Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC 17)

Damn, she’s been in there a long time.

Unease thrums through my chest. I set my phone on the nightstand and move to the bathroom door. Rock still, I listen for any sounds of movement or noise other than the steady drumming of the shower.

Nothing.

Shit, I know she wanted to be alone but this is way too long. What if she slipped and hurt herself?

I knock once but she doesn’t answer.

Fuck this. I shove the door open. Steam billows around me and I turn, seeking a switch for the overhead fan. I close the door so she doesn’t catch a chill. “Shelby?”

No answer.

“Hey.” I pull the shower curtain aside.

She’s sitting on the tub floor, arms wrapped around her shins, cheek resting on her knees. Exhaustion and misery cling to her as she lets the water pour over her body.

I shove my fingers under the stream. At least it’s still warm. “You okay?”

She tilts her head and peers up at me, looking so damn forlorn my heart jumps. Never should’ve left her alone. “I wanted to shave my legs but now I’m too tired to get up,” she explains in a small voice.

My gaze drops to the razor and tube of aloe gel sitting by her hip. Kneeling next to the tub, I run my hand over one of her shins, then the other. “Feels smooth to me.”

No reaction.

“You want me to help you out?” I ask gently.

It’s hard to tell if it’s tears or water streaming down her cheeks but she finally nods.

“Okay.” I twist the taps off.

She holds out her hands and I help her up, carefully lifting her over the edge of the tub and setting her down on a towel. I grab one of the white terrycloth bath sheets and wrap it around her. My big, clumsy fingers can’t seem to knot it right, though.

A hint of a smile flickers at her lips—big relief—and she takes over, tucking the towel tight above her breasts. I hand her another towel and she flips her hair, wrapping it all up in a neat little beehive.

“Feel better?”

“A little,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

“What else do you need?”

Her tired gaze skitters around the steamy bathroom, finally settling on the travel case the girls gave her. “Is there any baby oil in there?”

“Maybe. Seemed like they bought one of everything in the drug store.”

Another brief smile. “That was real sweet of them.”

I unzip the bag and after a few seconds of searching, Shelby joins me.

She pulls a clear plastic squeeze bottle out.

“Where do you want it?” I ask.

“My legs.” She glances down. “I can do it. I’m fine.”

“Come here.” I curl my hands around her waist and boost her onto the edge of the sink. “Have a seat.”

I lower one knee to the floor and place her foot on my thigh. Holding out my palm, I motion for her to give me the gel. She squirts a small amount into my hand and I work the slippery stuff into her skin, from ankles to knees. “Good?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Slick stuff,” I mutter as I smear it over her other leg. Can’t deny getting her all slippery is giving me certain other ideas. But I’m able to take care of her without being a big fuckin’ pervert. At least, I think I can.

I press a quick kiss to her knee before finishing up. “What’s next?”

She’s busy lazily rubbing lotion on her arms and slowly slides off the counter without looking at me or answering my question. I take the tube and work some lotion into her shoulders and back, trying not to lose my shit over all the black and blue marks painting her skin.

“Here,” she whispers, passing a different tube over her shoulder. “Can you rub some of this on the bruised parts?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” I take the orange bottle and flip open the cap.

“It’s arnica. Trinity said it would help the bruising.”

She winces a few times even though I’m as gentle as my big, rough hands allow.

“I look battle-worn,” she says, staring listlessly into the mirror.

“You are.” I set the tube on the counter when I’m finished. “Next?”

She lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and unwinds the towel on her head. “I’m going to work this through my hair.” She holds up a small bottle of gold oil labeled hair serum.

“You’re gonna be lubed from head to toes.”

She laughs softly. Improvement. “Bet you never wanted to know so much about girly routines before.”

“Wrong. I want to know all your routines.”

She rubs the oil into her damp hair in sections, then runs a wide-tooth comb through from scalp to ends.

“You want me to help you dry it?” I ask.

“Do you mind?”

“No, Shelby.” I don’t mean to be harsh, but I wish she’d stop assuming she’s annoying me and just let me help her. I locate the hotel’s dryer and plug it in. “Tell me where to aim it,” I shout over the noise of the little motor.