The Truth

Harper gives me a hug, once again positive despite the hour and her early wakeup call to deal with a classroom full of kids hopped up on Pop-Tarts and chocolate milk. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Daniel says goodbye to Ace, the two having a conversation with their eyes as they shake hands. We’re all equally gross now, so a handshake is nothing, and thankfully, whatever interrogation Ace would normally subject one of my dates to has been thwarted by Daniel’s jumping in to help. It’s kinda hard to accuse a guy of being an asshole after that.

As we leave, I slump in the passenger seat of Daniel’s car, too tired to tell him where to go, but he drives us to my apartment.

Without a word, he parks and comes around to open my door. “Come on. Time to clock out, Cinderella.”

He helps me up and out, and I give him a brave smile. “It’s okay. We have enough time to shower, sleep for a couple of hours, and still be at work on time.”

Even as I say it, what I truly want is to shower, sleep for a few days, and ignore the world to stay in Daniel’s arms. But that’s a fantasy, not reality, where we’re both needed at the office. He has to deal with Mark and Brandon, and I have deadlines of my own.

Daniel closes the door, hitting the lock button, and it beeps in the quiet of the night. “Let’s start with the shower.”

Without a word of argument from me, he scoops me up, an arm around my back and one beneath my knees. I wrap my arms around his neck, hanging on to him and my heels because there was no way I was putting those torture devices back on my angry feet. He carries me confidently in his strong arms, inside and to the elevator, not setting me down until I’ve opened the apartment door and we get into the bathroom.

He turns on the shower, the hot water quickly warming up the room. “Daniel—”

“Shhh,” he says, taking my heels from me and setting them aside. “I know what we need.”

That right there is why I’ve always known Daniel is the man for me. In most of my relationships, I am the one people turn to, like Ace did tonight. I enjoy that, I thrive on it, but sometimes . . . I want to not decide things, not plan everything, not take care of everyone else. As selfish as it might sound, I want someone to take care of me.

And Daniel does.

Don’t get it twisted, it’s reciprocal. But even the imbalance where I can sometimes shut down or fall apart or reach the end of my rope and know he’ll be there is powerfully sexy.

“Thank you,” I say with as much conviction as my exhaustion can muster. I stand with limp arms and half-closed eyes while Daniel undresses me. His movements are sure and efficient, but his eyes trace my skin reverently with every inch he reveals. His touch is bold, claiming my skin until I stand before him nude.

If I weren’t on the edge of passing out, I’d feel out of my mind horny. As it is, the best I can do is a half-hard nipple and a little tingle in my belly as Daniel quickly sheds his own clothes, leaving them piled on the floor with mine. I think they’re going to need to be burned in an incinerator. They’re definitely not going in my laundry, and I wouldn’t dream of sending them to the dry cleaners with the mix of sweat, drain water, and dog hair. I’d never be able to look Mr. Vince, my dry cleaner, in the eye again.

Daniel gently guides me into the shower. You’d think I’d be tired of water after the night we’ve had, but the pulsing spray feels like a heavenly massage against my skin, washing away the sore muscles and tension.

“Good?” Daniel murmurs, his voice low. All I can manage is a moan of agreement in answer. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He takes my bodywash and gets to work, his hands caressing every inch of my skin. It tickles a little when he washes my armpits, but he’s all business, simply moving on to the next area until he’s turned me into a big bubble monster of lavender-scented suds. He pours a generous handful of shampoo and massages that into my scalp, adding even more soapiness. I must look a mess, like a ragdoll mid-wash in the machine, but Daniel seems content in getting me clean.

There’s no seduction in his movements, just intense, sweet care. And I sigh with the pleasure that comes from the rare treat of being cared for instead of being the caretaker. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had someone pamper me. Maybe the one-hour massage I got last year, where I shut the world off and let someone rub away the stress? But even then, I’d ended up talking to the massage therapist about her boyfriend troubles, so that probably doesn’t count either. Not like this. Not like being in Daniel’s capable care.