I filled another glass for him.
“I was in the office when the explosion went off,” he said, after drinking the second glass. “I had barely the time to reach the door before the ceiling collapsed. After that, I don’t remember anything. Do you know if there have been casualties?”
“No. Allen ordered us to check the grounds, and I didn’t meet anyone who had news. Then Miss Hammond asked me to come here.” I took a deep breath. “But there must have been. The explosion was massive, and the corridors of the hospital were filled with bleeding people on the stretchers. I guess the flammable substances stored in the mill fuelled the fire. The entire estate was thick with smoke. It was horrible.”
“Hell. This is serious.” He was still stroking my head. “Unprecedented.”
“Michael thinks it’s the IRA.” I kissed his chest, just because I wanted to.
“I don’t believe that. It’s something more sinister. It’s not a coincidence that someone breaks into my room and then the mill blows up.”
“Weeks have passed between the two incidents though.”
“Because the perpetrator needed time to study the mill.” Wincing, he propped himself on his elbows and sat upright.
“What are you doing?” I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to push him down.
“I need to wash, then I want to talk to Allen.”
“You’ve barely recovered. Can’t you wait until tomorrow?”
“I want to know how many people have died and if I can help.” He stood, half naked in the moonlight, utterly breathtaking, and staggered towards the other side of the room. One of the perks of being the condottiero was he got to have a room with an attached bathroom all to himself.
“Let me help you.” I stood up.
He arched a brow but nodded.
What was I doing? I wasn’t sure, but the moment I shut the bathroom door behind us, my knees weakened. Wearing only his black hallowed silk underwear, he stepped into the shower. The healing job I’d performed mustn’t have been great if he staggered like that. When he’d healed me, I’d been as good as new the next day.
“You seem in pain,” I said, removing my shirt and trousers. “I didn’t heal you properly.”
Steam rose when he turned the hot water tap and stood under the jet. “My wounds were more serious than the ones you suffered. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”
But I wouldn’t. Not in two days or in ten. The image of drops of water sluicing down his body would haunt me forever, intrude into my dreams, and fill my mind during the day, causing me a lot of distraction. He put his hands on the tile and let the water wash down his back. On my tiptoes, I stepped into the shower and took the bar of soap I’d used earlier. My own hallowed silk suit became soaked in a moment as I ran the soap over his back. Should I remove it? That would be…awesome, but the man was in pain, and I should behave. He winced, muscles contracting under my fingers.
“Do you feel pain?” I asked.
“A bit.”
I’d say a lot, judging by how he paled.
Suds covered my hands, his back, and shoulders, the fresh fragrance of pine resin filling the air. He let me soap his legs. The large wound on his thigh was now a thin line, but he grimaced when I touched it.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure I did a good job.”
“I don’t think there’s an infection. That’s the most important thing.” He turned around, his eyes gleaming like a flash in the dark.
I swallowed the hard lump in my throat and offered him the soap. “Do you want to continue on your own?”
“No,” came the merciless answer.
Very well. If he didn’t feel uncomfortable, I had no reason to be. I inched closer, the water raining over his broad shoulders, so broad they nearly skimmed both walls. The sharp intake of breath he took when I put my hands on his chest made me pause.
“Am I hurting you?” I asked, searching the chest wound for any signs of bleeding or reddening.
“No.” Same answer as before, only huskier and raw.
“All right. I’ll keep going then.”