ass flapping in the wind.


“Why don’t I—”


“Get the f*ck out? Good plan.”


The door slammed shut.


She blindly reached for the hose for the hand sprayer. Unable to see a damn thing, she leaned over too far, smacking her shoulder into the bottom of the tub. “Fuck!”


“That’s it, goddammit, hold still.” Kane moved in behind her, straddling her upper torso, squeezing his knees on either side of her ribcage. He reached for the hose and placed the nozzle on the back of her head. “Close your eyes and tilt your head down,” he said tersely.



If Ginger was surprised by how quickly she acquiesced, she was even more surprised by Kane’s thoroughness. His gentleness.


He rinsed her hair. Her face. Her eyes.


“I can take it from here,” she said curtly.


“Like hell. I’m gonna help you to your feet whether you like it or not.” He wrapped his arms around her midsection.


She sucked in a breath when the muscular backs of his forearms brushed the underswell of her breasts. Her nipples constricted. Her whole body quivered.


“Steady. I know you’re cold. Let’s get you upright first. Then we’ll see about getting you dried off and warmed up.” He lifted her with almost no effort. Instead of letting her go, he held her tightly against his body.


She whimpered.


“Am I hurtin’ you?”


“No. I’m just…mortally embarrassed.”


“Listen to me. I am here to help you. With everything. Including this kinda stuff. So all you need to do, Ginger, is let me help you. Can you do that?”