Night Fury: Second Act (Night Fury 2)

Without hesitation, he slips his shaking hand into mine and allows me to pull him up. He puts his arm around my shoulders and I slide my arm around his waist. His very thin waist.

“You need to eat something.” As soon as I say it, I cringe.

His fisted hand comes up to his mouth and he gags.

I whisper through a grimace. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine, just please don’t mention food again.”

As we walk down the hall, I nod. “Noted.”

***

“Is this all right?”

From my place on the vanity, I look up from my book and peer over at Xavier with raised brows.

In the tub, with his underwear on, he spreads his arms out. “This. You’re not going to get into trouble for being in here with me, are you?”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

Shit.

I hadn’t thought about that.

Sliding off the vanity, I walk over to the closed bathroom door and open it widely. I turn to Xavier and smile. “No problem.” I walk back to my sitting place. “Besides, I think Father Robert would be kind of peeved with me if I let you drown.”

His brows knit as he dips his hand into the water. “You don’t act like a nun.”

It’s time for one of my brows to rise. “Oh, yeah? And how, pray tell, should a nun act?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But they don’t punch people or swear or threaten people with death.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, this one does. I think you’ll find we’re not your typical church.”

He nods and utters distractedly, “No. Not at all like a church.”

I still.

What an odd thing to say.

We sit in silence a moment. I discreetly shake my head and put my paranoia down to Marco screwing us over. I’m questioning everything lately. It’s a shitty feeling.

After our little conversation slash confrontation, I walked Xavier to the bathroom. I started the tub with lukewarm water, knowing he was burning up, and helped him dress down to his boxers. I held his hand as he stood on shaking legs and assisted him into the tub. As I moved to exit the room to place his clothes into the washing machine, I thought better than to leave an exhausted, currently weak man to drown in the tub. In the vanity sink, I washed his sweats and tank using shampoo. Not ideal but it worked.

Now he’s been soaking in the tub for around forty-five minutes and it’s close to five a.m. He’s made no move to wash his body with soap, or shampoo his hair and I’m beginning to get antsy.

I clear my throat. “The shampoo is right there in the green bottle.”

He gives me a weak nod. His eyes blink sleepily. “I know. I’m just so tired. I can’t lift my arms.”

Oh.

Of course.

Slowly, I move down from my place and walk over to him with small steps. When I reach the side of the tub, I move over his immersed body and take hold of the shampoo. Without asking, I take the washcloth and dribble water over his too-long hair. He groans low in his throat. I put a little shampoo in my hand and work up a lather. As soon as my fingertips touch his hair, his head falls back and he groans louder.

I wash his hair in a slow but firm motion, scratching his scalp with my fingernails. His groan turns into a slow guttural growl.

Using the washcloth, I trickle water over his head, rinsing his hair.

Gripping the back of his head, I gently rest his neck on the rim of the tub and take hold of a bar of soap.

Xavier doesn’t open his eyes as I lift one arm out of the water and go over it with the soapy cloth. I wash his arms and legs, his neck and as I reach his torso, my stomach clenches.

Geez. This is really intimate. This probably wasn’t such a good idea.

I try hard as I can to keep this clinical, but the truth is, Xavier is an attractive man. I tell myself I’m unaffected.

Yep. Unaffected.

So unaffected.

Not even affected. Nope.

As the washcloth moves from his neck, down his chest, over his puckered ni**les and down to his belly, his stomach clenches and I wonder if he’s as unaffected as I am.

Dropping the cloth into the water, I stand, startled and rush out, “All done. Let’s get you out.” Like, now.

He stands and my gaze is immediately drawn to his wet boxers.

My eyes widen. My cheeks flush.

I stare openly at the crotch of his boxers. His tented boxers.

Turning, I take the towel and avoid eye contact as I hold it open for him. He takes it from me and wraps it around himself, pulling his boxers down his legs, dropping them into the bathwater.

He mutters quietly, embarrassed, “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

I shake my head as if it’s nothing and swallow hard. “Don’t worry about it.”

He continues quietly, desperate to explain, “It’s just that it’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman touch me. And I know it’s f**ked, but you’re a woman. And you’re beautiful. And it’s hard—”

I make a chocking sound and bite my tongue to stop myself from bursting into laughter.

I spot his grin and he cringes. “I meant it’s difficult to not react. I’m sorry. Really.”

Still trying to avoid his gaze, I stare into his dewy chest and reply breathily, “I understand.” Walking backward, I tell him, “I’ll just get you some spare clothes. If you feel weak or tired, sit on the edge of the tub.”

I walk out of the bathroom to find Bob leaning against the wall dressed only in his pajama pants, hair dishevelled, just woken.

My heart stops.

Uh oh.

But then he smiles. A proud smile. Gripping the back of my neck, he pulls me in and kisses my forehead. My eyes close and my heart constricts from the show of emotion. “Good morning.”

With his lips against me, he mumbles, “You’re a good girl, Cat.”

And with that, he turns and walks away, leaving me feeling warm and happy, and unusually Christian-like.

Chapter Nine

“How many times must I tell you to watch what you say? We have guests,” Ari hisses heatedly.

Frankie rolls her eyes. “Okay, Ms Partypooper. Chill out, will you? No one’s even in here.”

The two would-be nuns, totally dressed the part, keep me company while I bake. They’ve already spotted the bags under my eyes and made obnoxious comments that people who care about you just do. I decide to tell them about my little night adventure with Xavier.

Moving around the kitchen, gathering ingredients from here and there, I try to work it in. “How about cranberry white choc muffins today? You think Tomas will eat them? I hope he does. You know, maybe I should wait for him to get up. He might like to help me cook. I should clean the workbench. Speaking of cleaning, I helped Xavier bathe this morning around five a.m. Do you think he’d like cranberry white choc muffins?”