I tapped my red Eagle card against the door, it slid open. I walked in, but didn’t put her down. Not yet. She struggled a bit in my arms, but I held her firm.
I imagined what it was like seeing our place for the first time. It looked a hell of a lot like a bachelor pad: PlayStation controllers were still on the couch, the flat screen had ESPN blaring at a piercing volume, and we had a full bar in the corner.
Trace glanced up at my face. I tried to keep myself from smiling at her awestricken expression.
When we reached the bathroom, I glanced down, first at her eyes then her full lips. “You need to clean up.”
“Because I’m a whore?” Her voice was hoarse from crying.
Trace’s expression was priceless as if she was more irritated at being called a whore than offended. “No, I think we both know you’re not a whore. You need to clean up because you smell like egg and sugar water.”
Her brow furrowed.
With a sigh, I plopped her in the middle of the bathroom. “Get in.”
When she didn’t move, I started pulling off her clothes.
“What the hell, Nixon! You can’t just strip me—”
“I can, and I will. Now step out of your skirt like a good girl.” I already had the zipper down and was fighting temptation, fighting the urge to go slower.
She huffed but stepped out of the skirt while I went over and started the bath water. When I turned back around, I nodded for her to lift her arms up. When she did, I tugged the tank top and tossed it to the floor. I glanced back up and froze. She was clad in only her underwear, a sexy-as-hell bra, and her knee-highs. I wasn’t a prude. I’d had many schoolgirl fantasies, and every damn one faded in comparison to what was standing in front of me.
She quickly wrapped her arms around her chest, looked away, and then launched herself against me sobbing. “I miss cows!”
Sexually tense moment officially gone.
I burst out laughing, unable to help it. Clearly, when she was hungry, this was how she dealt with trauma. “Sweetheart, I’m sure they miss you too. Now do you think you can manage the rest?”
“The rest?” She blinked at me through thick lashes, her hands still on my chest. It felt so damn good. She closed her eyes and sighed.
I cupped her face. “Open your eyes, Trace.”
When she opened them, she was staring directly at my lips, leaning forward. It would be easy to kiss her — too easy. And for some reason I’d found my morals and decided it would be wrong to take advantage in her current state — no matter how right it may feel. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Yeah, chant that a few times.
“Do you need me to help you take off the rest of your clothes, or can you make it from here to the tub without killing yourself?” I whispered.
“No, um, I can do it.”
I was still chanting the word wrong when I leaned forward and breathed in her neck, allowing her scent to wash over me, tickle my senses, tempt me beyond redemption. “You sure? I wouldn’t want anything to happen to—”
A fist came out of nowhere, hitting me in the arm. Chuckling, I stepped back. “Towels are in the cupboard under the sink. We have everything you need next to the tub. Just… don’t drown, okay?”
“Why would I drown?”
How the hell was I supposed to know? But it could happen! And I was suddenly aware of every single disaster that could strike in that damn bathroom. “Just…” I slammed my fist against the counter, upset at myself for being so weak. “…just, don’t make me worry, okay? I hate worrying.” Because that didn’t make me sound like a complete nursing-home escapee.
“Fine.” She nodded. “I’ll try really hard to keep myself from mermaiding it, deal?”
If I looked at her again, I was going to lose all control. Already too close, I nodded and slammed the door behind me then leaned against it, allowing my body to cool. Not working. So not working. With a curse, I peeled my dampened t-shirt from my body and stared at it. I was just about to lift it to my nose and smell it… Right. Smell the egg from Trace’s body — I knew it sounded insane — when yelling commenced from the other side of the door. Naturally, I went into Superman-mode, jerking it open and screaming, “What happened?”
Trace was standing in the middle of the bathtub.
Completely.
Naked.
Without clothes.
Without shame.
Absolutely, I would sell my soul a million times over if I could just have stared for five more minutes. Beautifully naked.
Her eyes locked with mine, and slowly her cheeks turned red as I allowed my eyes the great honor of staring at her breasts.
Mother of God. I was going to go down in flames for wanting her that much.