Page 141 of Her Reluctant Hero
She didn’t talk for a long time and he wondered if she remembered how he had loved her or if she only remembered how he’d hurt her.
“You did an admirable job of stitching him up,” the doctor told her after inspecting Adrian’s arm, four hours after they’d left camp. Mallory’s own arm was sore from shifting, her leg cramped from the clutch. At least Adrian wouldn’t have to relive forty-two stitches.
The doctor, a bearded American in a tropical shirt, walked over to the aluminum-fronted cabinet to put away the gauze. “I’ve given him another antibiotic shot and have rewrapped the arm so he doesn’t tear anything loose. He needs to keep it that way at least a week. No diving for at least two. And see that he takes these antibiotic pills.”
Mallory stepped back, her ears ringing with the news. They couldn’t afford to lose their most experienced diver, no matter how many other divers they hired.
Adrian took the bottle of antibiotics, bounced them in his palm. “Doctor, I can’t stay out of the water that long. We have a limited window here, and I have to go in.”
The doctor shook his head. “You shouldn’t get those stitches wet, and you won’t have full use of your arm, in any case. The two weeks will go quickly enough.” He walked out, dismissing them.
Adrian pocketed the pills and hopped off the exam table. “Let’s go get checked into a hotel.” He looped a companionable arm, his good one, around her neck. “It’ll be a nice change to get a real shower, yeah?”
The weight of his arm across her shoulders was so familiar, she almost found herself tucking her head in the crook of his neck, a move as natural as breathing, once upon a time. Pulling away would be the smart thing to do, but that would let him know her thoughts had veered into dangerous territory. Best to play it off, pretend it didn’t matter. But the gesture put her on guard. Was it casual, or did he plan to take advantage of their time alone to make her want more than just the ship?
Because that was so far out of the realm of possibility.
It was.
“You can’t shower,” she reminded him. “You can’t get your arm wet.”
“Where there’s a will there’s a way.”
Arrogant man. No doubt he was cooking up some scheme to get into the water himself. Damn it, she was going to have to play wife.
Adrian managed to get reservations at a nice hotel within walking distance from the beach. Mallory had thought they wouldn’t be able to get one room, much less two, but he sweet-talked the desk clerk into adjoining rooms. Mallory frowned, silent, unreadable, on the way up the elevator, then didn’t say a word to him as she peeled off to go to her own room.
Once in his room, Adrian stopped at the connecting door and placed his palm on it, imagining her on the other side, tossing her duffel into a corner, stripping off her clothes as she headed for the shower. She never had managed to do just one thing at a time.
He couldn’t stand here fantasizing about her. He turned from the doorway that was nothing but a temptation and picked up the phone to call the campsite.
No answer. They must be out on the boat. Adrian glanced at his watch. A little later than he would dive, but his brother always lived a little closer to the edge than Adrian. He’d left strict instructions for Toney to keep an eye on Robert, make sure he continued his medicine, make sure he didn’t work so hard. The old man shouldn’t even be here, but Adrian couldn’t make him stay away. And the prof had refused to let anyone else in on his secret. Adrian wished the old man would at least tell Mallory, so Adrian could talk to her about it. As much as he longed to confide in her, he wouldn’t betray Robert’s trust.
He sat in the low-backed chair and rubbed his hand over his jaw, the rasp surprisingly loud in the quiet room. The thickness of his stubble surprised him, and he looked toward her room. Mallory had a good idea there, with the showering. He should clean up before dinner.
Mallory shoved her hair away from her face and opened the connecting door at the knock. She should have shut it again, right there.
Adrian leaned against the jamb on his good arm, bare-chested, head tilted, that stupid charming smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “I need help.”
Wariness rose, along with other, baser emotions. She folded her hands together to resist running them over his shoulders. She’d always loved his shoulders. Her tongue curled in her mouth as she remembered the taste of him. “With what?” Okay, that didn’t come out as casually as she’d hoped.
“I can’t get my arm wet and I can’t wash my hair one-handed.”
“You want me to wash your hair.”
He lifted his eyebrows, charm on high. “Please.”
That would require her getting closer and, God help her, she’d have to touch him. Her brain battled with every other nerve in her body that wanted to jump up and down at the chance and scream,Yes, please.
“We can try to fashion a sleeve. Do you have a plastic bag or something?” She looked past him into his room. He’d dumped his duffel out on his bed. Maybe he’d been thinking the same thing. Maybe he wasn’t just trying to seduce her.
“No. Do you?”
She shook her head. Okay, if he was coming to her as a last resort, maybe she could be impersonal and help him out. “How do you think we should do this?”
He straightened, and while his smile disappeared, his eyes glinted. “I thought I could get in the tub. Make it easier for you to reach.”
That sounded reasonable. Anything that kept her clothes on sounded reasonable. She’d thought he’d want her to strip down and get into the shower with him, but maybe he’d gotten the message that she was not here because of him. His learning curve must have improved.
