Page 19 of Axe-ing for Trouble
I forced my head up, noticing then that he was standing only a foot or two away from the steamed-up glass of the shower door.
“I’m fine,” I said, still crying.
“Can I help you?”
Unable to form a response, I leaned against the wall and gave in to the sobs racking through my body.
When the door swung open, I was too defeated to even try to shield my nakedness.
Jude was all business, methodically removing his glasses and placing them on the vanity, then pulling off his T-shirt and shucking his jeans. He tossed his clothes into the hamper, and then he was standing on the bathmat in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.
My heart lodged itself into my already clogged throat. “What are you doing?”
He stepped inside the shower, careful not to bump into me. “I’m helping. But if you want me to go, I will.”
I turned away, hiding myself from him. I wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing: my nudity or my pathetic sobs.
“Don’t go,” I said. “I can’t wash my hair, and I dropped the body wash. My stupid arm hurts too badly to even move.”
“I can help. I’m going to touch you, okay? I’ll start with shampooing your hair.”
Still facing away from him, I nodded.
With a touch gentler than a man his size should be capable of, he scraped my hair back, ensuring all the strands were wet. Then he squirted shampoo into his cupped palm. Its honey lemon scent hit me before his fingers were massaging my scalp. This was my shampoo. I couldn’t move to check the label, but I’d know that scent anywhere.
He moved in gentle circles, sending a cascade of bubbles down my neck. Eyes closed, I leaned into the sensation, hints of tension oozing from my body and swirling down the drain with the suds. I bit my lip to hold back a sigh. The last thing I needed was to add weird moans between my sobs.
He rinsed the shampoo out and picked up another bottle.
“Conditioner?”
“Yes.”
He worked that in next, taking his time, then carefully rinsing. I shouldn’t be surprised. From the moment I met him at the dojo, I’d seen the gentle-giant nature he possessed. I’d seen those fingers work the strings of his guitar. I’d felt them work me over as well. I knew what they were capable of.
“Can I bend down and get the body wash?” he asked gently.
“Yes, please.”
“Would you like me to help with the dirt and iodine on your skin?”
No. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him scrubbing every inch of me. I didn’t want to turn around and give him a full-frontal view of my unkempt bikini line and sad, deflated breasts. I wanted a time machine to magically appear so I could jump into it and go back to a time before I stepped into this shower. Before I woke to the pounding on my door. Before the day my brother was assaulted.
But want had nothing to do with it. I needed his help. “Okay.”
He leaned over and picked the bottle up, his arm brushing the curve of my ass.
Once he’d dangled the body wash over my shoulder and I’d snatched it from him, he stepped back. The shower door opened, and I was hit with a wave of cool air. Then he was back with a washcloth.
He knelt next to me, gently washing my legs, which were no doubt caked with dirt and grime. He cleaned around my cuts and bandages and worked his way up to my back. The lemon scent that had faded after he’d rinsed the conditioner from my hair returned even stronger this time.
“Do you want to turn around?” His deep voice echoed off the tile walls.
I wanted to say no, but while I’d stood here, mortified, I’d discovered how badly my ribcage and arm were bruised. There was no way I could get rid of all the grime on my own, and the mottled bruising ensured there was nothing sexual about this.
“It’s okay. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He let out a deep chuckle.
Unable to hold back a grin, I turned slowly. As much as I dreaded showing him how much I’d changed in the months since my brother had been hurt, I was more afraid of seeing him. All the muscles and chest hair with a few small tattoos. If memory served, Jude was a delicious specimen of a man who was very, very hard to resist.
