“You need a warm bath and a glass of wine.” He backed up, tugging on Chip’s collar. “Do you have any Epsom salt?”
“You’re serious. You’re going to run me a bath?” That’s what worried her about Sam. He was all in—until he wasn’t. He’d treated her like a princess, until he told her about his wife’s pregnancy. A wife he’d supposedly separated from six months before, even though she was just three months pregnant.
“You don’t climb out of an accident like yours and continue on as usual.” He removed his gun from his holster and unbuckled his equipment belt.
“Oh, you mean business.”
“I do. Stay there and relax.”
She called after him. “No Epsom salts.”
As Sam banged around in her bathroom, she twisted her head from side to side. Didn’t feel like whiplash to her. She’d tried to relax her body when it became clear her car was going into the wash.
Could Wade really be responsible? She could see him issuing a warning, but he’d never try to seriously hurt her, would he? His ambition knew no bounds. He had his eye on politics, and he moved in the right circles.
“Look what I found.” Sam returned to the living room with a pair of green Border Patrol sweats low on his hips, his upper body bare—again. When had he become such an exhibitionist?
She narrowed her eyes. “Where’d you find those?”
“Stuffed in your linen closet.” He tugged at the waistband, pulling them even lower. “I remember giving you a few pairs of these.”
“Yeah, I used to wear them.” She got up too fast and clutched the back of the couch in her dizziness.
“You’re not okay, Jolene. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the emergency room?”
“No, thanks. You end up sicker from those places than you were when you walked in. I’m just a little rattled.”
He joined her at the couch and slipped an arm around her waist. The brush of his bare skin against her arm overwhelmed her senses and her dizziness returned with a vengeance.
She leaned into him, and he tightened his hold on her.
“Let me help you.”
He walked her into the master bathroom connected to her bedroom, past the pile of his wet clothes. A lilac-scented steam rose from the tub, foaming with bubbles.
“A bubble bath?”
“It’s the closest thing I could find to Epsom salts. You can inhale the lilac like an aromatherapy thing.” He’d flipped down the toilet seat and helped her sit.
When he reached around to unhook her skirt, she placed a hand on his arm. “I think I can get undressed by myself, Sam.”
“Really? I’m not going to leave you and then hear a thud as you keel over, am I?” He unhooked and unzipped her skirt. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”
She rested two fingers at the base of his throat where his pulse throbbed. “But you lost the privilege of seeing it all.”
His dark eyebrows jumped, and his pulse beat faster against the pads of her fingers. “I did—and it was a privilege.”
He stood up and started to back out of the bathroom. “Call me if you need help. I’ll return with your wine.”
He shut the door before she could tell him he didn’t have to bring the wine—not that she didn’t need a glass or two about now. But she didn’t want to tempt him if he were still on the wagon—and it looked as if he was.
She finished undressing and slipped into the silky water, releasing a long breath as the bubbles enveloped her.
When she’d met Sam two years ago, he’d just stopped drinking. She’d seen him at her cousin’s AA meeting. She’d gone to a meeting with Melody to support her, and pretty much couldn’t take her eyes off the blue-eyed, black-haired man who’d looked so indestructible as he talked about the problems alcohol had brought to his life.
Her own father had won his battle with the bottle and had been the strongest man she knew.
Melody had played matchmaker, and her first date with Sam had morphed from a coffee to dinner and three hours of conversation. She’d been wary at first. When hadn’t she been wary with men? But Sam had won her over without even trying. Maybe it had been her desire to fix him. What grounded woman went into a relationship with a person battling addiction, even one in recovery, who’d just separated from his wife?
Sam tapped on the door. “Are you in the tub? No mishaps?”
“I managed to undress all by myself and climb in without toppling over.”
He nudged the door open with his toe, carrying two glasses—a red wine for her and some iced tea for him. He sat on the edge of the tub, and she scooted farther under the bubbles.
He handed her the glass. “How does that feel? I didn’t want to make it too hot.”
“It’s perfect, thank you.” She wrapped her fingers around the stem of the glass. “You didn’t need to bring me wine. Iced tea would’ve been okay.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He took a sip of his tea and shook the ice in his glass. “Twenty-seven months sober. Not even a slipup.”
“Congratulations. Melody, too.” She tipped some wine into her mouth, letting it pool on her tongue before swallowing it. “Do you still go to meetings?”
“I hadn’t been, but I’m not going to lie. I started attending more regularly at the time of the separation. It was hard leaving Jess, leaving her just like my old man left me, but your mother abandoned you, too, and you didn’t turn to booze.”
“Different situation, wasn’t it?” She traced her finger around the rim of her glass. “I had my father and an extended family support system. Even though Dad turned to booze when Mom left, his illness gave me purpose. One of us had to be functioning.”
Sam scooped up some bubbles, cupping them in his palm before turning his hand
