Page 13 of Kandie Shoppe

“Woah.” I get hold of her shoulder, steadying her. “You need to take it easy.”

“And you,” she snatches herself way so hard she almost topples back onto the bed, “need to get the hell out of my place.” She looks around like she’s trying to assess if I’ve been rifling through her stuff as meager as it is.

“I didn’t touch anything other than the book.” I nod toward the writing nook where I sat reading most of the night after putting her to bed.

“Um, well, thanks for everything.” Looking everywhere but me, she steadies herself, but I can’t still help but feel like sheneeds someone looking over her and damn if I don’t want it to be me, bad memories be damned.

As uncomfortable as she looks, I should take that as my cue to leave, but something won’t let me leave her.

“You should take the day off. You have a concussion and you’re banged up pretty bad,” I tell her. “Not to mention you are barely sober.”

“First of all, I can bake blindfolded. Second, I run my own business. I don’t have thousands of underpaid workers doing the job for me. So, if I don’t work, I don’t eat.” She’s fuming. I let her little dig at my family slide because I couldn’t care less about what people say about how dirty Shelby money is. My father cut ties with his family long before I was born.

“You. Have. A. Concussion.” Slowly enunciating each word only seems to incense her further.

“Fuck. You.” Adding a middle finger, she turns from me deliberately or still too tipsy or disoriented from her fall to realize she’s showing her curvy backside to me including that big juicy ass that has me biting back a groan.

Keeping her back to me she disappears into the shower, not bothering to give me another look.

Now, I’m the one standing looking after her with my dick hard, rage simmering. Kandie Love clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is good for her and it definitely isn’t pushing me.

“Damn,” I mutter, going back over to the seating area picking up the book she’s so worried about. Just as I take my seat, I hear a crash like several bottles have tumbled, and a muffled cry.

Before I can even think of what I’m doing, I’m already shoving her bathroom door open. The rustic copper pipes are pumping steam so hard I can barely see my hand in front of me. Following the sound, I head over to the shower. She’s on her knees fumbling with bottles.

“I knew I should have taken a bath,” she mutters more to herself though something tells me she’s perfectly aware I am right behind her.

“I told you to take the day.” My voice sounds raw to my own ears. My heart is slamming in my chest like I ran a marathon. Seeing her like this —

“And I told you to leave,” she spits out with a vengeance.

“Nobody likes a mean drunk,” I tell her, stepping into the shower when it becomes obvious she can’t stand on her own.

“Nobody likes a jolly alabaster giant know-it-all either, and put me down. I’ll sit down but I’m not going around dirty,” she argues, trying to push out of my arms.

Resisting I line her up against the shower’s rose gold subway tile. Using one hand to hold her steady I squeeze the vanilla-rose liquid soap onto the sponge.

After squeezing it a couple times I start making long up and down swipes along her body careful of her still fresh bruises.

“Ow, you’re too rough,” she whines. “I’m not your truck, no, you’d be gentler with your brand-new taxpayer paid for ride.”

I turn a hard gaze on her. She quirks an eyebrow like she’s daring me to deny it. I don’t bother, though my salary is not the best it does allow for me to live comfortably down here, along with my military pension. My Shelby money has been locked down, since my uncle Mathias has been in control of it. He found a way to hold back my father’s portion when he refused to fall in line and join the law firm in Birmingham. I never bothered to inquire because I’m not willing to sacrifice my soul for his whims. So, her words don’t affect me but the bruises and lacerations on her body do. Whatever sumbitch did this to her will be residing in hell very soon.

Immediately, I soften and slow my movement turning broad strokes into smaller circles. Washing away the faint tinge of beer and Remy, the vanilla-rose takes over mixing with her naturalmusk creating an aphrodisiac that speaks to my soul. Feeling my dick pressing against my leg, I make sure to shift away so I don’t scare the hell out of her. She’s gone through a horrific ordeal, the last thing she needs is a motherfucker looking like he’s about to take her pretty little pussy.

“Turn,” I grumble, shifting her away from me to take care of her back. Cleansing her tiny body takes much too short of a time.

“I’ll let you handle the rest.” Knowing if I reach between her thighs I would be lost, and it’s wrong as fuck because she’s still not all there.

Her head turns to meet mine and for the first time I see she’s got her shower cap askew. Her eyes track my movements before snagging on mine. “You got yourself all wet.” Brown mahogany eyes dipped in honey don’t leave mine, but I know she realizes the effect she has on me. It’s in her voice. But it’s not triumph I hear, but longing.

I step back. “I have a change of clothes in my truck,” I tell her, backing up like she’s burned me.

“I’m much better, thanks.” She’s turning from me, letting me keep my dignity as I retreat, knowing I lost this battle.

“So, you’re still going in.”Eyeing the coffee from her small proffered hand, I ask the question. Her being dressed in her lilac edged with black pastry chef uniform makes the question redundant.

“You still take it black?” she asks, ignoring the question.

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