Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
‘I thought you might have fallen.’
Some nurse I am. I tell myself that I’m just checking on him—that I shouldn’t be surprised to see my fingers widen against his pectoral because I’m just making sure he’s okay. The motion disturbs a bead of water, my eyes tracking the rivulet with the care of a cartographer as it rolls down the landscape of his broad chest. Though not a very diligent cartographer as I become distracted by the trail of downy hair under his navel to where it disappears into the towel tucked low on his waist.
I realise I’m staring—staring like I’m wearing X-ray specs.
Unfortunately, I’m not wearing them. And I’m happy he can’t read my thoughts as Remy’s hand suddenly cups my chin, raising my gaze to his almost moss green and languid ones. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d still been wearing Sarah’s shower cap because his level of attractiveness trumps any kind of ridiculous headgear. The shade of his eyes seem to almost change with his mood.
One hand on my face becomes two as he leans in to press his lips to my left cheek, then my right. His whispered words, though French, are nothing short of perfect.
‘Merci . . . Thank you for worrying about me.’
I pull away with a sense of reluctance I feel deep in my bones. But this isn’t about me and what I want. This is about taking care of the man who’s been attacked. A man with a head injury.
Remy follows me to the bedroom, throwing his clothes on the chair next to the door, then dropping his wallet and watch negligently on top. Doesn’t he have a phone? Did it slip from his pocket when he fell from his bike?
I’d drawn my blinds last night before leaving for work and my bed was freshly made yesterday, which is just as well as I’m too tired to fight with a duvet cover right now. I peel back the bed linens and plump the pillows, savouring the floral scent of my laundry detergent.
‘I guess we shouldn’t sleep too long, not unless we want to become vampires or opossums or something. Anyway, I’ll see you in an hour or two. You know, just to make sure you haven’t died in your sleep.’ I straighten and turn quite suddenly, the plea of don’t die in your sleep drying in my throat as Remy stands in front of me, not wearing a towel but rather holding it. I mean, he’s holding it over his crotch, but what it doesn’t hide is the reflection of his ass in my dresser mirror.
An ass sculpted by squats.
An ass which, intriguingly, has no tan lines.
The man lives somewhere sunny, and evidently, near a nudist beach.
‘Right, well. Sleep tight!’ I move from the room with the approximate speed of a rocket, banishing the thoughts of his ass, though not the image, from my head.
I have to! Look, I’m no prude. I consider myself to be very much sex positive, as in I’m positive I really like sex! I like men. And I like sex with men. I’ve just had a lot to deal with lately. I haven’t had the bandwidth to deal with a relationship, not even the fun two hours kind. But right now, none of this means anything. What does matter is the fact that I’ve been tasked with this man’s care, and I’ll be damned if I end up banging him into a coma.
So I leave the room. For the both of us.
I need a shower. I’m still wearing my coat, and I have been for hours. Given the temperature isn’t too bad inside right now, I’m kind of baking under the thing.
Close proximity to a hot guy
+ a flash of his hot ass
+ coat wearing inside
= Rose needs to shower.
I strip, ready to brave the kind of shower only my washing machine can provide. Hot, cold, then arctic. But I’ve played shower roulette before, usually when I’ve said something to piss off Sarah. Unfortunately, when I get out, I find my robe isn’t hanging on the back of the bathroom door where it usually is, and when I go to pull another towel from the shelf, there’s only one lonely handtowel left. Damn. Which leaves me the choice of creeping into my bedroom wearing nothing but a tiny towel or my coat. I go with the first option because, ew, and also because Remy should be asleep right now.
After a stealthy tip-toeing dash along the hall, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of my room. Thankfully, he is asleep. I mean, he looks asleep, plus he’s also facing the other way. Which also means he’s facing the dresser mirror, and one flash, inadvertent or not, is enough for today.
But is it really, my mind supplies, because you hardly complained.