Page 25 of Holiday Love
Crap.
She’s not okay, and I’m not sure how to fix it. Even worse, Iknowit’s somehow my fault. She tried to be vague, but I’m sure I’m the “guy” who got her in trouble. I wanted to ask more last night but figured it wasn’t the time. Not with how her body shook from the force of her tears, like it was tearing itself apart.
And this morning? She looks just as raw.
I force my focus elsewhere. Bad move. Becausedamn. Helen’s wearing tiny white biker shorts and a thin white tank top...no bra.
My gaze catches on the stiff peaks of her nipples pressing against the fabric. Heat rolls through me in a slow, lazy wave. I force myself to look away, but the damage is done. That image is burned into my brain, seared into my neurons.
There’s something about how sexy Helen is, mostly because she’s completely unaware of it. I have no doubt that the next time I touch my dick, I’ll be thinking about that tank top and what lies underneath. Not a good idea since we’re housemates, but I’ve never been one to make rational decisions, especially when it comes to her.
Helen hesitates at the threshold, uncertain. She shifts her weight like she’s deciding whether to sit or go back to her room. Then,oh, hell, her gaze drifts lower. Stops. Lingers.
A slow pink flush spreads across her cheeks, staining them.
She’s looking at me. At my bare chest, where I’m still too banged up to pull a shirt over my head.
Her tongue flicks out to wet her lips.
Jesus.
She visibly shakes herself and straightens. “Umm,” she starts, voice slightly higher than usual.
I leap at the chance to defuse whatever the hell is happening between us. “Sorry,” I say, but Helen’s not listening. Coming fully awake, she glances down at herself. I can practically see the moment that she realizes she’s not wearing much more than I am. That’s when the red on her cheeks deepens into scarlet.
“Uh, hang on a sec.” She turns and bolts down the hallway to her room. When she reappears, she has a fluffy purple robe with a tie at her waist. It ends mid-thigh and gapes open enough that I still get a tantalizing flash of cleavage.
I keep my gaze locked on her face. Safe zone. Respectable zone.
“Sorry,” I say again, rushing to justify why I’m not dressed. I don’t want her to think this is a ploy, a cheap trick to get her into bed. “I tried to put on a shirt, but I couldn’t get it on without feeling like I was gonna pass out.”
I lift my arm, exposing the enormous bruise covering the side of my chest. Black, green, brown, and blue swirl together, a twisted, grotesque painting.
Helen sucks in her breath at the sight and rushes to my side. “Oh my god, Teddy. That looks awful!” Her fingers skim featherlight over my ribs, and I flinch away with a gasp.
“It feels even worse,” I admit.
She frowns, her eyes scanning my injury like she can force it to heal with just the power of her mind. “Hold on. Let me get some arnica. That’ll help with the bruising and pain.”
She disappears into the kitchen and returns a second later, tube in hand. She squeezes a ribbon of white gel onto her fingertips, then glances up at me expectantly. I raise my arm, bracing myself while knowing the motion will send a stab of agony through my body.
Helen’s fingers glide across my bruised skin, spreading the ointment with gentle, careful strokes. Her touch burns in a way that has nothing to do with pain.
“Arnica, huh?” I say, grasping for something, anything, to focus on besides the fact that I want to tackle her to the ground and kiss the hell out of her. “That’s pretty holistic for a doctor like you.”
She lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, but there’s no real weight behind it. “My mom’s into this stuff. Kinda ironic, since her husband and daughter are both doctors, but she’s right. Some of it works great.”
She leans back slightly, a faraway look flickering across her face. “That’s my mom, though. She dances to her own drumbeat. Never cares what people think. Sometimes I wish I were more like her.”
I tilt my head and wrinkle my brow. “You don’t seem like someone who cares too much about other people’s opinions.”
She exhales, soft and slow. “I’m not. Probably to my detriment.” A pause. “I only care about what certain people think…” Her voice trails off as her gaze flicks to mine, and for a brief second I have the delusion that she’s talking about me. That she cares whatIthink, but that’s stupid. We barely know each other, and, honestly, I’ve done nothing to deserve that kind of importance.
Still, I want it.
To be that person.
Helen bites her lip, so fucking sexy, and gives me one last, gentle swipe before leaning back to survey her handiwork.
