“No.” She shook her head and pointed again at the toilet lid. “You played Florence Nightingale for me. Let me return the favor.”
He shrugged and sat down while she wetted a washcloth with warm water. Then he hissed when she began scrubbing at his wound. “Ow! For shit’s sake, take it easy!”
“Hush, you big baby.” She slapped his arm. “I have to get it clean or it’ll get infected.”
Gritting his teeth, he muttered, “It’s a good thing you went into the scuba divin’ business and not the nursin’ business.”
One corner of her mouth quirked. “I swear, I have eaten steaks that were tougher than you’re acting right now.”
“Someone should fire that chef,” he muttered, then heaved a sigh of relief when she satisfied herself that his wound was clean. She reached for the ointment, and the move brought her breasts near his face. He wasthisclose to those delicious nipples.
Halfway to heaven but headed straight to hell, he thought again, unable to take his eyes off her breasts even as she continued to doctor his arm.
Maybe it was the heaven/hell reference, but for some reason, the song “Hotel California” started playing in his head. He hummed the first few bars as she stuck a gauze pad over his elbow. Then he sang aloud while she wrestled with the tape.
“What did you sing?” There was a delighted twinkle in her eyes as she secured the edges of his bandage.
He groaned. “What did I get wrong this time?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “Did you singCool Whip in my hair?”
He knew his expression was chagrined when he quietly asked, “Is that not right?”
That Fourth of July laugh of hers filled the bathroom when she threw back her head. He sat there, fighting a grin, because it was the happiest sound in the world. When she finally lowered her chin, she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.
“It’scool windin my hair.” Her voice was thick with humor. “Who puts Cool Whip in their hair?”
“I don’t know. Someone who ran out of hair gel?”
“And again with the food!” She slapped her thigh.
“Is Cool Whip really food?” he countered. “Or is it more afood product, like Velveeta?”
She tried to sober, and failed. Her eyes sparkled, her mouth twitched. “So…is it that you’re hungry every time you’re listening to music, or that you need to get your hearing tested?”
“That’s it,” he declared, shoving to a stand. “That’s the last time I sing in front of you.”
“No!” She grabbed his shoulder. “Please,pleasedon’t ever stop singing in front of me. I love your misheard lyrics. They’re becoming the highlight of my days.”
“Oh, look.” He glanced at his watch. “My magic watch says you don’t have any clothes on.” When she frowned down at her tank top and shorts, he dropped his voice. “You do? Then the damn thing must be five minutes fast.”
As he’d hoped, that was all it took to stop her teasing. Her throat worked over a hard swallow and her eyes were heavy lidded when she looked at him.
Then, because she was Chrissy, and because she could never let anyone get one over on her, she arched one eyebrow. “Mmm. And here I was thinking, you know, given all your big talk in the hospital, thatyouwere going to strip forme.”
“Your wish is my command, darlin’.” He held out his hand.
When she slid her fingers into his, he knew, for better or worse, from this moment on, his life was changed forever.
Chapter 25
2:00 PM…
Wolf slowly unbuttoned his fly. And the calculated, lazy way he did it with one hand made the act look like pure, denim porn.
Chrissy had been teasing about the striptease. But the moment they stepped into her bedroom and Wolf indicated she should lie down on the bed, she’d knownhehadn’t been teasing.
Thank you, Levi Strauss!
