I dropped my gaze, studying the wooden floor.“I don’t usually need help.”
“Well, right now you do,” he said firmly.“And apparently I’m all you’ve got.”
I glanced up.“Why are you being so nice about all of this?”
He leaned closer.“Because I like you, Spencer, and you need my help.I like helping people.”He hesitated.“I like helping you.”
My chest warmed at how sincere he sounded.“It would be nice to be clean.”
“See?”He smiled.“It’s no big deal.Really.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I’m going to help you undress now.It’ll probably be uncomfortable.”
“You can just say it,” I mumbled.“It’s going to be painful, and we both know it.”
“Yeah.Sorry.”
He studied my clothes as if trying to figure out the best way to get them off.I was wearing a T-shirt one of the nurses had given me from the hospital’s lost and found.My own clothes had been shredded in the accident.The same nurse had also given me a pair of jeans that were too big.
“How about you lift your arms?Can you do that?”he asked.
“I can try.”I winced as he helped me lift them, gritting my teeth to keep from crying out when my ribs shifted painfully.
I was covered in sweat by the time he managed to get my shirt off.Declan’s jaw clenched as his gaze skated over my injuries.The bruising on my left side was vivid, purple and yellow, spreading from my hip up across my ribs.My left forearm was raw from wrist to elbow, where I’d skidded across the gravel, the skin torn in patches and already scabbing over.
“No wonder you’re grumpy,” he said softly.“You must be in a lot of pain.I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
“It’s fine.”I kept my eyes down, feeling self-conscious.
“You’ll feel better once you have a shower and are in bed.”As he spoke, he slowly unzipped my jeans.He helped me lift my hips, and he gently tugged the jeans off my legs.He once more looked angry as he took in the bruising and scrapes on my legs.
He toed off his dress shoes, and then undid his tie.Next, he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed both on the end of the bed.He stripped off his trousers and underwear with the same efficiency.He wasn’t in the least bit self-conscious, and why would he be?
I openly watched him undress because I couldn’t help it.He was so fucking hot, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.His shoulders were broad, his stomach flat, two V-lines ran diagonally from the hips down toward his groin.A thin line of auburn hair trailed down from his navel, and I couldn’t help looking at his dick.He had such a nice dick.Thick and long, and at the moment, half hard.
He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow.“Are you objectifying me right now?”
My cheeks warmed.“My ribs are injured.I’m not blind.”
He smiled and went into the bathroom.He reached into the shower and turned on the water, testing the temperature with his hand.Once it was warm, he returned to me and helped me hobble into the bathroom.He stepped in and then helped me in after him.The shower was small enough that we were immediately close, chest to chest, the water streaming down between us.
Declan adjusted the showerhead so the spray wasn’t hitting my bruised left side directly.The heat felt incredible on my battered body.I closed my eyes and let it run over my shoulders and down my back, loosening clenched muscles.The relief only lasted a second.When I shifted my weight, a sharp pain flared through my ribs, and I sucked in a careful breath, forcing myself to stay still.
He squeezed some shampoo into his hand and worked it into my hair.His fingers moved gently over my scalp, avoiding the stitches above my temple.I tipped my head back and gave in to the moment, the warm water rinsing the lather down my neck and shoulders.The room tilted for a second, and I tightened my grip on his arm until it passed.Nobody had washed my hair since I was a kid.His fingertips against my scalp and the warmth of the water and the closeness of him felt painfully intimate.
“Feel good?”he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” he said huskily.
“You’re not hurting me.”
He rinsed my hair and then reached for the body soap.He worked up a lather between his hands and started at my shoulders, his palms sliding across my skin, broad strokes down my arms, across my back.He was gentle but thorough, washing away the accident and the hospital.
When his hands moved to my chest, I opened my eyes.He was watching what he was doing, his face close to mine, water running down his jaw.His fingers traced carefully around the edge of the bruising on my ribs, barely touching, and then moved lower across my stomach.Lower.Lower.The touch shifted.It was still gentle, still caring, but something underneath it had changed.His hands slowed down.His breathing was different.
