“Why were you so mad when you saw me this morning on your steps?”
“I thought someone beat you.”
Warmth curled through me, but I shoved it aside. “Now you’re being kind to me. Why?”
“Seems like you need it. Are you done busting my chops?”
“I guess so.”
“Arms up.”
“No.” I stated. “I’m not wearing a bra.”
His smile was slow. “Yeah. I know.”
“Bite me.”
“Don’t tempt me, babe.”
“Don’tbabeme. And the pajama tank stays on.”
“Fine. Put your hand on my shoulder,” he commanded, playing with the drawstring of my pajama pants. I placed my good hand on him to keep my balance. My gaze found a spot on the far wall while he slid my pants down over my legs. I stepped out of them, clad in nothing but black, serviceable underwear.
Granny panties.
I wanted to die of embarrassment.
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t,” I warned. “Just don’t.”
His smile was full of laughter and teasing as he stood up straight. Colt’s hands went to my hips and a spear of heat went through me.
Unexpected.
Unwelcome.
Sort of.
“Sit on the edge of the tub. Stick your feet in the water and try not to fall in this time.”
“Where are you going?” I asked him when he moved away, taking his smile and warmth with him.
“Getting a washcloth.”
“Oh.”
He didn’t go far, just to a narrow linen closet to pull out a green washcloth and a big matching towel. After setting the towel on the sink, he came back to the tub. He kneeled and dunked the washcloth into the tepid water.
“Give me your foot.”
I awkwardly swung around and set a tender, scraped foot onto his knee. I marveled at his caress. For such a large man, a rough biker, it was completely surprising. He cleaned my foot and then gestured for the other. Just as he was finishing up, there was a knock on the bathroom door and then a female head popped in.
I frowned. Colt had said there were no women here to help me. Had he lied?
“Hi,” she greeted with a smile, her eyes darting between Colt and me.
“Hey.” Colt’s answering grin was easy when he looked at her, and useless jealousy blasted through my stomach.