She was a damned good therapist, one who was just a bit off-kilter at times with this particular patient.
Faith stood outside the door of the bathroom, shifting from foot to foot. Eight times she heard the bar drop, followed by Nathan’s low curse as she stood there, wrapping her arms tightly about herself, clenching her elbows.
She nearly called out his name, but forced herself to remain quiet. If he wanted help, he would say so.
Still, the whole process seemed interminable. What time had it been when he walked into that bathroom? How long had he been in there? Was that the soap dropping she heard again?
No, it had to be him putting it down for the final time. The water stopped. He must be getting dried off.
The thought of the whole length of Nathan naked and wet as he pushed the towel over his skin was too much for Faith. She couldn’t just stand here anymore. She especially didn’t want to be found hovering outside the door when he emerged.
Moving into the kitchen, she tried to prepare herself for his reaction to finding her there. He’d know that she’d heard his struggle with the shower. How was he going to feel about that? She could guess that he wouldn’t be pleased.
No matter. Her job was to be encouraging, to remind him that his strength was returning slowly and that things would get better.
But as she turned at the sound of him nearing the doorway, she couldn’t think of a single word of advice to offer. He was standing there in unbuttoned jeans, his shirt opened all the way. He was barefoot and still damp in places. His hair was wet and spiky, his eyes mirrored his frustration at the less than satisfying experience he’d just gone through.
Still, he wasn’t going to say anything. She could see it in the belligerent set of his chin, the way he was looking at her, daring her to offer any of those inadequate comments she’d been about to make.
Instead, she simply turned and took two glasses from the cabinet, pouring the tea she’d found in the fridge. At the last moment she remembered that she’d poured Nathan’s glass too full. He would have trouble handling it.
“Leave it,” he said. “I’ll manage.”
With a movement that seemed like a slow-motion video, Nathan slid his hand to the glass, resting it there a moment. Then, slowly, he curled one finger around the curved surface. Then another, and another, until his hand was securely around the perimeter of the glass.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly raised the container to his mouth, his knuckles white, his brow furrowed.
After three deep swallows, Nathan clattered the glass to the counter, turning to her defiantly. “You look just like my mother used to when I climbed up to get the cat off the roof. I warn you, if you say ‘Very good, Nathan,’ I’ll smash this glass against the wall.”
She hadn’t been planning to say that, but the words she’d been going to utter sounded equally condescending to her now. And she wasn’t about to let him know that.
Instead, Faith looked him dead in the eye and filled his glass again. “You shatter that glass, and you’ll take the broom and sweep up every broken bit.”
They stood there, staring at each other, breathing heavily, their brows furrowed like two animals fighting for territory.
Then Nathan smiled, slow and lazy.
“You’re a real lion tamer, Faith. One tough lady.”
That’s exactly the way she felt, like a shaky lion tamer caged up with an unpredictable and exhilarating beast. He was wild, he was dangerous, and she didn’t know what the hell to do with him except try to keep him from getting too close to her—or hurting himself.
Faith needed to back away. She couldn’t think and look into Nathan’s eyes at the same time. Dropping her gaze, she found herself staring at his exposed chest, the light, silky hair that covered it.
“Buttons are still a problem,” he said, as if reading her mind.
It was a difficult admission to make, she was sure.
“I can handle a few
Faith stood outside the door of the bathroom, shifting from foot to foot. Eight times she heard the bar drop, followed by Nathan’s low curse as she stood there, wrapping her arms tightly about herself, clenching her elbows.
She nearly called out his name, but forced herself to remain quiet. If he wanted help, he would say so.
Still, the whole process seemed interminable. What time had it been when he walked into that bathroom? How long had he been in there? Was that the soap dropping she heard again?
No, it had to be him putting it down for the final time. The water stopped. He must be getting dried off.
The thought of the whole length of Nathan naked and wet as he pushed the towel over his skin was too much for Faith. She couldn’t just stand here anymore. She especially didn’t want to be found hovering outside the door when he emerged.
Moving into the kitchen, she tried to prepare herself for his reaction to finding her there. He’d know that she’d heard his struggle with the shower. How was he going to feel about that? She could guess that he wouldn’t be pleased.
No matter. Her job was to be encouraging, to remind him that his strength was returning slowly and that things would get better.
But as she turned at the sound of him nearing the doorway, she couldn’t think of a single word of advice to offer. He was standing there in unbuttoned jeans, his shirt opened all the way. He was barefoot and still damp in places. His hair was wet and spiky, his eyes mirrored his frustration at the less than satisfying experience he’d just gone through.
Still, he wasn’t going to say anything. She could see it in the belligerent set of his chin, the way he was looking at her, daring her to offer any of those inadequate comments she’d been about to make.
Instead, she simply turned and took two glasses from the cabinet, pouring the tea she’d found in the fridge. At the last moment she remembered that she’d poured Nathan’s glass too full. He would have trouble handling it.
“Leave it,” he said. “I’ll manage.”
With a movement that seemed like a slow-motion video, Nathan slid his hand to the glass, resting it there a moment. Then, slowly, he curled one finger around the curved surface. Then another, and another, until his hand was securely around the perimeter of the glass.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly raised the container to his mouth, his knuckles white, his brow furrowed.
After three deep swallows, Nathan clattered the glass to the counter, turning to her defiantly. “You look just like my mother used to when I climbed up to get the cat off the roof. I warn you, if you say ‘Very good, Nathan,’ I’ll smash this glass against the wall.”
She hadn’t been planning to say that, but the words she’d been going to utter sounded equally condescending to her now. And she wasn’t about to let him know that.
Instead, Faith looked him dead in the eye and filled his glass again. “You shatter that glass, and you’ll take the broom and sweep up every broken bit.”
They stood there, staring at each other, breathing heavily, their brows furrowed like two animals fighting for territory.
Then Nathan smiled, slow and lazy.
“You’re a real lion tamer, Faith. One tough lady.”
That’s exactly the way she felt, like a shaky lion tamer caged up with an unpredictable and exhilarating beast. He was wild, he was dangerous, and she didn’t know what the hell to do with him except try to keep him from getting too close to her—or hurting himself.
Faith needed to back away. She couldn’t think and look into Nathan’s eyes at the same time. Dropping her gaze, she found herself staring at his exposed chest, the light, silky hair that covered it.
“Buttons are still a problem,” he said, as if reading her mind.
It was a difficult admission to make, she was sure.
“I can handle a few
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