Dirty Work - Regina Kyle Page 0,20

around him.

The very nearly naked man. Jake’s naughty bits might be covered by the towel loosely tied around his waist, but not much else is. And when I say loosely, I mean that sucker’s hanging on for dear life. At any moment, the poor excuse for a knot could let go.

I stare at the scrap of terrycloth, not sure if I’m willing it to stay up or fall down. I don’t know if I’m ready for Jake in all his fully nude glory. My poor, palpitating heart can hardly handle what I’m seeing now. The guy’s like the poster child for masculine perfection. Firmly muscled biceps. Broad chest with just the right amount of fine, dark hair. Washboard abs. My fingers itch to trace their ridges and valleys before following his happy trail down his abdomen, to his belly button, and under that damn towel to his...

Stop. This is your friend’s brother. And your client. You came in here to make sure he wasn’t in mortal peril, not ogle him like a side of Kobe beef.

I tamp down my runaway sex drive and close the door behind me, making sure Roscoe’s on the other side. He whines for a hot second, then I hear his nails tapping on the floor as he trots off, hopefully not to pee on Jake’s precious carpet. But I can’t worry about that now, not when Jake’s obviously hurting.

I cross to him, stepping over and around all the crap on the floor. Up close, I notice a bloody scrap of tissue stuck to one cheek. It should send his sex appeal into a nosedive, but instead it somehow increases it tenfold. I try my best to ignore the flash flood of lust coursing through my veins and wave a hand at the mess at his feet. “You call this fine?”

He glares at the contraption on his right arm. “This stupid fucking sling is making everything difficult. Why couldn’t I have landed on my left shoulder?”

“Here.” I bend and start picking stuff up. Toothbrush. Razor. Hair gel.

He snatches a tube of shaving cream from my fingers with his good hand. “I can do that.”

“Can you?” He bristles at the jibe, and I decide to change tack. Like my mother always says, you get more flies with sugar than vinegar. I don’t usually pay much attention to her pearls of so-called wisdom, but in this case, she might be on to something.

I dump the toiletries in the open drawer and lay a palm on Jake’s good shoulder. “I get it. You’re frustrated. You’re used to doing things for yourself. But it’s okay to ask for help once in a while. Especially when you’re hurt.”

He stares at the tube of shaving cream in his hand. “It’s humiliating. I’m a grown-ass man, and I can’t even shave myself.”

I pat the toilet seat. “Sit. I’ll do it.”

His gaze shoots to mine. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I retrieve the razor from the drawer and hold it aloft like it’s the sword of Gryffindor.

“You look like Sweeney freaking Todd.” He eyes me skeptically but lowers himself gently onto the toilet, peeling the tissue off his cheek and tossing it into the garbage. “I’m not sure I should let you near my face with a sharp object.”

“Sondheim?” My lips curl into a smile. “I’m impressed.”

“You can’t grow up with a theater geek without a little of it rubbing off on you, no matter how much you resist.”

He smiles back, and my heart, which had almost regained its normal rhythm, starts racing like an Indy car again. It’s those damn dimples. They should be illegal.

I hold out my hand for the shaving cream, and his fingers brush mine as he places it in my palm. A zing of awareness buzzes from the point of contact straight to my girly parts.

Great. Now my heart and my hormones are out of control. This is going to be harder than I thought. I’m trembling inside and out, anticipation of what I’m about to do making me shiver. I’m going to wind up either cutting him or kissing him.

Maybe both.

But it’s too late to back out now. I’ll have to take my chances and hope for the best. Whatever that is.

I set the razor down on the vanity and squirt a dollop of shaving cream into my palm, rubbing my hands together to work up a lather. “Sit still.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a smirk.

But the smirk disappears when my hands cup his