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Oliver brought it to her, and she carefully arranged her hair into a high and loose, migraine-friendly bun.
“If anything hurts or you want to stop, just say so okay?”
“I will.”
Holding the handheld shower head, Oliver pointed it toward the drain while tugging the faucet’s diverter, closing off the tap. “So, in three, two, one…”
Warm water cascaded down her shoulders and breasts, riddling her cool skin with another smattering of goosebumps. Georgie sucked in a breath and tensed.
He veered the spray away from her. “Too much?”
“No, it’s just…that first touch of water always makes me jump.” Thankfully, within seconds, her body had acclimatized and she was basking in foamy bubbles and the tenderness of his touch. Never handsy or inappropriate, just loving, like Oliver.
So far, so good, but hair washing during a migraine attack was a trickier challenge.
Oliver cocked his head with concern. “What would be less painful: leaning forward slightly or tipping your head back?”
“Leaning forward.” Gripping the side edges of the seat, Georgie tucked her chin and closed her eyes, hoping this endeavour wouldn’t end up an agonizing mistake.
Saturating her hair, Oliver massaged her scalp for a few minutes, his soothing touch easing the stiffness in her jaw and shoulders.
“Feels nice,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed as Oliver rested the shower head in the tub.
The crumple of plastic was followed by a familiar whiff of subtle apple. “I’ll warm the shampoo first.” After rubbing his palms together, Oliver worked the shampoo through her roots with his fingertips and then down to the ends, his pace slow and meticulous. “Tell me if I’m pulling.”
“Nope.” Georgie uncurled her fingers from the chair. “You could teach my hairdresser a thing or two.”
He laughed. “Hey, if my museum gig doesn’t work out…”
With one full pass completed, he returned to Georgie’s scalp and temples, the gentle circular caress of his fingertips flooding her body with slouchy contentment. She sighed with pleasure, her chin dipping closer to her chest as the minutes melted away.
“Okay, time to rinse.”
Ahh, do we have to? Georgie moaned internally, intoxicated by all the delightful feel-good chemicals turning her into a puddle. Who knew Oliver’s head massages were even better than his foot rubs?
“I’ll give you a folded hand towel you can hold against your face. It’ll shield your eyes from the rinsing shampoo.”
Oliver must’ve done this before. He’d thought of everything.
Georgie held the terrycloth bundle over her eyes as Oliver swished water through her long tresses, and, as promised, not a single trickle of stingy lather breached her lashes. Conditioner followed, along with another thorough rinse and several tentative squeezes to remove water.
“Hang tight, stay seated. We’re almost there.” Oliver wrapped her wet hair in a towel and swaddled her body in two more, the cozy cocoon curving the corners of Georgie’s mouth. He softly patted her skin dry and asked, “How you feel?”
“Like jelly.” She pried her eyes open and blinked lazily. “So relaxed and cl-eeean!”
“That’s what we like to hear.” He hung up the shower head. “Spa Jönsson aims to please.”
Spying Waffles nestled by the door, Georgie blew him a kiss and rose from the chair with a wobble, but Oliver intervened, lifting her safely from the bathtub. Together they stood, gathered in a tender hug, neither of them in any hurry to move. Leesa was so right. Georgie grinned against his damp shoulder. He IS a keeper.
“Just one more thing.” He kissed her nose. “I promise.”
Helping her sit on the closed toilet, he stepped away and collected her hairbrush, gifting Georgie with an unfettered view of his boxer shorts and drenched Henley, clinging to his chest and abs. If only her head wasn’t hurting, towels and clothes would be marking a trail back to his bed.
Her fantasy on hold, Oliver delicately brushed her hair and brought her (still towel-wrapped) to his room. He helped her put on clean underwear, a roomy tee, one of his Oxford University sweatshirts, and her favourite pair of plaid pyjama bottoms.
Comfy and cared for, the warmest feeling in the world. She sat on his bed beside Waffles and held a towel around her dripping ends while Oliver removed a hairdryer from his closet.
“I can take over,” she said, knowing he was in for a time-consuming, arm-aching chore.
