again.’
I splutter, thinking he’s joking until I see his face. I shiver with anticipation. ‘Do you think you could?’
By the look of him, and the way I’m pushing myself against his thigh, I realize that if I lie here any longer then the answer would be ‘yes’. But I see a tiredness behind his eyes and his colour is not good, so instead I reluctantly remove my hand from his chest and wriggle into a sitting position.
He stays where he is, watching me. ‘You know what, Lauren? I’m going to need a lot of TLC now I’m home. An awful lot.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Really? I thought you wanted to be independent and dreaded anyone making a fuss.’
‘I can make an exception if this is what TLC means.’
‘I think that you can have too much of a good thing.’
‘Bollocks. Come back to bed.’
‘No.I need to take a bath and get dressed. And, believe it or not, you do need to rest. Do you want a hand to get up?’
‘I don’t know. Let me try.’
With a grunt, he uses his good arm to push himself up and manages to twist off the bed and stand.
I stifle a giggle at the sight of him, with his arm in a sling and his shirt hanging over his butt.
‘What’s amusing?’
‘I’m wondering what Robert would make of the sight of Lord Falconbury in such disarray.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘I think he’d say, “Good for his lordship.” Now, if you’re not going to oblige me again, I also need a shower …’ His gaze lingers on me. ‘Or a bath. How do you feel about saving water?’
I shake my head. ‘We can’t both get in the tub with your arm like that. Didn’t the nurses tell you to keep the dressing dry until they change it next week?’
He pulls a face. ‘True, but I have a solution.’
Warm water laps around my breasts as Alexander watches me take a bath. He’s placed the padded stool from the dressing table next to the claw-footed tub in his en-suite. He’s now sitting next to me, still in his shirt tails but with a bath sheet draped over his lap. The Creed bath oil I poured into the tub has a sensual woody fragrance that scents the steam rising from the water. Alexander’s greedy gaze never leaves me while I rub the foamy sponge over my breasts and chest and lift my legs out of the water to wash them.
Assoon as I get out of the bath, I expect him to hand me the bath sheet but he keeps still.
‘Come here.’
‘I’m soaking wet.’
‘I hope so.’ Once I’m within reach, he leans forward in his seat and presses his face to my wet stomach. With one hand he pulls me to him and splays it over one cheek of my bottom, his fingers sliding over my wet skin.
I tangle my hands in his hair and whisper, ‘Your turn, Captain Hunt, but you’re going to have to take off your shirt. Want any help?’
‘Not really, but if it means you stay naked for longer, I’ll take any assistance I can get.’
After I’ve let some of the water out of the tub, I help him slide the shirt off until he’s naked too. With one hand on the rolled edge to steady himself, he climbs into the tub.
With a little assistance and a few curses, he manages to sit down and even though the water is shallow, some of it splashes over the rim and pools on the black and white tiles.
‘Hey there, be careful.’
‘This is bloody awkward,’ he mutters, holding his injured arm higher above the water.
I pick up the damp sponge from the side of bath, squirt shower gel on to the centre and squeeze until it’s creamy with lather. Foamy suds drip on to his bare chest as I dab the sponge on his bruised pecs.
‘Howsore are your ribs?’ I ask, skating the sponge over his skin.
‘Not too bad with the cocktail of painkillers I’m on, and, of course, the distraction of my naked nurse.’
Ignoring this remark, I pat the purple and yellow marks on his chest as gently as I can. ‘These are very colourful, like an abstract painting. A little Modigliani-esque. Whoever made them must have been an artist.’
‘They certainly took
I splutter, thinking he’s joking until I see his face. I shiver with anticipation. ‘Do you think you could?’
By the look of him, and the way I’m pushing myself against his thigh, I realize that if I lie here any longer then the answer would be ‘yes’. But I see a tiredness behind his eyes and his colour is not good, so instead I reluctantly remove my hand from his chest and wriggle into a sitting position.
He stays where he is, watching me. ‘You know what, Lauren? I’m going to need a lot of TLC now I’m home. An awful lot.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Really? I thought you wanted to be independent and dreaded anyone making a fuss.’
‘I can make an exception if this is what TLC means.’
‘I think that you can have too much of a good thing.’
‘Bollocks. Come back to bed.’
‘No.I need to take a bath and get dressed. And, believe it or not, you do need to rest. Do you want a hand to get up?’
‘I don’t know. Let me try.’
With a grunt, he uses his good arm to push himself up and manages to twist off the bed and stand.
I stifle a giggle at the sight of him, with his arm in a sling and his shirt hanging over his butt.
‘What’s amusing?’
‘I’m wondering what Robert would make of the sight of Lord Falconbury in such disarray.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘I think he’d say, “Good for his lordship.” Now, if you’re not going to oblige me again, I also need a shower …’ His gaze lingers on me. ‘Or a bath. How do you feel about saving water?’
I shake my head. ‘We can’t both get in the tub with your arm like that. Didn’t the nurses tell you to keep the dressing dry until they change it next week?’
He pulls a face. ‘True, but I have a solution.’
Warm water laps around my breasts as Alexander watches me take a bath. He’s placed the padded stool from the dressing table next to the claw-footed tub in his en-suite. He’s now sitting next to me, still in his shirt tails but with a bath sheet draped over his lap. The Creed bath oil I poured into the tub has a sensual woody fragrance that scents the steam rising from the water. Alexander’s greedy gaze never leaves me while I rub the foamy sponge over my breasts and chest and lift my legs out of the water to wash them.
Assoon as I get out of the bath, I expect him to hand me the bath sheet but he keeps still.
‘Come here.’
‘I’m soaking wet.’
‘I hope so.’ Once I’m within reach, he leans forward in his seat and presses his face to my wet stomach. With one hand he pulls me to him and splays it over one cheek of my bottom, his fingers sliding over my wet skin.
I tangle my hands in his hair and whisper, ‘Your turn, Captain Hunt, but you’re going to have to take off your shirt. Want any help?’
‘Not really, but if it means you stay naked for longer, I’ll take any assistance I can get.’
After I’ve let some of the water out of the tub, I help him slide the shirt off until he’s naked too. With one hand on the rolled edge to steady himself, he climbs into the tub.
With a little assistance and a few curses, he manages to sit down and even though the water is shallow, some of it splashes over the rim and pools on the black and white tiles.
‘Hey there, be careful.’
‘This is bloody awkward,’ he mutters, holding his injured arm higher above the water.
I pick up the damp sponge from the side of bath, squirt shower gel on to the centre and squeeze until it’s creamy with lather. Foamy suds drip on to his bare chest as I dab the sponge on his bruised pecs.
‘Howsore are your ribs?’ I ask, skating the sponge over his skin.
‘Not too bad with the cocktail of painkillers I’m on, and, of course, the distraction of my naked nurse.’
Ignoring this remark, I pat the purple and yellow marks on his chest as gently as I can. ‘These are very colourful, like an abstract painting. A little Modigliani-esque. Whoever made them must have been an artist.’
‘They certainly took
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