Her nipples were already tight and aching, her breasts heavy with need. He’d had the decency not to comment on that little tidbit, but he knew. He damn well knew.
“Reggie, you’re hurt and you’re tired,” he said gently. “For once let me take care of you without worrying about what comes next, okay?”
Without waiting for her to respond, he took a washcloth, lathered it with soap and began a slow sweep of her body. Each brush across her nipples yielded needle-like twinges. He worked slowly and with great care across her rib cage, barely touching the bruised area.
His hand slid around back and up and down her spine then over the swell of her buttocks. He knelt and did a quick swipe of both legs before straightening back up again.
He frowned as he tilted her chin upward to expose her neck. Anger glinted hard, like diamonds in his eyes. He ran a single finger over the bruised expanse of her throat. The washcloth followed behind, leaving a soapy trail in its wake.
“Okay, turn around so I can rinse,” he directed.
He cupped her elbow to steady her as she swiveled around. He made quick work of rinsing the soap from her hair and body then reached up to turn the water off.
“Stay right there. Let me get you a towel. I don’t want you stepping out onto this wet floor. It’s slippery.”
A moment later, he wrapped her in a towel then curled his arm around her and helped her out of the shower. The door opened, and Sawyer stuck his head in. He extended his hand with a folded pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Cam took the clothes and tossed them near the sink.
“I think I can manage now,” she said in a low voice.
He touched her lightly on the arm. “I’ll be right outside. Don’t be stubborn, Reggie. If you need help, ask for it. I don’t want to have to come in here and pick your ass up off the floor after you’ve taken a nosedive.”
She smiled and clutched the towel a little tighter around her. Her chest felt all fluttery, tight, like she couldn’t breathe around the little squeeze.
He opened the door and walked out, shutting it behind him. She sank onto the toilet seat and closed her eyes. Her hands shook as she peeled away the towel. She felt dangerously close to crying, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why.
Maybe because you nearly got your ass killed. Maybe because the three men who mean the world to you have decided to launch a full-frontal assault?
She reached for the clothes, knowing they wouldn’t give her long before they came in after her. As she pulled on the sweats, she grimaced. She hated the idea of showing up to an interview with her chief in sweats and a T-shirt, but at the same time she knew that Hutch had chosen the only thing she could possibly be comfortable in. Loose and not confining, the sweats and the T-shirt wouldn’t irritate her bruised ribs. Then there was the whole issue of going into the police station without a bra. God help her.
Hutch’s leather jacket. The one he was never without no matter how damn hot it got. She could use it.
Feeling marginally better about the situation, she ran her fingers through her hair after toweling more of the moisture from it. The curls spilled around her head in disarray, and with a resigned sigh, she gave up on trying to make herself presentable. No one would give a shit what she looked like anyway.
She hesitated a fraction of a second before opening the bathroom door. Sawyer was there, as though he’d been waiting, and he probably had been. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her up close to his side as he helped her toward the bed.
Knowing she would be talking to a brick wall, she didn’t even bother offering a protest. She gave a disgruntled sigh and let him put her where he wanted her.
As he helped her back onto the bed, she looked over at Hutch.
“Thanks for the clothes.”
He smiled. “Anytime, baby.”
She was just about to lean back against the pillows on her bed and indulge in some much-needed rest when the door flew open, startling her.
She tensed, causing a rush of pain to course through her body. As she viewed the man standing in the doorway, an ache began in her head that was absent before.
Her father.
“Regina,” he said with a frown as he strode in. “Care to tell me why I had to hear about the incident you got yourself involved in from the media? Damage control. How many times do I have to impress upon you the need for damage control?”
Her hand fluttered to her forehead. God, not now. What she wouldn’t give to make him go away.
Sawyer eased closer to the bed. It dipped, and she found herself securely resting against his muscled body. For once she had no desire to make him go away.
Peter Fallon looked around the room as if for the first time seeing that Regina wasn’t alone. His scowl grew.
