He turns, his face hard and his hair plastered to his skin. “What the fuck were you doing out there? You could’ve gotten hurt.” The calm is over, and now the storm has moved inside.
“I—I thought I saw Mabel out there. I was just trying to...” I sob. “I was just trying to help her, but it was a stupid serving rack, and then the waves got stronger and I didn’t count to seven and I slipped and—” A hiccup shakes my chest and I draw in a ragged breath.
“Never mind. Save your strength.” The anger has left his voice. When I open my eyes again to look at him, all I see is concern and relief. “You can tell me later.”
And with that, he scoops me up like a little kid and carries me. At first I want to tell him to let go of me, and that I’m still mad at him, but the words die unspoken. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my face against the warmth of his chest. His shirt’s still wet and sticky, but I can hear his heartbeat through it and that feels too good to ruin by arguing.
He heads straight for the elevator, keeping his feet even with the rocking of the ship. The idea of being trapped in an elevator during the storm still scares me, but I trust his judgement and he doesn’t hesitate, hitting the call button. The doors open immediately. Most people are keeping in their staterooms today.
We ride up in silence, and he never lets me go. I’m pretty sure I can stand just fine on my own now, but I don’t say anything. I remember the last time he carried me. It was over the threshold on our wedding night. With all my heart I wish I could relive that night instead of the bickering and accusations that will probably begin as soon as he puts me down.
Our suite’s a mess. The room service cart from last night has fallen over, scattering popcorn, napkins and what was left of the melted ice. The rocking’s worse up here, but not as bad as I remember from this morning. Maybe the storm is settling.
I push at his chest, and squirm a bit expecting him to put me down, but instead he brings me right into the bathroom, sets me on the floor and starts the shower. “We need to get you warmed up. Don’t take this the wrong way, babe, but you look like hell.”
A glance in the mirror leaves me speechless. I don’t know if I’d say hell, but it’s not my finest moment. “Yeah well,” My teeth clack together as a shiver runs through me. “You aren’t exactly a catch either. Unless it’s the catch of the day.”
He laughs and bends down, unzipping my hoodie. “I can’t gawk at you in the shower if you’re wearing all these things.”
And here I thought I’d be glad if I never saw that smirk again. It actually makes me smile.
“Hey.” I protest, but weakly, my teeth still chattering. I’m pretty sure I can undress myself just fine, but it feels nice when he does it. We aren’t arguing yet, and I want to enjoy the feeling for as long as I can.
He drops my hoodie on the floor with a wet plop, then pulls me gently to my feet. I shiver in front of him, only my bra covering my top half. His gaze darkens as he takes in my breasts, but he’s all business as he hooks his fingers into my sweatpants and yanks them off along with my panties. Blood rushes to my face and my flush battles the residual cold from the wind and rain.
“Turn around,” he orders.
I clutch my arms in front of me and obey mechanically, until he stops me with his hands on my upper arms. He unlatches my bra and slips it off. I half expect him to grope me as he does, but he’s a perfect gentleman. “Alright, in you go.” The gentleman act goes right out the window when he lands a sharp smack on my ass to get me moving.
I forget to be annoyed when the hot water streams over me. God, that’s good. Two days ago I’d have said better than sex, but now I’m not so sure. I tilt my face up at the showerhead, the warm water streaming over my skin a welcome change from the stinging rain outside. For several long moments, I forget about anything else.
Chapter 30: Angie
I snap out of it when I hear the shower door open and close behind me. I sense him just before I catch him out of the corner of my eye.
He’s naked, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. Nothing has changed, including the way I react to him. Except now that I know how he can make me feel, the heat of the shower is nothing compared to the heat that’s pooling between my legs. Even so, the last time we were in the room together he pretty much called me a gold digging slut. My whole body tenses at the memory.
“My clothes were soaked too,” is all I get in explanation. He’s got a washcloth, which he reaches past me to get wet before he douses it in shower soap. “Stand still.” So close behind me that we’re almost touching, he begins to scrub my back and shoulders.