When Sparks Fly

“You want me to wash your back after I’m done with your hair?” He begins the process of rinsing out the conditioner.

When Declan offered to help me with the shower, I anticipated it would be a little awkward and clinical. But this is the opposite of that—it’s comforting and soothing, like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night.

“Ave?”

I shake my head, realizing I’ve been lost in my thoughts. “Sure, yeah, that’d be great.”

He doesn’t reach for the body poof; instead, he lathers up his hands and smooths them down the sides of my neck and over my shoulders. “Can I unclasp this?” He tugs at the back of my bikini. “You’ll need me to help you out of it anyway, right? It’ll be easier to get your back if it’s already out of the way.”

I hesitate for a fraction of a second before I say, “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Even with soapy hands, he manages to get it open with one quick flick. I bar my arm across my chest and his palms move down my back, thumbs on either side of my spine, pressing firmly.

My eyes roll up and I relax further, dropping my head. “Oh man, that feels freaking awesome.”

His hands are warm and soft, but strong. It’s been ages since I’ve had a massage, and even longer since I’ve been touched by anyone for any reason other than necessity, or a hug from my sisters. This feels … different. He rubs slow, lulling circles, rhythmic and almost sensual.

“I’ll rub your back for you after your bath, if you want.” His thumbs follow the curve of my spine all the way to the base of my neck.

“Really?” It’s a half groan.

“Yeah, for sure. We can put on a rom-com, I’ll make you something to eat and give you a back massage.”

“Guilt is a strong motivator for you, isn’t it? Not that I’m going to say no to any of that.” I curl forward, humming when he hits a particularly tight spot between my shoulders.

His hands still for a moment before he runs them back up my spine and kneads my shoulders. Suddenly his chest is pressed against my back, warm and so solid. He wraps his arms gently around me. The connection sends a shock through me that I feel everywhere, from the crown of my head all the way to my toes.

His lips touch my temple, and I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek. “I will never forgive myself for this, Ave, but maybe if I can take good care of you, I might have a chance at you forgiving me for being a selfish, thoughtless, insecure asshole.” I don’t have time to react before he releases me and turns off the water. “Let me get you a towel.”

He drapes one over my shoulders and grabs another for my hair before he wraps himself up and tells me he’ll be right back with a nightshirt. I sit there, feeling a little … stunned maybe. I don’t know how to categorize everything I’m feeling right now. I chalk it up to the medication and Declan’s new role in this uncharted territory of our relationship.

While I wait for him to return, I shuck off my bikini bottoms, wrap one towel around my torso, and use the other to dry my hair one-handed as best I can.

He returns less than a minute later with one of my long tank-style nightshirts and helps me into it. I keep a towel wrapped around my shoulders because my hair is still dripping.

Once I’m back in the chair, he wheels me to the living room and helps get me situated in my favorite spot in the corner of the couch. Then he makes sure I have all the pillows I need and that my arm and leg are comfortable.

He disappears down the hall and returns a minute later with my hairbrush and offers to brush it.

“I’m sorry I lashed out earlier. I was frustrated and taking it out on you.”

He pauses his brushing and settles a hand on my shoulder. “You weren’t wrong, though. I was being selfish and thoughtless. If I’d just been responsible, I would’ve been with you. It would have been me driving and you wouldn’t have been in that accident.”

I cover his hand with mine and squeeze. “You can’t know that, though, Declan. The exact same thing could’ve happened, and what if you’d been hurt too? Then it would be me feeling guilty for making you come with me. I don’t blame you for this; you were just a convenient outlet for my frustration. So please, Declan, don’t feel responsible for this, because you are not the one who put me here. That guy in the white pickup did.”

His hand slips out from under mine, and he resumes brushing, working his way up to the crown. “I wish I hadn’t let you down.”