“Shower?” he asked, unwinding the gauze.
“Yes, but—”
He turned and left the bathroom, returning a few moments later with the cast cover and a fresh pair of sweats and T-shirt, all of which he set on the counter. But he didn’t stop by me again, and I definitely wasn’t missing his touch on my skin. Nope. I wasn’t. No freaking way. I didn’t care about that touch as he walked to the shower, turned it on.
Still in that towel.
With most of his gorgeous body on display.
“How often do you work out?” I blurted, staring at the rigid lines of muscle on his back.
He straightened from adjusting the knobs, slowly turning around, and I would have to be blind to miss his raised eyebrows, the surprised look on his face. I was a little nearsighted, but it wasn’t enough to save me from my embarrassment of that expression.
From the pleased look creeping into his.
From the slow, hot smile that curved his lips, that flashed a dimple in my direction, that . . .
I spun around, marching toward the cast cover, happy that my muscles were loosening up. My arm barely hurt, and though my knees stung a bit from where the sweats rubbed at the abrasions, I knew I’d be okay and back to normal soon.
Maybe I could even make my theme park visit for the next day.
That lure of churros and soft pretzels in my future took my mind off the critical embarrassment of me asking this man how often he works out.
Who did that?
What kind of woman did that?
I might as well be asking, “You lift, bro?” God, it was so ridiculous. It was . . . so . . . me.
“I’ll work out twice as hard if you keep looking at me like that.”
Chapter Nine
Talbot
She gasped and whirled around, her shoulder—thankfully attached to her arm that wasn’t hurt—colliding with my chest and knocking me back a step.
I felt the towel around my waist shift and loosen and quickly grabbed it.
But then she spun back, her hands coming up to her cheeks, and took a step as though to run out of the room.
Unfortunately, she’d discounted the too-big sweats.
One long stride had her stumbling, had her falling toward the floor.
I let go of the towel and reached for her, catching one hand, slipping an arm around her waist and stalling her fall. The downside of this?
My towel fell.
Another downside?
I tripped over said towel and stumbled, ass-first onto the cold tile, bringing Tammy down in a heap on top of me. We both grunted. I cursed—because cold fucking tile—and her cheeks went red.
Very red.
Her palms were on my chest.
Her legs in those baggy sweats were straddling my hips.
Her mouth, lush and pink and so damned tempting, parted.
“Wow,” she whispered, her hands convulsing.
I bit back a groan.
“Tal?” she asked.
“Hmm?” I was trying very hard to stifle my moans of pleasure, having her over me, her thighs straddling mine, her hands on me. Each of those was chipping away at my control, making it very difficult for me to remember that she was hurt and I couldn’t flip her onto her back, slide those sweats down, and get my tongue inside her pussy.
“Do you really like me?” she whispered. “Or is it a pity like? Or a hero complex like? Or a—” She pressed her lips together.
I was still attempting to harbor control.
I was still failing.
Even as I knew I had to say something, say anything, say . . . anything!
Get your shit together, Green!
My head finally started working again, and the one above my neck, rather than the one positioned so gloriously between her thighs. “I like you, sweetheart. I liked you even before you came to my rescue.” I lifted my hand, cupped her jaw. “And this is definitely not a pity erection.” I curled up, snaking an arm around her waist and drawing her closer to me. “This is an I-want-the-sexy-woman-on-top-of-me erection, and I want her quite desperately.”
Her mouth parted, her breath coating mine.
“Oh,” she whispered.
I tucked the strands of honey-blond hair behind her ear. “Yeah, oh.”
Hazel eyes changing color, swirling with gray and green and amber.
Then . . .
She bent and pressed her lips to mine.
At first, I couldn’t move, I was so stunned. Her lips were surprisingly soft, especially considering the night before this woman had single-handedly taken down a man six inches taller and probably fifty pounds heavier than her with ease.
And considering the chip she wore on her shoulder.
Most women melted at the first smile I tossed their way, and that wasn’t ego talking. That was plain truth and just a product of the world I lived it. I could give them something—notoriety, a job, connections they could exploit.
That was my reality.
This—a woman who didn’t melt at a flash of my dimple, who didn’t care that I was in movies, who couldn’t give two shits who my friends were—was the most incredible thing I’d experienced in a long time, and I’d been lucky enough to experience a lot of incredible things in the last few years.
My childhood had been shit.
The world knew it.
Many people had tried to exploit it.
But not Tammy. She didn’t know. She wasn’t trying to use me.
She’d saved me.
And then had stared at my body like it was a temptation she was desperate for, her hands on my skin, and now her lips against mine.
It was . . . nothing and everything and too much and not enough. It was nothing because it felt like this was a kiss she had given me a million times before. There wasn’t any learning, any fumbling my-nose-goes-this-way, yours-goes-that-way delays. Our teeth didn’t click. Our mouths didn’t miss. This was nothing extraordinary. And yet, it was also the most incredible thing I’d ever experienced. That familiarity, that sense of being home and completely comfortable was tangled
