A hard knock at the bathroom door made me let out a startled yelp.
“Palmer?” Roman’s voice came from the other side.
My heart skittered.
I’d been in here longer than I thought.
“You okay in there?”
I let out a slow breath. “I’m fine.”
There was a pause. “Can I come in? It’s time to change your bandages.”
I bit my lip, not at all excited about the prospect, but I couldn’t do it by myself. “Sure,” I finally said.
The door swung open, and Roman stepped inside.
The bathroom was a decent size, but with Roman’s broad, muscular frame filling the space, it suddenly felt very small.
His dark eyes traveled over me—from the top of my head down to my toes—like he was searching for anything out of place.
Then his gaze shifted toward the vanity, where my body wash, shampoo, and conditioner sat out.
He glanced back at my hands, and I grimaced at how the bandages on my fingers were damp from the cloth I’d used to clean myself.
“What have you been doing now?” Exasperation threaded through his voice.
I nibbled on my bottom lip and crossed my arms over my chest, leaving my hands sticking out awkwardly.
“I needed to wash off. I was disgusting from yesterday.” I touched the lank tendrils of hair hanging past my shoulders. “I was trying to figure out how to wash my hair, though.”
I frowned, shifting on my feet.
Roman didn’t say anything for a long moment.
He stared at my hair, but then he gave a small nod and moved without saying a word. He grabbed my shampoo and conditioner from the counter and dumped them by the tub.
He strode around the bathroom like he belonged there. He grabbed two fluffy white towels from the tall linen cabinet and carried them to the bathtub, too.
The tub was beautiful in its own right—a heavy porcelain clawfoot with Victorian-style brass fixtures. The shower head rested on a cradle above the faucet like an old-fashioned telephone receiver.
Roman folded one towel and placed it neatly on the floor in front of the tub. He folded the other as small as possible and draped it carefully over the rim.
When he finished, he turned toward me, like he was expecting me to do something.
I blinked at him, still confused.
He nodded toward the towel on the floor.
“Sit,” he commanded. “I can wash your hair.”
I bristled as chills rushed over my skin. I shook my head. “No, no, you don’t have to—”
He cut me off with a hard look. “I wasn’t asking, Palmer. Sit.”
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. Hesitantly, I stepped toward the tub, mumbling, “Now who’s the bossy one?”
He raised a brow as he watched me lower onto the folded towel, which acted like a cushion against the cold tile floor.
