“You know it makes sense for you to be naked, too.”
Immediately and urgently, he was hard...painfully so. He schooled his expression not to reveal his physical turmoil. “I can take off my wet clothes when we’re done. Stay put. I’ll be back.”
Outside, he put his hands on top of the car and banged his head softly against the metal door frame. He and Simone were playing a dangerous game of chicken, and he was losing. Grabbing the gym bag that held a clean pair of jeans, a knit shirt and underwear, he told himself he could be a gentleman.
Despite her propensity for suggestive repartee, Simone was in a fragile state. Even if she wanted to make love to him, she was in no condition to do so. He would help her with the shower and tuck her into bed. Period.
Their first argument was over who would undress her. She stood at the bathroom counter, eyes blazing. “I can take off my own clothes, Hutch.”
“If you get dizzy and fall, you’ll hit something hard and smash your skull. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”
“What I want is for you to treat me like an adult. Take off your own clothes, big boy.” No man with an ounce of testosterone could resist such an all-out dare. He wasn’t a teenager. He could control himself.
They stripped down side by side. Hutch tried not to look in the mirror. It was bad enough seeing Simone in the flesh. He didn’t need to be surrounded with multiple images.
When he saw her completely naked for the first time, he cursed. The one and only time they had made love since he came home from Sudan, the room had been mostly dark. Now, in the bright light from the bathroom fixture, he took note of each feminine detail.
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “What’s wrong?”
“I can see every one of your ribs, damn it. I can’t believe how much weight you’ve lost.”
“It’s a new technique. I call it the triplet diet.”
Even now, she was a smart-ass. “That’s not funny.” He couldn’t decide if he wanted to spank her or kiss her.
Ignoring the urge to do either, he stepped past her to turn on the water and adjust the faucet. When he was satisfied the temperature was just right, he put the small stool in the large granite shower stall and took Simone’s arm. “In you go.”
She sat down with a small sigh. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against his hip. “Thank you, Hutch,” she whispered. “For everything.”
Tenderness came, overwhelming him and muting his physical need for her. “You’re very welcome. Close your eyes and let me take care of you.”
He started with shampoo, lathering Simone’s long, dark tresses and rinsing with the handheld sprayer. Afterward, he grabbed the bottle of shower gel and soaped up a washcloth. Moving it over her shoulders and back, he made himself recite multiplication tables in his head to keep from going insane.
Her breasts were full and firm. When he soaped them lazily, the rosy nipples perked up. Eventually, he had washed everything he could reach. “Do you think you can stand for a minute?” he asked gruffly.
She nodded but didn’t move.
“Do you want to do the rest yourself?”
Simone looked up at him with drowsy eyes. Her pupils were dilated; only a ring of deep azure remained. Her eyelashes were spiky and wet. “You’re doing fine. Don’t stop now.” She put her hands on his forearms and drew herself upright.
Now her nose reached the center of his chest. He wanted to lift her and slide her down onto his rigid sex. He wanted to take her up against the wall of the shower and pound into her until the gnawing ache in his gut found release.
Instead, he did the honorable thing. He knelt and washed her feet and calves and thighs. Then, standing, with Simone embracing him, he rubbed between her legs.
Her breath caught audibly. “I want you,” she whispered.
Hell. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. “We can’t, sweet girl. Not today.”
Their bodies were wet and slick and primed for action. But Simone was weak as a baby kitten. She fussed halfheartedly when he shut off the water and urged her out of the shower. As he dried her with a big fluffy towel, she murmured something he didn’t quite catch. Afterward, he set her on the counter and grabbed another towel for himself.
Simone’s back was to the mirror, her hair a tangled mess of black silk at her shoulders. “I’ll have to dry your hair,” he said. “It’s too wet for you to get straight into bed.”
He found a large-tooth comb and a hair dryer in one of the drawers. Simone seemed to be half asleep sitting up. Though he was clumsy at best, he managed to dry her hair until it was tangle-free.
She leaned into him. “You should do this for a living,” she muttered, yawning.
“Only for you, kiddo.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed. “Pajamas?”