Into the Fire. Leslie Kelly
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is,” she continued awkwardly, “feel free to take…”
You home with me?
“The bathroom. It’s all yours,” she finally said as she stepped into the gym and turned her back to him.
“Sure,” he muttered. “And I’m finished with the phone.”
He somehow refrained from touching her as he walked past her into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, wondering how the sight of her, a woman he’d known for less than an hour, could reduce him to one large walking case of need. Those eyes, that smile, those pretty feet and delicately boned ankles—she had aroused him more than any other woman had in his lifetime.
When he’d regained control of himself, he stripped off the rest of his wet clothes and toweled off. The towel he’d grabbed from a rack was damp, and as he used it, he caught a scent of something sweet and flowery, like the smell of his mother’s roses that grew on a trellis along the back porch of his parents’ home in West Virginia.
Her perfume. Her scent filled his head, and he lifted the towel to his face to breathe it in. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he dropped the towel and glanced into the mirror. Had the blow to his head made him utterly delusional? When he saw the trickle of blood dripping from his hairline, he thought maybe it had.
Hanging in a bathroom closet were several of those white terry-cloth robes, like the one she wore. He grabbed one and threw it on to cover his naked body, then opened the door. “Uh, do you think there’s a medicine cabinet or something around here?”
She stood right outside the door, obviously finished with her phone call. “Yes, there is, in the linen closet. Why?”
“I think I need to bandage this.”
When she saw the blood dripping down his face, she gasped and ordered him into the bathroom. “Sit!” she said, pushing him toward a vanity stool.
“I can take care of it, if you could help me find the bandages.”
“Good grief, why didn’t you tell me? Looks like the chair hit you right above the temple and broke the skin.”
“I didn’t realize it was bleeding.”
She stepped closer, leaning down to push his hair back and look at his scalp. He closed his eyes as she nudged his legs apart with her own and moved to stand between them. When she leaned closer, so close he could see a tiny freckle on the top curve of one creamy breast, he couldn’t contain a groan.
“Am I hurting you?”
You’re killing me!
“Not a bit.”
“Can I touch it? I promise to be gentle.”
Touch it? Lady, just shoot me and put me out of my misery.
“I trust you.” He bit the words out.
She took a wet facecloth and brushed it over his cut.
“Ow,” he said with a wince.
“Baby,” she teased. “It’s tiny.”
“It hurts.”
“Big tough man.” She looked down, obviously to make sure he was kidding and she hadn’t really hurt him.
Nate couldn’t resist. “I think a kiss would make it better.”
“Sorry, I’m not kissing your bloody head.”
“I’ll settle for a kiss somewhere else,” he said with a chuckle.
“Somewhere else? Okay. Constitution Hall,” she said dryly. “Five years from Sunday.”
“It’s a date.”
Nate waited patiently while she carefully cleaned his cut, then covered it with some ointment. Every brush of her fingers heightened his awareness. Every time she moved, his senses roared to life. Her scent filled his brain. He memorized the shape of her neck, the curve of her collarbone.
While she helped him, they talked about the party, about the publishing industry, about silly things like thong underwear and swimming with clothes on. He adored the sound of her laughter and used every bit of willpower he had to resist pulling her onto his lap to thoroughly kiss her smiling lips.
At one point, she leaned over and grabbed a small pair of scissors out of the medicine chest on the counter, not noticing, perhaps, that her robe slipped off one shoulder. Nate’s heart rate kicked up. He took a deep breath, wanting to reach out and touch her skin with the tip of his index finger. Only that. Just to see if she felt as soft as she looked.
When she turned her attention to him, she obviously saw his interest. She flushed, her face turning a charming pink. Then she casually tugged the robe up and cinched the belt tighter.
“So, you never told me why you felt the need to hide out from J.T.’s party,” Nate said, trying to break the heavy, charged silence in the bathroom.
She shrugged. “I guess I felt the same way you did. Superficial people. All ambitious. All on the prowl.”
She fell silent, and Nate noticed her hand shaking as she bandaged his cut with some gauze and medical tape. “You okay?”
“I’m wondering how long I can be gone without attracting attention. My friend is going to go to my apartment to get me something else to wear. I can’t just disappear.”
“Right. It’s complicated,” he said, remembering her earlier comment.
“Exactly.”
“Complicated for you? Or for someone else?”
She stepped away from him, from between his legs, and busied herself putting away the medical supplies. “Several someone elses, as a matter of fact,” she admitted.
Nate heard a quiver in her voice and noticed her eyes were shiny and bright. “Hey, are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. It’s not you. It’s tonight, this party.” She paused. “J.T.”
Nate snorted. “You know the old reprobate personally, do you?”
She paused, her eyes widening with surprise. “You know him too?”
Nate shrugged. “As much as I want to. Has he been bothering you? Is that what’s going on?”
A rueful smile spread across her face. “He’s bothered me. Not in the way you think.” Then she shook her head and turned to put away the medicine kit. She took her time about it, peering intently at something on the shelf of the linen closet with her back to him. Nate saw her take something off the shelf and slip it into the oversize pocket of her robe before she closed the closet door.
When she turned, her eyes were bright and sparkling. She bit the corner of her lip, suddenly looking both mischievous and nervous. Nate considered asking her if she’d just stolen something from J.T. Birmingham’s bathroom, wondering if the superrich used some exotic type of toothpaste, but she distracted him by pointing to his robe.
“So is someone bringing you some clothes?”
“No,” Nate admitted as he stood and followed her out of the bathroom. Some of the forced intimacy caused by their close proximity in the bathroom evaporated in the cavernous gym area. “I planned to run home to my apartment to change. Unfortunately, while I was undressing I realized my keys are no longer in the pocket of my wet pants. I imagine they’re somewhere at the bottom of the pool, meaning I take another swim or I come up with another way to get some clothes.”
“Could you get someone to go by your place and pick something up for you?”
“Yeah, I probably could. My neighbor keeps a spare key for me, so I could call and ask him to let someone in,” he replied. “In the meantime, I guess we both hide out here.” He walked to the trampoline and leaned against its edge. “So