But then, why should he, when he had the face and body of a Greek god? Or, more accurately, a blond Norse god.
She was absolutely not going there!
Not just because an attraction to him would be a mistake on her part, but she had Daisy to think of too.
Sam turned away abruptly. ‘You should get in the shower now; it’s starting to steam up in there.’ She opened the glass door in readiness.
‘I believe that’s what I was trying to do earlier,’ he bit out.
Sam kept her gaze averted as she heard Xander limping across to where she stood, her cheeks feeling warm as she heard the rustle of the towel before he held it out for her to take.
‘Oh, for—!’ Xander sighed his impatience as he saw that Samantha couldn’t even look at him directly. ‘Go and wait in the bedroom if my nakedness offends you so much.’
‘It doesn’t!’ she snapped defensively, the colour that suffused her cheeks giving lie to that claim.
‘No?’ Xander challenged.
‘No!’
‘It certainly looks to me as if it does,’ he mocked.
‘Then there must be something wrong with your eyesight.’ Samantha grabbed the towel from him before fleeing the bathroom.
As if the hounds of hell were chasing her, Xander noted.
Because it certainly wasn’t him!
He couldn’t catch a snail at the moment, let alone a fit and healthy woman determined to avoid being alone with him.
A fact his arousal seemed totally unappreciative of. ‘Not going to happen tonight, I’m afraid,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Or for some nights to come,’ he added grimly. Samantha had made it obvious she was completely unavailable.
It would have been far better for his peace of mind—and his aching body—if his carer had been that muscle-bound tattooed man.
Tattoos...
Now that was a tantalising thought. If Samantha did have a tattoo what would it be and where would it be? A flower or a butterfly, perhaps? On her shoulder? Her breast? Or maybe her lower back, at the top of the curve of that deliciously rounded bottom?
Not helping, Sterne.
And yet the image—the fantasy—lingered as he washed his hair and rinsed his aching body.
* * *
‘You can turn around now. I’m perfectly decent!’
Then Xander’s definition of decent must be vastly different from her own, Sam decided as she turned to watch him as he limped awkwardly into the bedroom, another towel, only slightly larger than the previous one, secured about his naked hips. Making the decision she had made, while he was showering, not to show any reaction to his nakedness, completely null and void.
Because he was definitely perfect. But decent? Absolutely not!
He looked like a pagan god who had risen from the sea, his chest still gleaming with droplets of water from where he had obviously washed his hair in the shower, that tousled blondness appearing darker when damp, the long length of his legs obviously also still wet and dripping water onto the carpet.