woman take a shower when I haven’t had sex with her first.”
“I’m not going to have sex with you just to make the shower easier,” Lucy said.
That drew a brief grin from him. “Don’t take it personally, but you’re wearing a hospital garment printed with little yellow ducks, and you’re also bandaged and bruised. So you’re not doing a thing for my libido. You’re also on drugs, which leaves you unable to make decisions on your own behalf. All of which means there is absolutely no chance that I’m going to make any moves on you.” He paused. “Does that make you feel better?”
“Yes, but…” Lucy’s cheeks burned. “While you’re helping me, you’re probably going to get an eyeful.”
His face was grave, but amusement lurked in the corners of his mouth. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Lucy sighed heavily. “I guess there’s no alternative.” She pushed back the covers and tried to sit up.
Sam came to her immediately, fitting his arm behind her back. “No, let me do the work. You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t take it easy. I’m going to help you to the edge of the bed. All you have to do is sit up and let your legs hang over—yes, like that.” His breath stopped abruptly as Lucy grappled with the hem of the hospital garment, which had ridden high on her hip. “Okay.” He started breathing again. “We’re not supposed to take the splint off. But the nurse said to wrap it in plastic when you shower, to keep it from getting wet.” He reached for the bag of supplies and pulled out a bulky roller of nonadhesive clear wrap affixed to a metal handle.
Lucy waited quietly while Sam proceeded to wrap her entire lower leg. His touch was deft and careful, but the occasional brush of his fingertips at her knee or behind her calf sent ticklish sensations along her skin. His head was bent over her, his hair rich and dark. Surreptitiously she leaned forward to catch the scent that rose from the back of his neck, a summery smell, like sun and mown grass.
When the leg was covered to Sam’s satisfaction, he looked up from his kneeling position on the floor. “How does it feel? Too tight?”
“It’s perfect.” Lucy noticed that his color had heightened, the high crests of his cheeks burnished beneath the rosewood tan. And he wasn’t breathing well. “You said I wasn’t doing anything for your libido.”
Sam tried to look penitent. “Sorry. But wrapping you in mover’s tape is the most fun I’ve had since college.” As he stood and picked Lucy up, she clung to him automatically, her pulse quickening at the feel of his easy strength.
“Do you need to … calm down?” she asked delicately.
Sam shook his head, rueful amusement flickering in his eyes. “Let’s just assume this is my default mode during showertime. Don’t worry—I still won’t make any moves on you.”
“I’m not worried. I just don’t want you to drop me.”
“Sexual arousal doesn’t rob me of physical strength,” he informed her. “Brainpower, yes. But I don’t need that to help you shower.”
Lucy smiled uncertainly and held on to his sturdy shoulders as he carried her into the bathroom. “You’re in good shape.”
“It’s the vineyard. Everything’s organic, which requires extra handwork— cultivating and hoeing—instead of using pesticides. Saves the expense of a gym membership.”
He was nervous again, talking a little too fast. Which Lucy found interesting. So far in her acquaintance with Sam, he had seemed completely self-possessed. She would have thought that he would handle a situation like this with aplomb. Instead, he seemed almost as rattled by their enforced intimacy as she was.
The bathroom had been decorated in a clean and uncluttered style, with ivory tile and mahogany cabinetry, and a big framed mirror over a pedestal sink. After lowering Lucy to the plastic stool in the shower stall, Sam showed her how to turn the shower control handles. “Once I clear out of here,” he said, giving her the handheld sprayer, “just toss the robe and gown out of the stall and turn on the water. Take as long as you want. I’ll be waiting on the other side of the door. If you have any problem, you need anything, just give a shout.”
“Thanks.”
The accumulated soreness from the accident caused Lucy to grimace and groan as she maneuvered on the stool and tossed the robe to the floor beyond the shower. She turned on the water, adjusted the heat, and directed the spray over her body. “Ow,” she said, as her cuts and scrapes started to sting. “Ow,
“How’s it going?” she heard Sam ask from the other side of the door.
“It hurts and feels good at the same time.”
“Need help?”
“No, thanks.”
It required a great deal of maneuvering to soap and rinse herself. Eventually Lucy discovered that the project of washing her hair was too much to contend with. “Sam,” she said in frustration.
“Yeah?”
“I do need help.”
“With what?”
“My hair. I can’t wash it by myself. Would you mind coming in here?”
There was a long hesitation. “You can’t do it by yourself?”
“No. I can’t reach the shampoo bottle, and my right arm is aching, and it’s hard to wash all this hair with only one hand.” As she spoke, Lucy turned off the water and dropped the sprayer to the floor. Painfully she pulled the towel around herself.
“Okay,” she heard him say. “I’m coming in.”
As Sam entered the bathroom, he looked like a man who had just been called for jury duty. Stepping into the open shower stall, he picked up the sprayer. He fumbled with it, adjusting the pressure and temperature. Lucy couldn’t help noticing that his breathing had changed again, and she said, “With the echo in here, you sound like Darth Vader.”
“I can’t help it,” he said edgily. “With you sitting there all pink and steamy—”
“I’m sorry.” She looked up at him contritely. “I hope that being in default mode doesn’t hurt.”
“Not at the moment.” Sam’s hand slipped around the back of her head, cradling the shape of her skull. As she looked up into his blue-green eyes, he said, “It only hurts when I can’t do anything about it.”
The way he was holding her head, the rough-soft sound of his voice, caused a curl of responsive pleasure deep in her stomach. “You’re flirting with me,” she said.
“I take it back,” he said instantly.
“Too late.” She smiled as she closed her eyes and let him wash her hair.
It was heaven, sitting there while Sam worked the shampoo through her hair, his strong fingers rubbing her scalp. He took his time, careful not to let water or suds get into her eyes. The rosemary-mint scent of the shampoo filled the steamy air … that was what she’d smelled on him earlier, she realized. She breathed deeply and tilted her head back, relaxing.
Eventually Sam turned off the water and hung the sprayer in the wall holder. Lucy squeezed out the excess water from her hair with her hand. Her gaze traveled over Sam’s clothes, damp and water-blotched, his jeans sodden at the hems. “I got you wet,” she said apologetically.
Sam stared down at her, his gaze lingering at the place where the damp towel drooped low over her breasts. “I’ll live.”
“I have nothing to wear now.”
He continued to stare at her. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Do you have anything I could borrow?” At his lack of response, Lucy waved her
