She looked almost drunk. Heavy-lidded and flushed and dazed all at once.
She blinked up, and for a second, the world narrowed to just the two of us. Water dripped from her wet hair and steam clung to our skin. I nearly kissed her.
Instead, I grabbed the towel from beneath her head and carefully wrapped it around her hair, squeezing out the excess water.
She watched me as I worked, tracking every movement.
When her hair was no longer dripping, I dropped the towel.
“Done,” I said, waiting for her to raise her head and get to her feet.
She didn’t move. I arched an eyebrow.
“I’m…not sure if I can get up,” she admitted.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I feel…like Jello.”
A slow grin pulled at my mouth before I could stop it. Satisfaction bloomed in my chest, dark and a little wild.
“So sensitive,” I murmured.
A deeper crimson crept across her cheeks. She gave me a small, embarrassed smile but didn’t argue.
I crouched down in front of her, still grinning. “Up you go.”
I slid my hands under her arms, and I pulled her gently to her feet.
She swayed a little on the spot. I caught her by the hips, steadying her until she found her balance. My hands lingered there longer than they should have.
I could pull her to me right now if I wanted to. I could lift her into my arms and carry her straight to that bed.
Would she let me? Would she want me to?
I swallowed and forced myself to step back before temptation overruled common sense.
“Come on,” I said roughly, taking her elbow instead of her waist. “We still need to change your bandages.”
Duty. Responsibility. They were the only things standing between me and losing my damn mind.
I walked her toward the sink. “Stay right here,” I told her. “I’ll be right back.”
She seemed curious, but she only nodded and then I stepped into her bedroom to grab the grocery bag I’d left on the bed. I’d gone to the store after dropping Hailey off at school and picked up burn supplies—nonstick pads, ointment, and sterile gauze. They were things I should have already had on hand.
When I returned to the bathroom, her gaze pinned me in place the second I crossed the threshold. It was ridiculous how quickly my body reacted to her presence—like I’d taken a full breath outside the room and now the air had thickened.
I set the bag down on the counter beside the sink and unpacked it. “I got a few more things for you.” I kept my tone even.
When I finished laying everything out, I turned to her. “Let me see your hands.”
She hesitated for a moment before holding them out for me.
I worked carefully, unwrapping the old bandages and inspecting the damage beneath. Her fingers were red but the blisters on her palms were shallow.
She had been lucky it wasn’t worse.
I cleaned each palm with careful precision, dried them, applied ointment, and began to rewrap them. My movements were steady and practiced. I’d treated worse injuries before; I’d had some EMT training, but something about tending to hers made my chest tight.
