After a silence long enough for a telephone pole to stretch out in, he said, “Huh?”
Rusty squeezed her eyes shut and repeated, “I can’t get out of the tub.”
“Get out the same way you got in.”
“I’m too weak from the hot water. My arms won’t hold me up long enough to step out.”
His curses were so scorching, she didn’t know why the bed-sheet curtain didn’t combust. When she heard his approaching footsteps, she crossed her arms over her breasts. Cool air fanned across her wet, bare back as he moved the curtain aside. She stared straight ahead into the fireplace, feeling his eyes on her as he moved toward the tub.
For a long time he just stood there, saying nothing. Rusty’s lungs were almost ready to burst from internal tension by the time he said, “I’ll slide my hands under your arms. Come up on your left leg. Then while I’m holding you up, lift it out of the tub and set it on the floor. Okay?”
His voice was low and of the same texture as the towel he’d given her to use—as rough as sandpaper. “Okay.” She eased her arms slightly away from her body. Even though she’d been expecting it, the first touch of his fingertips against her slippery, wet skin, came as a shock. Not because it felt awful, but because it didn’t.
And it only got better from there. Confident and strong, his hands slid into the notches of her armpits and cupped them supportively. He braced his legs wide apart, almost straddling the tub, and lifted her. She sucked in her breath sharply.
“What’s the matter?”
“My...my underarms are sore,” she told him breathlessly. “Because of the crutches.” He muttered a curse. It was so vile she hoped she hadn’t heard it correctly.
His hands slipped over her wet skin and encased her ribs. “Let’s try it this way. Ready?”
Rusty, according to his instructions, supported herself on her left leg, letting the injured one dangle uselessly as he raised her out of the water.
“Okay so far?” She nodded. “Ready?” She replied in the same soundless way. He took all her weight on his hands as she lifted her left foot over the edge of the tub and set it on the floor.
“Oh!”
“What now?”
He was just about to release her when she made the exclamation and tipped forward slightly. With lightning reflexes, his arm slid around her, clasping her just below her breasts.
“The floor is cold.”
“Christ, don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry. It was a shock.”
Each was thinking, “You can say that again.”
Rusty groped for the back of the chair to lend her support and hastily clutched the towel to the front of her body. Of course that still left her back naked to his eyes, but she trusted that he was being a gentleman and wasn’t taking advantage.
“All right?”
“Yes.”
His hands moved from her front to her sides, but he didn’t release her entirely. “Sure?”
“Yes,” she answered thickly, “I’m fine.”
He withdrew his hands. Rusty sighed with relief—as it turned out, prematurely.
“What the hell is this?” She gasped when his hand cupped the side of her hip. His thumb made a long, slow sweep across her buttock, sluicing off water. Then the other buttock was similarly examined. “What the devil happened to you? I thought you said he didn’t hurt you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Breathless and dizzy, she turned her head and looked up at him over her shoulder. His brows were pulled together into a deep V and his mustache was curved downward with displeasure.
“You’re black-and-blue.”
Rusty looked over her shoulder and down the length of her back. The first thing that registered with her was that Cooper’s dark hands against her pale flesh made a very sensuous picture. Only when he made another solicitous movement with his thumb did she see the bruises.